Page 72 of Turtles All the Way Down

"It's impossible for me not to worry, baby."

"I know, but it's also impossible not to feel the weight of that worry like a boulder on my chest."

"I'll try."

"Thanks, Mom. I love you."

"I love you, too. So much."

--

I scrolled through my endless TV options, none of them particularly compelling, until I heard Davis's knock--soft and unsteady--on the door.

"Hey," I said, and hugged him.

"Hey," he said. I motioned to the couch for him to sit down. "How've you been?"

"Listen," I said. "Davis, your dad. I know where the jogger's mouth is. It's the mouth of Pogue's Run, where the company had that unfinished project."

He winced, then nodded. "You're sure?"

"Pretty sure," I said. "I think he might be down there. Daisy and I were there last night, and . . ."

"Did you see him?"

I shook my head. "No. But the run's mouth, the jogger's mouth. It makes sense."

"It's just a note from his phone, though. You think he's just been down there this whole time? Hiding in a sewer?"

"Maybe," I said. "But . . . well, I don't know."

"But?"

"I don't want to worry you, but there was a bad smell. A really bad smell down there."

"That could've been anything," he said. But I could see the fear on his face.

"I know, yeah, totally, it could be anything."

"I never thought . . . I never let myself think--" And then his voice caught. The cry that finally came out of him felt like the sky ripping open. He sort of fell into me, and I held him on the couch. Felt his rib ca

ge heave. It wasn't only Noah who missed his father. "Oh God, he's dead, isn't he?"

"You don't know that," I said. But he kind of did. There was a reason there had been no trail and no communication: He'd been gone all along.

He lay down and I lay down with him, the two of us barely fitting on the musty couch. He kept saying what do I do, what do I do, his head on my shoulder. I wondered whether it was a mistake to tell him. What do I do? He asked it again and again, pleading.

"You keep going," I told him. "You've got seven years. No matter what actually happened, he'll be legally alive for seven years, and you'll have the house and everything. That's a long time to build a new life, Davis. Seven years ago, you and I hadn't even met, you know?"

"We've got nobody now," he mumbled. I wished I could tell him that he had me, that he could count on me, but he couldn't.

"You have your brother," I said.

That made him split open again, and we cuddled together for a long time, until Mom came home with the groceries. Davis and I both jumped to a seating position, even though we hadn't been doing anything.

"Sorry to interrupt," Mom said.

"I was just headed out," Davis said.