They both turned. Myron’s mother was there. Tears were on her cheeks. A tissue was balled up in her hand. She dabbed at her eyes. “I want to know what’s going on.”

“With what?”

“Don’t start that with me,” she said in a voice only a mother can use on her son. “You and Mickey get into a fight—then suddenly he’s going to live with us. Where are his parents? I want to know what’s going on. All of it. Right now.”

So Myron told her. She listened, shaking, crying. He spared her nothing. He told her about Kitty in rehab and even about Brad vanishing. When he finished, Mom moved closer to them both. She turned first to Mickey, who met her eye. She took his hand.

“It’s not your fault,” she said to him. “Do you hear me?”

Mickey nodded, his eyes closing.

“Your grandfather would never blame you. I don’t blame you. With the amount of blockage he had, you may have inadvertently saved his life. And you”—she turned toward Myron—“stop moping and get out of here. I’ll call you if something changes.”

“I can’t leave here.”

“Of course you can.”

“Suppose Dad wakes up.”

She moved closer to him, craning her neck to look up at him. “Your father told you to find your brother. I don’t care how sick he is. You do what he says.”

Chapter 27

27

So now what?

Myron pulled Mickey aside. “I noticed a laptop in your trailer. How long have you owned it?”

“Two years maybe. Why?”

“Is it the only computer you guys had?”

“Yes. And again I’m asking, why?”

“If your father used it, maybe there’s something on it.”

“Dad wasn’t much with technology.”

“I know he had an e-mail address. He used to write your grandparents, right?”

Mickey shrugged. “I guess so.”

“Do you know his password?”

“No.”

“Okay, what else of his do you still have?”

The kid blinked. He bit down on his lower lip. Again Myron reminded himself of where Mickey’s life was right now: father missing, mother in rehab, grandfather suffering a heart attack, and maybe you’re to blame. And you’re all of fifteen years old. Myron started to reach out, but Mickey stiffened.

“We don’t have anything.”

“Okay.”

“We don’t believe in having a lot of possessions,” Mickey said defensively. “We travel a lot. We pack light. What would we have?”

Myron put his hands up. “Okay, I’m just asking.”

“Dad said not to look for him.”

“That was a long time ago, Mickey.”

He shook his head. “You should leave it alone.”

No need or time to explain himself to a fifteen-year-old. “Will you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“I need you to take care of your grandmother for a few hours, okay?”