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Auggie traded a look with Theo. “I’m sorry, Mr. Purdue, but we already told you: we can’t share that information. It would ruin the, uh—”
“Integrity,” Theo said.
“—the program’s integrity.”
“If she said I hurt him, that is fucking bullshit. He cries about everything. He said one time I broke one of his nails.” He sat back, scoffed, his whole body communicating that this was beyond belief. “Are you recording this?”
Auggie set his phone on the arm of the sofa and tapped the screen. “Why don’t we start—”
“He’s a pansy, all right? I know that. It’s twenty-twenty. Fine, he can do whatever he wants. Go climb a dick, that’s his business. But it’s the mouthing off, that’s what I won’t stand for. I broke a fucking nail? So the fuck what? Pick up your fucking room like I told you. Do your fucking homework. How fucking hard is it to be polite to your fucking stepmom?”
“Leon and Ambyr didn’t get along?” Theo asked.
“Didn’t get along? Jesus, they were like cats in a bag. I told both of them, I’m only going to live with one crazy bitch, so figure this shit out. The next day, Leon moved out. Mr. Emancipated. Fine, I told Ambyr. If he thinks he’s a fucking adult, he can be a fucking adult.”
“When was this?”
“Oh, June, I’d say.”
“You haven’t seen your son since June?”
A little more color came into Merlin’s face, and he sat forward. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“We’re trying to confirm the timeline,” Auggie said. “That’s all.”
“He wanted to leave. I didn’t throw him out.”
No, Theo thought. You just made it impossible for him to live here.
“This was in June?” Auggie asked.
“What was I supposed to do?” Merlin said. “Beg him to stay? Get on my fucking hands and knees? He would have loved that, let me tell you.”
“Mr. Purdue—”
“Are you paying Ambyr?”
“No, we don’t pay—”
“Of course not. She’s doing this because she’s pissed I wouldn’t pay for another fucking round of headshots. Give me a fucking break. We’re in the asshole of Missouri, and she’s mailing headshots like she’s Meg Ryan.”
Auggie blinked—with a dark squiggle in his gut, Theo realized there was a high possibility Auggie didn’t even know who Meg Ryan was—but all he said was “About your son—”
“She’s doing this to get back at me. Making me look bad because she’s mad I won’t pony up. You can’t use the stuff she told you if it’s a lie, you know that? I could sue.”
“Did Leon—”
“Did she say I hit him? Because it’s one thing to abuse a kid, and it’s another thing to straighten them out. If you had kids, you’d know. Sometimes you’ve got to give them some of this.” He held up his hand. “It’s for their own good. Did she tell you that? That he’d mouth off to anybody, and somebody had to teach him the world wasn’t going to let him get away with that.”
For a strange moment, Theo felt like he was seeing double. His brain played out for him an imagined version of Leon’s life, the slow-motion shattering of innocence and trust and safety, the realization that he was different, and that this difference was part of why he was unloved. And, at the same time, he saw Auggie. Auggie adjusting Lana on his hip, even though she was too big to carry like that anymore. Auggie in a state of intense focus, his nose scrunched as he tried to figure out the clips for her hair, because he was determined to get her ready for school without Theo’s help. Auggie walking through fire. And something was growing inside him, a realization that he couldn’t quite put into words, a kind of horrified awareness that he had made a mistake, perhaps a tremendous one, and he didn’t know if he could make it right, because it might be too late.
“Mr. Purdue,” Auggie was saying. “This isn’t productive. Why don’t you start from the beginning? We’re trying to tell the story of Leon’s disappearance, and this is your chance to tell us your version of what happened.”
“My version is the truth.”
“That’s all we want.”
Merlin dropped back in his seat. The recliner made a soft, exhaling noise, and in the silence, something ticked farther back in the house. When Merlin spoke again, his voice was thick, and Theo couldn’t untangle the emotion there—rage, maybe; fear; or, possibly, grief. “That stupid bitch. She got us into this. The drugs.” He stopped and looked up at the ceiling of the trailer, the textured resin panels with rusty water stains. “That fucking club. I never should have let her take him there.”
