Page 17 of The Five Year Lie

I stumble through saying good night to my mother and thanking Ray for entertaining Buzz with volcanoes. Then I usher Buzz down the driveway and into our little home.

Stepping through our door means walking right into the tinykitchen. It’s open to a cozy little living room that holds exactly one love seat and a single upholstered chair. Upstairs is more roomy, because the space extends above the garage.

But I don’t head up there now. I put the noodles down on the counter and reach into the cabinet for two plates.

“Not too much broccoli,” Buzz says.

“Okay,” I reply automatically, because my mind is still blown. On autopilot, I make a plate of food for Buzz, and a small plate for myself.

We sit down at the table, and I break a family rule and pull out my phone. When I googletext messages delivered five years late, a newly posted radio story comes up immediately. “I’m going to play the news for a minute, okay?”

Buzz nods and tries to twirl a lo mein noodle on his fork.

I pressplay, and the familiar host, with her light Maine accent, begins to report the story.

“More than thirty thousand cell phone customers in York and Cumberland counties received confusing texts yesterday morning after an excavator hit a defunct cell phone tower that’s been out of service nearly five years.

“Both of Maine’s largest mobile carriers disclaimed responsibility, blaming a third party tower vendor for the service failure. But nonetheless, both are investigating the outage. One Verizon analyst reports that all the erroneous texts seem to have been sent within the same one-hour window on the morning of August sixteenth, 2017.”

I drop my fork with a clatter, and Buzz looks up at me, confused.

With a tap, I halt the news story, which was almost finished anyway. Then I pick up my fork in an attempt to behave normally.

But it’s no use. I couldn’t eat another bite if I tried. August sixteenth is a date that I could never forget. It’s the morning my father died.

It’s also just a few hours after the last time Drew spoke to me. Or so I thought.

There’s trouble. I need to see you.

It’s not a prank. Drew wrote that wild, urgent text.

He wanted me to meet him. But I didn’t show up.

What the hell happened that day? I have no idea.

And I’m terrified that I never will.

6

Our bedtime ritual seems to last forever.

After the usual pajama and teeth parade, I get into Buzz’s bed with him to read. I campaign for a couple chapters ofThe Tale of Despereaux, but he has other plans.

“Too scary. How ’bout Frog and Toad? The one with the cookies.”

“Sure,” I agree, even though I’ve read this book a thousand times already. Larri gave it to us for Buzz’s third birthday, and he took to it like a fruit fly on a bunch of overripe bananas. Occasionally I “lose” this book on a high shelf just to give myself a break.

Now I get the book and flip to the cookie story, where Frog and Toad will inevitably work out their problems before anything gets too dire. Buzz likes that.

“Buzz is not a risk-taker,” Ray said once. When I bristled, my uncle just smiled. “When he learns to drive someday, you’ll be happy about it.”

Two stories later, I hug Buzz good night. His hair tickles my face as I kiss his soft cheek. “Good night, baby.”

“I’m not a baby,” he says. But then he grins, because this is our little routine.

“But you’ll always bemybaby,” I point out. That’s my punch line.

I shut out the light, and then I sit there on the edge of the bed for a lingering moment. I stroke Buzz’s hair and tell him that I’ll see him in the morning.