Take Me With You Page 15

  “I know,” Seth said.

  “Just be prepared for that.”

  “I am,” Seth said.

  Henry said nothing at all.

  Chapter Two:

  STAY FOUND

  The meeting place consisted of a long silver travel trailer, maybe thirty feet, parked on a dirt lot. There were only four cars parked. Well. Two cars and two pickup trucks.

  August and Seth crossed the lot together in the light dusk, the toes of their shoes scuffing in the reddish dirt. A thin, buff-colored dog wiggled out to greet them, his friendliness tentative and nearly excruciating. His tail beat a rhythm between his hind legs. Seth bent down to pet him, and the dog gazed up into the boy’s face as if he had never been so in love.

  August looked over his shoulder to see Woody wagging and rearing at the back door of the motor home. Clearly jealous. August didn’t mention it, because he didn’t want Seth to feel guilty. But a moment later Woody began to whine and scratch at the door.

  “We should go in,” August said, placing one hand on Seth’s shoulder. “Before Henry wakes up.”

  “Why would Henry wake up?”

  “Never mind. Let’s just go in.”

  They walked two steps together, then Seth planted his feet in a dead halt.

  “I’m worried, August,” he said.

  “About what?”

  “You said this is the Navajo Nation.”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “I just . . .” But he never said just what.

  “Look. Seth. It’s normal to be afraid of what you don’t know, but—”

  “No, it’s not that, August. I’ll like ’em fine, I know I will. It’s more whether they’ll like me. It’s just that . . . this is their country. Sort of. This reservation. It’s their land. What if they don’t want us here?”

  “It’s an AA meeting, Seth. That crosses all kinds of boundaries. Tell you what. Let’s go meet them and see if we’re welcome. I’d be willing to bet money we will be.”

  “Okay,” Seth said.

  And they walked again. Seth hung back slightly as August held the trailer door wide. Inside were two Native American men—one in his fifties, the other quite old—a Caucasian man, and an older Native woman.

  “Evening,” August said when they all turned to look.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” the younger Native man said. “Visitors.”

  “Is that okay?” August asked, infected with a tiny bit of Seth’s issue, the worry over not being welcome.

  “Okay? It’s great. Only happens every once or twice a year. Rest of the time it’s just us. C’mon in. Who’s your friend here?”

  “I’m August,” he said, stepping in. He reached back and took Seth gently by the shoulder, pulling him inside. “This is my friend Seth.”

  “I’m Emory,” the fiftysomething Native man said. “This is Jack and Dora. And this is my father, Kenneth. You both here for an AA meeting?”

  “Seth’s not an alcoholic,” August said. “But he’s interested in meetings, because his father drinks. I couldn’t see online if this was an open meeting or not, and nobody at the AA info line could tell me.”

  The old man, Kenneth, pulled at his wrinkled chin. “Now, let’s see. Never had to decide that, because we all are, and so it never came up. What say we take a real fast group conscience? All in favor of Seth at our meeting?”

  All four members raised one hand without hesitation.

  “Done.”

  August looked down at Seth, who looked relieved.

  “See? Told you we’d be welcome.”

  “Did he think we’d keep him out because he’s not an alcoholic?” Dora asked.

  August was about to answer when Seth beat him to it. “No, ma’am,” he said. “I just thought . . . I mean, this is your country. August told me this is a sovereign nation. So I thought maybe we had no right to come here. Well. I guess we can drive down the road. But I wasn’t sure if you’d want us to stop for a visit.”

  “The US is a sovereign nation,” the white man, Jack, said. “Right?”

  “Guess so,” Seth said. “Yeah.”

  “You mind when people from other countries come for a visit?”

  “Oh,” Seth said. “Yeah. I get your point. Okay, good. Because August said he really needs a meeting. And I got some stuff to get off my chest, too.”

  “Most of the time he’s a pretty good dad,” Seth said. August noticed Seth’s hands were shaking. “And even when he drinks. He’s not mean. He doesn’t hit us. Once he swatted Henry on his . . . you know . . . behind. But that’s the worst he ever hit us. And during the day he talks to us, and he makes sure we eat. But then when he gets off working at seven or eight, he just disappears. Sometimes he comes in real late, drunk. Never makes any trouble for us or anything. Just goes to bed. But lots of times he doesn’t come home at all. Now it’s not so bad. Because I’m twelve. You know. Big enough to babysit. But when I was seven and Henry was two, it was scary. You know. When he didn’t come home at all.”

  Seth’s words dried up briefly. He looked around at the faces. Licked his lips. The group waited in rapt attention. Trusted him to continue.

  “Before that it was okay because our mom was there. That’s when she left. When I was seven and Henry was two. I still don’t know why. My dad would never tell us. I don’t know if she had some other guy or if there was something she wanted real bad to do with her life. I just know there was something, and it was more important than us. So . . .”

  He froze again for a long time. August could see something moving and changing in Seth’s face and in his eyes.

  “That’s what I should tell him! I just figured out what I should tell him when we do our intervention. That when your mom leaves because you’re not important enough to stay for, you need your dad to stick around. And I know he’ll say he did. That he stays with us every day and takes care of us. But every night he leaves us alone, because the drinking is more important. Yeah. So it’s not my imagination. Your kids are supposed to be the most important thing. But we had to go to a child services group home thing because he put drinking first, which . . . I guess I can see he didn’t know that would happen. But then . . . even then he didn’t stop. He didn’t stop drinking, and he didn’t stop driving after he drinks. So it’s just like what Mom did. He was supposed to put us first but he didn’t. And it makes us feel terrible. And I think that’s what I should tell him when we have our intervention.”

  Seth looked around again at the faces. Every head nodded. August could feel himself nod. Even though you were supposed to just listen when someone was sharing. But it was impossible not to nod.

  “I’m scared about that,” Seth said. “Not even that he won’t stop drinking. I mean, that’s no worse than what we’ve already got. It’s . . . wait. I don’t know what it is. Or do I? I feel like I’m about to say what it is even though I don’t even know, and then it’ll be like I’ll hear it from myself for the first time. Or maybe I do know. Yeah. I’m scared because if he doesn’t quit drinking it’ll be my fault. Because the only thing that could help is if I tell him how his drinking makes me feel, and I’m really good, and the words are just right. And maybe I won’t be good, and then it’ll be my fault it doesn’t work.”

  Seth stalled again. August could hear the boy’s breathing from a couple of feet away. As though this had been a hard physical slog. Not just a hard emotional one.

  “I wish we could just stay with August,” Seth said. It seemed to burst out of him all at once. Then he glanced around as if trying to identify where the words had come from. “Did I just say that out loud? Why did I say that? I never should have. I’m sorry. He’s my dad. I love him. It’s not that I don’t love him. I really do. And I know I need to stick with him and try to help him. And I’d miss him. I know I would. I’d miss him and I’d miss home. I don’t even really know why I said that. Well . . . yeah, I sort of do. It’s just different with August. Not like he’s perfect. But like you know what’s going to happen
next, and it makes sense. And even when it doesn’t work like that, I can just say so to him . . . and then we talk about it and then things make sense again. I talk to my dad all the time but nothing ever changes. It’s like everything I say just sort of bounces off him. But when August and I talk, stuff actually gets worked out. And it’s such a relief.”

  Seth paused again. August stole a glance at his watch. It was 9:32. Seth was talking over the end of the meeting. No one seemed about to stop him.

  “But I know I have to go back,” Seth said. “I’m sorry for everything I said. Maybe I shouldn’t have shared at all. I’m done now.”

  “I’m Emory and I’m an alcoholic,” Emory said.

  The group said, “Hi, Emory.” Including Seth.

  “I’m going to bend a rule and tell you something straight, son. We’re not supposed to cross-talk. And that’s not just interrupting someone. It’s speaking right to their situation. We’re supposed to stick to our own story in meetings, but I’m going to push that rule some. Son, don’t you ever be sorry for saying what’s really true, especially not in a room like this that’s just made for that. The way you feel is the way you feel, and no matter how much you think you should feel some other way, you can’t change that. There’s some things in this life you can change and some you can’t. I’m sure August tells you the same thing. Here’s what you do when the time comes to talk to your dad. Here’s what I do. I say to my creator, ‘I’m about to open my mouth here. And, historically, that’s been a dicey thing, as we both know. So some help is in order. So let me know what you want me to say to this person in this situation. Say it through me.’ So that’s my advice to you where your dad is concerned. Whatever you believe in, whatever you can pray to in this big world, say to it, ‘What would you have me say to my father?’ If you do that, the words’ll be right. And if the words are right, you did what you could. If he doesn’t shape up after that, it’s none of your doing. That’s out of your control, and don’t take it on yourself.”

  He paused for a big breath, and as he did, Dora spoke up. “Emory. We’re over time.”

  “I know it,” Emory said. “I know we are. But that felt important.”

  Chair legs squeaked over tired old linoleum as each member pushed his or her chair back away from the table and stood. They formed a tight circle around the table and took each other’s hands. August held the hand of Seth and Dora, and Seth held hands with August and Emory.

  They recited the serenity prayer together. August was surprised to hear that Seth knew it by heart. After all, it was only his second meeting. Then they broke the circle for the night.

  “Glad you came,” Emory said, clapping August on the shoulder. “Come visit us again if you’re ever driving through.”

  “That could happen,” August said.

  “I like that boy,” Emory said, pointing with his chin to Seth, who was outside the open trailer door petting the sweet buff-colored dog.

  “I like him, too,” August said. “He deserves better.”

  “It’s his path.”

  “You sound just like my sponsor.”

  “How long has your sponsor been sober?”

  “Twenty-two years.”

  “I been sober thirty-six. Thirty-six years. I’m not saying I know it all. In one way, we’ve all just got the time since we got up this morning. But I’ve seen a lot of people walk a lot of roads. Some not so happy. And it makes them what they are. So if you run around putting a pillow under people to cushion their fall . . . well, I’m just not sure it’s quite the favor we think it is.”

  They stood quietly a moment, looking out the door at Seth and the dog. Then August’s eyes landed on the rig, parked in the distance. The dome light was on inside the cab. It took August’s tired brain a minute to figure out what that could mean. Only one thing, really. It meant one of the cab doors was standing open.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I have to go check on Henry.”

  He crossed the parking lot at a dead run. Seth called some question to him as he streaked by, but he couldn’t make it out and didn’t stop to clarify.

  All looked normal on the driver’s side, which was all he could see from that angle. He ran around the back of the rig. The passenger door was standing wide open. His mind cold and blank, August thrust his upper body into the rig.

  “Henry? Woody?”

  No Henry. No Woody. Henry and Woody were gone.

  Three white SUVs parked in the dirt surrounding the rig, each marked with the Navajo Nation Police insignia, their light bars spinning. August wished the lights would stop. The state of emergency it raised in his head and gut was making it hard to stay inside his own skin.

  One brown-uniformed officer examined August’s passenger door by flashlight for a long time. Too long. A ridiculous length of time. Or maybe it was only a few seconds and the ability to gauge time had completely abandoned August.

  “I’m not seeing any forced entry,” the officer said at last.

  “So you think he opened the door.”

  “You have an alarm system in this rig?”

  “I do, yes.”

  “Was it on?”

  “Yeah, anytime I lock up with the key it’s on.”

  “Then yeah, I think he opened the door. Was he upset? Any reason he would want to run away?”

  August exchanged a panicky glance with Seth, who he’d almost forgotten was standing near his right side. Seth returned the glance but said nothing.

  “Potentially. Yes. But I really can’t see him just walking off into that dark night by himself. No lights, no buildings, no place to hide. I can’t see him making a decision to bring that on himself. He’s kind of a jumpy little guy.”

  Seth tugged at his sleeve. Lightly. As if trying to get August’s attention while not existing at all. Both at the same time.

  “In a minute, Seth. So here’s another scenario we haven’t considered. Maybe he was taken by somebody who tricked him into opening the door.”

  The officer scratched his head. “Don’t really want to rule out anything at this point. But you were right in that trailer where they have the meetings, right?”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “Wouldn’t the dog have barked if a stranger came up to the rig?”

  “Oh. Yeah. Definitely. Well, that’s good, then. That’s good if nobody took him. I think. I guess. Except it means he’s out there by himself . . .”

  August fell silent for a moment, and in that slight pause a chorus of coyote howls split the air. Split August. Right down the same line in his chest where the pain always split him. It seemed unfair. The world was always conspiring to take advantage of that deep flaw in him.

  “You have coyotes out here?”

  “Oh yeah,” the officer said. As if it should have gone without saying. Which was possible.

  “How much of a danger are they to the boy?”

  The officer sighed deeply. “I’d worry more about the dog,” he said.

  August’s head swam, and he straightened his knees against the sense that they were melting.

  “I have a flashlight in the motor home,” August said. “Just tell me which way to go. Tell me which direction doesn’t already have police searching on it.”

  “Sir. I really think it’s best if you and your other boy just sit inside and wait.”

  The panic surged inside August at the idea that he would be stripped of all distractions that might help him outrun the panic.

  “Why shouldn’t we look? Isn’t more people looking better?”

  “Sir. No offense against you personally, but . . . if you don’t know this land . . . and you don’t . . . we got enough to do looking for your boy. We don’t want to have to call a search for the two of you as well. You just stay found for now, and let us see what we can do about the little one.”

  “August,” Seth hissed the minute they got inside the motor home.

  “What, Seth?”

  “Henry ran away from the county place. A bunch of times.”


  “Oh jeez, Seth. Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

  “I tried! I really did. But you told me to wait. And I wanted to whisper it to you. I didn’t want to just yell it out. I wasn’t sure what I should say in front of the cop. I didn’t know what to do, August. Don’t get mad at me. Please. When I’m scared and people get mad at me, I feel like I’m gonna explode or something. Fall apart.”

  August calmed his own panic with a deep sigh. Then he pulled Seth in for a hug. The boy remained tightly wound in his arms.

  “I didn’t mean to seem mad, Seth. I’m sorry. Nothing that happened tonight was your fault. This is all my fault.”

  “Isn’t it Henry’s fault?” Seth mumbled against August’s chest. “He’s the one who took off.”

  August tried the idea on, but it slid away again.

  “No. It’s my fault. Henry is seven. I’m in charge of taking care of him. I have to take responsibility for this. Let me just go tell the officer what you told me.”

  Seth pulled out of the hug. Awkwardly, it seemed. As though he wasn’t sure he knew how.

  August paused at the back door to be sure Woody wouldn’t push through the door with him. Then he remembered, and his heart sank. He tried to take back the numbness again. He was only partially successful. He climbed down, leaving the back door flapping wide open because there was no reason to close it.

  “Sir?” he called out, scuffing through the red dirt.

  The officer stood at the open door of his white SUV, talking on a two-way radio.

  “Yeah?”

  “Turns out I didn’t give you the best information. The boy has more of a history of running away than I knew.”

  “Okay.”

  “I just thought I should tell you.”

  “Okay.”

  “You know. So we know what we’re dealing with.”