The Lost & Found (10 page)

W
illa and I left early the next morning. My father was still in Dubai; he sent his blessings via text message. My mother gave us three hundred dollars for food and reminded us how lucky we were that she was letting us leave during the store's busiest month.

“Ma, I help with the books,” Willa said. “June is not our busiest month. And we're only going to be gone for a few days. Like a week, tops.”

“One of the busiest months, whatever,” Mom replied, waving her hands.

We got in the car a little after nine o'clock. Willa had overslept.

“I have to stop somewhere first,” she said.

“Where?”

“The diner. I want some breakfast.”

“You want some breakfast or you want to say good-bye to Benson?”

“It just so happens that I am able to, as they say, kill two birds with one stone,” Willa said.

“What's the deal with you two, anyway? He obviously has a crush on you, and as far as I can see, you're kind of leading him on.”

“We're eighteen, Louis, I don't think we have crushes anymore.”

“So he has deep, romantic feelings for you?”

“Look, if you're going to be a dick about it—”

“I'm not. I'm sorry. What . . . Do you like him? I mean, do you like each other? Are you dating?”

“Can you calm down?” Willa asked. “Not everything has to be so neatly explained. He's a person who's staying in Los Angeles. I am a person who is temporarily leaving Los Angeles. I am going to say good-bye to him. Okay?”

“I'm not saying good-bye to anyone.”

“You don't really have any friends.”

“Hey.”

“Sorry. You don't.”

“I have Zach.”

“You just play tennis with Zach. And sometimes you go see concerts. You've never even had him over for dinner.”

“Guys don't have other guys over for dinner.”

“You could if you wanted to. But you don't. Because you're scared he's a little better at tennis than you.”

“Zach's not better at tennis than me!”

“He could be. He just doesn't care enough. You care a lot. Maybe that's why you don't have any friends.”

I pulled into the diner parking lot and inched my way into a space. “I have Frances.”

“You don't have Frances. You've never even met her,” she said.

“What is this fucking attack, Willa? We're not even out of town yet.”

I turned the car off and looked at her. She was suddenly pale; she had her dress pulled up and she was playing with the top of her right prosthetic, where fake met real. I reached over and took her hand.

“Hey. Does it hurt?”

“No,” she said quietly. Then, with some difficulty: “I'm sorry I'm being a bitch.”

“Accepted. Is there a reason?”

“No. I don't know. I'm not nervous or anything, if that's what you're going to say. Do you want to come in?”

“Do you want a minute?”

“No. Come in, please. Can you come around? I need an arm.”

I got out of the car and walked around to the passenger's side. Willa opened her door and pulled herself out of
the car. She gripped my arm firmly, and we made our way across the parking lot.

“I could get the chair?” I offered.

“I'm just a little tired,” she said.

“I could run to the medical supply store and get you a walker?”

She elbowed me in the ribs but laughed.

Benson wasn't at the host's stand. Instead it was his older brother, Thad. Thad was a very stereotypical surfer. I only ever saw him wear a shirt when he did shifts at the diner, and it was always the same shirt: blue with three surfboards leaning against a wooden fence. I think it was the only one he had and I couldn't tell if he wore it ironically or not.

“Hey, twins,” he said. “Table for
dos
?”

“Just takeout, actually,” I said.

“Is Benson not here?” Willa asked.

“Sick day for the little bro,” Thad said, shrugging. “I think he consumed some gnarly egg rolls.” (He actually said gnarly, which is something nobody in real life says except Thad, who says it often.) “I'll tell him you send your well wishes.”

“Thanks,” Willa said. I ordered for both of us, and we waited in plastic chairs by the door.

“Sorry,” I said.

“It's whatever.”

“We can swing by his apartment?”

“Really not necessary.”

“I mean, I know how upset I'd be if I didn't get to say good-bye to Zach.”

“You're funny,” she said, smiling.

“You know how you said I haven't met Frances yet?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I'm going to meet Frances.”

“What? Wait—is that what this trip is about? You're driving halfway across the country to meet a girl?”

“No, actually. Although I don't think there would be anything wrong with that.”

“Well, it would mean
she
was driving halfway across the country to meet
you
,” Willa said. “And there would be something wrong with that—poor girl.”

“Neither of us is driving to Austin to meet each other. It's just a very unique coincidence.”

“Why is she going there? Oh, wait! Is this about Wallace Green?”

“She is going there to try to find Wallace Green, yes.”

“Insane. Okay, Frances is insane. Noted. And why are
you
going there?”

I didn't want to tell her, but it hadn't escaped me that we'd eventually show up on the doorstep of the University of Texas for a prearranged private tour. Willa was pretty smart; she was bound to suspect something at that point. I might as well let her in on the secret now.

“Okay. Listen. I haven't told anyone.”

“Oh my gosh, it's really drugs.”

“What?”

“You're involved in an international drug cartel.”

“I can't tell if you're joking. But no.”

“Oh, good. I didn't bring my running legs.”

“Funny. This is actually . . . not the easiest for me to say. But I have some kind of big news.”

I had Willa's full attention now, which didn't happen all that often. I was about to tell her about the scholarship when Thad yelled my name and held up our bag of food. I went over to pay and pick it up. Willa held the door open for me.

“You are very good at building suspense,” she said in the car.

“I don't mean to. I'm just trying to find the right words. Okay. I got offered a full ride to the University of Texas.”

I thought Willa might scream, but instead she dropped the tater tot she was holding and stared at me. I could feel her staring at me, but I was merging onto the highway so I couldn't look over at her. This time of day there was no traffic going east, so once we were on the highway, I returned her stare. I didn't know what that stare meant. It either meant she was happy for me or she wanted to kill me. With Willa, it was hard to tell, and sometimes it could be both at the same time.

Finally, in a small voice, she said, “You're already applying for schools? We're not even seniors yet.”

“I didn't apply. They came and saw me play. I guess
they must have requested my transcript. I got the letter a couple days ago—it's more like a placeholder kind of thing. If I decide to apply for next year, I'm guaranteed a spot as long as my grades stay up. Could you grab my sunglasses? They're in the glove compartment.”

Willa wrenched open the glove compartment and dug around. “There are no sunglasses in here.”

“I just put them there this morning. They're in there.”

“They're not here, Louis. You got the letter
a couple days ago
and you're just telling me now?”

“Could you look again? I know I put them—”

“THEY ARE NOT IN HERE, LOUIS,” she yelled. Okay, she was yelling. This was better than the quiet, even tone of before. “YOU GOT THE LETTER A COUPLE DAYS AGO AND YOU'RE JUST TELLING ME NOW?”

“I needed some time to think about it! I wasn't going to tell everyone if I ended up not even being interested.”

“I'm not
everyone
,” she said. Quiet and even again. “I'm your sister. I'm your twin. I'm your best friend.”

“I thought you said I didn't have any friends.”

“And you decided to wait a couple days to tell me. . . . Well, fine. That's just fine. Congratulations, though. It's a huge accomplishment and even if you don't decide to go, I know you've worked harder at tennis than anything else in your entire life. It must feel pretty good that it's all paid off.”

“That was surprisingly sincere.”

“Because I
am
sincere, you asshat. I'm happy for you. Also, fine. I'm being a little hypocritical. I haven't told you everything either.”

“What haven't you told me? About Benson? Are you guys in love or something?”

It was a joke, but it was also the wrong joke, except I didn't know it was the wrong joke until I heard Willa sigh and saw her wipe at her face angrily. I looked over at my sister, and she was as close to tears as I had ever seen her. Her eyes were wet.

“Willa?”

“Here's the really short version, okay?” she said. “Benson and I have been dating for . . . a while. That is why it is hypocritical of me to be mad at you right now. But I'm still mad.”

“How long is a while?”

“We dated all through junior year. And then we . . . I broke it off. A couple weeks ago. And he's trying to get me back, I guess.”

“What? You dated for an entire year? And you didn't tell anyone?”

“I mean, I told Stacy. Benson told a couple of his friends, I guess. But I didn't want it to be public knowledge because . . . I don't know. It was my first real relationship. And I didn't want Mom to know and I didn't want you—I mean, anyone. I just didn't want anyone to know.”

“Okay. So why did you break it off?”

“Because he wants to, like . . . Ugh, this is weird. You're my brother. He wants to take our relationship . . . Gross. Use your imagination.”

“Willa, is he pressuring you to—”

“No! No. Gosh, don't be so melodramatic. We've just talked about it a lot. And I don't think I'm ready.”

“But if you like him, you don't have to—”

“I don't think I'll ever be ready, okay, Louis? I don't think I'll ever be ready to be, like . . . I mean, I don't have any legs, okay? I don't have any legs.”

Willa reached into the bag and pulled out one of the breakfast sandwiches. She handed it to me, and I understood that to mean she didn't want me to say anything.

The next few hours of the ride were spent in silence.

The miles ticked away. The road opened ahead of us.

We were quiet.

W
e spent the night in one of those terrible, cheap, nameless motels. Arrow brought a sleeping bag big enough for two, and she laid it down on top of the comforter and for a minute I didn't know what she was doing. But then she withdrew two pillows from a suitcase (the suitcase contained only the two pillows and sat empty upon their removal), and she placed the pillows at the top of the sleeping bag, arranging them so they weren't touching any part of the comforter.

“Arrow?” I said. “The blankets are included in our $39.99.”

“When Mom and Dad brought me home from the
orphanage, I had lice,” Arrow said. “I know what kind of shit is living in these communal blankets.”

I had never actually stayed in a motel before, so I deferred to Arrow's expertise.

Arrow and I had made it to a place called Blountville, Tennessee, which was an hour and a half outside Knoxville and a solid seven hours' drive from Easton. Except it hadn't taken us seven hours, it had taken us nine hours, because Arrow made us stop to pee every hour and fifteen minutes. And she couldn't eat while she drove. And even if she didn't need to pee, she insisted on stretching her legs and feeling the sunshine on her face.

“The car has windows,” I told her. “You can feel the sunshine while we drive.”

“It's not the same.”

She turned the TV on in the motel room but kept the volume muted. We sat on top of the sleeping bag with our legs crossed and our pajamas on. Arrow wore pink, fuzzy slippers. I called my grandparents.

“Hello?” Grandpa Dick answered.

“Hi, Grandpa.”

“Frannie! Or Arrow? I don't know, you both sound the same. Where are you?”

“Frannie. We're in Tennessee, Grandpa!”

“Ah, Tennessee. They're in Tennessee, Doris. Whereabouts?”

“Blountville.”

“Never heard of it.”

I could hear my grandmother in the background, instructing him on what to say.

“Why don't you give Grandma the phone?” I said. “She's being loud.”

There was a scuffle as the phone exchanged hands. My grandmother breathed heavily into the receiver. “Frannie? Or Arrow?”

“Frannie,” I said. “Hi, Grandma. How are you?”

“Oh, doing fine, dear. Sitting shiva, playing a lot of card games. It's been very nice. I feel like I haven't had a chance to just sit and think for so long. And it feels good to dedicate this time to your mother. To her memory. It feels important.”

“I'm glad you're doing okay, Grandma.”

“What about you? How was your first day on the road?”

“It was okay. Arrow pees a lot.”

“Tell her I said hi, dear.”

“Grandma says hi,” I told Arrow.

“Hi, Grandma,” Arrow said.

“She says hi,” I said into the receiver.

“Are you stopped for the night?” Grandma asked.

“Yeah, we're in a motel in Tennessee. Arrow has disinfected everything, and I think we're going to turn in soon.”

“Arrow's always been weird about germs,” Grandma said thoughtfully. “Is everything else okay?”

“Everything's fine.”

“The car is okay?”

“The car's okay.”

“You're eating enough?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have some of the bread?”

“The banana bread. It was really good.”

“The trick is you have to use old bananas. Not rotten, you know, but just on the cusp. And I like to add walnuts.”

“The walnuts were good.”

“Well, I won't keep you anymore, Frannie. I'm glad you're safe. Tell Arrow to go easy on the Lysol. I love you both.”

“Love you too, Grandma,” I said. I hung up and tossed my phone on the mattress.

“How's Grandma?” Arrow asked.

“She's still sitting shiva.”

“She wouldn't be sitting shiva if she knew you were really driving to Austin to meet a boy,” Arrow said.

When I'd told Arrow we were meeting Louis and his sister in Austin, I tried to make it clear that it wasn't my main incentive for going. It was a happy coincidence that the universe had offered up. I was simply taking advantage of it.

“As long as he doesn't take advantage of you,” Arrow had said, narrowing her eyes and turning her attention back to her half-packed suitcase.

She had trust issues. It came, she said, from spending the
first three years of her life in an orphanage. Lice wasn't the only thing she came to America with; she'd also developed a fairly problematic attachment phobia.

“You're not going to tell her, and I'm not going to tell her, so she won't have anything to worry about,” I said.

“I'm still skeptical about this,” she said. “Let it be known.”

“Trust me, it's known. But Louis is sweet. I've known him for a really long time.”

“Yes, but you've only known his name for about three days. I'm not convinced he isn't a serial killer.”

“Well, if you think I don't actually know him because we haven't met in real life, then you must also believe I am only at a twenty-five percent risk of being murdered by him,” I said. I didn't let her respond. I went into the bathroom and shut the door.

“You better disinfect that toilet seat!” she yelled at me.

She'd left the bottle of Lysol on the counter. I sprayed the toilet seat (I wasn't nearly as germ crazy as she was, but I also wasn't about to look a bottle of Lysol in the mouth) and wiped it down with a roll of paper towels she'd also left in there.

I peed and washed my hands, then brushed my teeth and washed my face. Arrow had left a clean towel hanging out of one of the drawers so I grabbed it to dry off. The drawer came ajar a little and when I put the towel back, I saw something catch the light from inside. I pulled
open the drawer, which was bare except for a pair of black sunglasses.

I pulled them out and put them on without thinking.

They were too big for my face and kept sliding down the bridge of my nose. I opened the bathroom door, and Arrow recoiled in fear.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE THOSE?” she squealed, pointing at my face.

“I found them!” I said.

She catapulted herself across the room and ripped them from my face. She threw them in the bathroom sink and murdered them with Lysol. I watched the tiny, iridescent bubbles cling to the polarized lenses.

“Are you
insane
?” she asked. “You're going to get pink eye. And I was in the middle of my nightly meditations. I have to start over now. This is disgusting.”

“I thought they looked kind of cool.”

“You're probably going to get eye cancer now, and that is
not
cool.”

Arrow stomped back over to the bed. She had turned the TV off. She folded her legs carefully underneath her and resumed her meditation pose.

I ran the sunglasses under water and dried them off with a paper towel. When I put them back on, they were cool and smelled of disinfectant. I got my phone and took a picture in the mirror. I sent it to Louis.

He wrote back a few seconds later.

   
Where did you find those?

   
In my hotel! Cool, huh? Arrow cleaned them, don't worry.

   
What brand are they??

I checked the tiny name on the side and wrote back:

   
Maui Jim. Why?

   
No freaking way.

   
What?

   
Check the left lens. Is it chipped? Like a huge gouge near the top?

I turned the sunglasses over in my hands, and just like he said, there was a huge chip in one of the lenses.

   
How did you know that?

I texted him back:

   
They are? They're chipped?

   
Yeah, where you said they'd be.

   
I swear, those are my sunglasses. I swear. I just lost them today.

I put the sunglasses on the bathroom counter and looked at them, suddenly terrified, like they might do something. Louis had said, just a few days ago:
Do you ever feel like everything disappears?

I wrote back with numb, unsure fingers:

   
What does this mean? How did these get here?

   
I have no idea

Then he typed for a long time while I watched the screen and momentarily forgot how to breathe. He finally sent:

   
These things . . . It feels like we've found a way to cut a hole in the air and walk through an opening into a portal that leads someplace else. Like there are tears in reality and the things we lose aren't lost but transported to another world.

Well, this bathroom wasn't another world, but it might as well be. Los Angeles to Tennessee. It wasn't as far as you could get, but it also wasn't immediately explainable how Louis's sunglasses had ended up in my motel bathroom.

I wrote him back.

   
Are you sure?

   
So sure. Those are my freaking sunglasses. I don't even know.

   
Well, I'll bring them to you.

I put my phone down next to the sunglasses.

I stared at each inanimate object in turn, like one of them might do something interesting. Like one of them might disappear.

Neither moved.

I went to bed.

And when I woke up, they were still there.