I drove slowly out of the parking lot.
The Buick disappeared behind us.
I kept checking the rearview mirror.
Finn and Owen were sitting beside each other.
The red sleeping bag rested between them.
Neither boy seemed ready to talk.
I didn't force them.
I had already heard enough to know that they needed some quiet.
At the first stoplight, I looked back.
"Would either of you like something to eat?"
Finn shook his head.
Owen did too.
"All right. We'll get something when we get home."
Owen looked toward the window.
I wondered what he was thinking.
Perhaps he was worried about Wade.
Perhaps he was worried about his mother.
Perhaps he was simply exhausted.
I couldn't know.
I kept my attention on the road.
After a minute, Finn spoke.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"Can Owen come home with us?"
I looked at him in the mirror.
"We'll make sure he's somewhere safe."
He nodded.
Owen turned toward Finn.
"Your mom doesn't have to."
Finn shook his head.
"She said we could."
I listened without interrupting.
It was clear that the boys had become accustomed to asking permission for things that should never have been difficult.
Where could they sleep?
Where could they go?
Were they allowed to be together?
Even now, Owen seemed unsure whether he was welcome.
I spoke gently.
"You don't have to worry about that right now, Owen."
He looked at me.
"You can stay with us while the grown-ups work out what's happening."
He nodded.
I reached the house a few minutes later.
When I parked, Finn climbed out first.
Owen followed.
I carried the red sleeping bag inside.
Finn picked up the blue one.
The two bags passed through the same doorway that had seemed so ordinary when Finn entered it earlier.
This time, there were two boys.
I set the sleeping bags beside the kitchen table.
The orange parking notice was still lying where I'd left it.
Finn noticed it.
He looked at Owen.
"That's the one."
Owen nodded.
I picked it up and placed it on the counter.
Then I turned toward the boys.
"Both of you can sit down."
They did.
I brought them something to drink.
Finn drank quickly.
Owen held his glass without taking a sip.
I sat opposite them.
"Your mother knows where you are now, Owen."
He nodded.
"She knows you're with us."
He looked down.
"Is she mad?"
I shook my head.
"She's worried about you."
He didn't answer.
I understood that he might not believe me immediately.
I couldn't expect him to.
I looked at Finn.
"You did a good thing by coming home and telling me."
Finn stared at his glass.
"I didn't want to leave him."
"I know."
"He said I could go."
I nodded.
"That's what you told me."
"But I stayed."
Owen looked at him.
"You didn't have to."
Finn shrugged.
"I know."
I watched them.
There was no need for either boy to defend himself.
They had done what children often did when the adults around them failed to make things clear.
They had tried to manage the situation themselves.
I wished I had known sooner.
I wished I had asked more questions.
I wished I had noticed that Finn sometimes looked more tired on Sunday mornings.
But looking back, I knew I hadn't even considered those things unusual.
I had assumed he was staying up late.
I had assumed he was playing games.
I had assumed he was enjoying himself.
That word, assumed, was difficult to look at now.
I went to the counter and picked up the phone.
I wanted to speak with Beth again.
Before I called, I looked at Owen.
"Would you like to talk to your mom?"
He nodded.
I dialed her number.
She answered quickly.
"April?"
"We're home."
"Is Owen with you?"
"Yes."
I handed the phone to him.
He held it carefully.
"Hi, Mom."
Beth spoke softly.
I couldn't hear every word, but I could hear her voice.
She asked whether he was comfortable.
Whether he was hungry.
Whether he was tired.
Owen gave short answers.
Then she asked whether he was frightened.
He looked at the table.
"No."
He paused.
"Not now."
I turned away.
I didn't want him to feel watched.
When he finished, he handed the phone back.
Beth spoke to me again.
"April, I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything right now."
"I believed they were at your house."
"I know."
"I thought Finn was with Owen."
"That's what I believed too."
She was quiet.
Then she asked how long Finn thought this had been happening.
"About eight weekends."
I heard her breathe in sharply.
"Eight?"
"That's what he told me."
I looked at the sleeping bags.
Beth began speaking again.
"I work Friday and Saturday nights. Wade always told me the boys were together."
I didn't interrupt.
"He said they were having fun. He said Owen was looking forward to seeing Finn."
I closed my eyes briefly.
"Finn was with him."
"But not where I thought."
"No."
There was another silence.
Then Beth said:
"I don't understand why he would tell us that."
Neither did I.
I wanted to ask her what Wade had said on previous weekends.
I wanted to know whether he had ever given her details about our supposed arrangements.
But I didn't want to turn the call into a long interrogation.
The immediate thing was clear.
Both boys needed to be safe.
And both mothers needed to understand what had happened.
"Beth, I think we need to talk in person."
"Yes."
"Can you come here when you're able?"
She hesitated.
"I'm still at the hospital."
"I understand."
"I'll arrange to leave as soon as I can."
"All right."
She asked to speak to Owen once more.
I handed him the phone.
He listened.
Then he said he loved her.
After the call ended, he placed the phone on the table.
I watched him.
He looked tired.
Not just physically.
He looked like a child who had spent too much time wondering what an adult might do next.
I brought out some food.
This time, both boys ate a little.
Finn talked quietly about the sleeping bags.
He explained that they had taken them from the garage before Wade drove them to Walmart.
Owen listened.
He didn't add much.
I didn't ask for more.
The details could wait.
I was no longer interested in making the boys repeat every uncomfortable moment just so I could understand the entire sequence.
I needed to know enough to protect them.
And I needed the truth from the adults.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: The Red Sleeping Bag Stayed Beside My Kitchen Table, While Every Explanation I Had Trusted Began to Fall Apart
My Son Walked Through the Kitchen Door Before Sunrise, Carrying Something That Made Me Question Every Weekend I Thought I Understood
Part 6 of 8
