I called your line too many times.

—Plushgun

MARCH 8—THREE MONTHS EARLIER

I headed back inside the house, pocketing my cell phone. My mother wasn’t in the kitchen, but I could hear her in the family room, talking on the phone, her words clipped and anxious. “Charlie,” I muttered, hating that my brother was doing this to us.

I took the stairs two at a time up to his room and opened the door, and the strong scent of Glade Plug-Ins hit me. I always thought it might have raised my parents’ suspicions that Charlie’s room consistently smelled like potpourri, but they had never seemed to think anything of it. Or if they had, it was like they didn’t want to deal with it, so they never said anything.

Charlie hadn’t appeared in his room, and it looked just like it always did. His posters of James Blake and Maria Sharapova were tacked to the walls, and the bed, never made, was rumpled as usual. Charlie told me that he’d discovered if you never made your bed, it was harder for people to tell if you’d slept in it the night before. I closed the door and checked my phone again. Charlie was usually good at covering his tracks; it was how he’d been able to get away with things for so long.

I thought back to the conversation I’d had with him on our porch six months ago, my failed attempt at an intervention. When I’d threatened to tell Mom and Dad, I’d also threatened to stop covering for him. But I hadn’t done either, just like he’d said I wouldn’t, and here I was ready to try to fix the situation, if only he would give me some information. I sent him a text—WHERE ARE YOU???—and waited, staring down at my phone. But I didn’t get a reply.

I headed back downstairs and heard my parents’ voices in the kitchen. I sat on the bottom step, partially hidden but able to hear what was being said.

“Who else should we call?” my mother asked, and I could hear the raw worry in her voice. I couldn’t help thinking that if it had been me who had disappeared, she wouldn’t be worried. She’d be furious. But then, Charlie always had been her favorite.

“Maybe we should just hold tight,” said my father. “I mean, he’s sure to turn up….”

The kitchen phone rang, and I stood up and stepped into the kitchen, leaning back against the counter. My father smiled at me when he saw me, but I could see how stressed he was. The whistling figure pushing the lawn mower was gone.

“Hello,” my mother said, grabbing the kitchen phone. Her expression changed as she listened to what was being said on the other end. Genuine fear was now mixed in with the worry. “I don’t understand,” she said. “He’s where?”

I hadn’t been able to sleep. We’d checked into a hotel when it became clear that Roger was hitting his wall. He’d gone right to sleep, but I’d spent three hours lying awake, looking at the space between Roger’s bed and my own, watching the clock. Roger was sleeping peacefully, and as I saw his back rise and fall, I envied him that sense of peace. I had taken my cell phone out and placed it next to me on the bed, and every time I opened it, I saw my voice mail icon illuminated. My sense of dread was growing. I knew I’d have to call my mother soon—in theory, we were supposed to be heading in from Ohio and getting to Connecticut that afternoon. We were not supposed to be in Missouri and heading for Kentucky. We were not supposed to be in a different time zone. When six a.m. rolled around, I gave up on the idea of sleep entirely. I grabbed the purple plastic room key card and my phone and headed out to the hallway, closing the door slowly behind me so it wouldn’t slam and wake Roger.

I walked to the end of the hallway, where a large window overlooked the highway. Then I took a deep breath and pressed the speed dial for my mother’s cell phone.

She answered on the second ring, sounding much more awake than I would have imagined she’d be at seven in the morning, her time. “Amy?” she asked. “Is that you?”

“Hi, Mom,” I said.

“Hi, honey,” she said. I felt myself blinking back tears, just hearing her voice. I knew that this was why I had avoided talking to her for as long as possible. Because I was feeling so many things right now, I wasn’t even sure how to process them all. It was like I was in overload. It felt so good to hear her voice, but a second later I was furious, and I wasn’t even sure exactly why.

“I’m so glad you called. I have to say, Amy,” she said, and the sharpness was coming back into her tone, what Charlie called her “professor voice,” even though she had hardly ever used it on him, “I’ve been very disappointed with how out of touch you’ve been during this whole process. I feel like I’ve barely heard from you, I hardly ever know where you are—”

“We’re in Missouri,” I interrupted her, which was something I almost never did, since I always knew her next words would be, Don’t interrupt me, Amy.

“Don’t interrupt me, Amy,” my mother said. “It’s just incredibly irresponsible, and—did you say Missouri?”

“Yes,” I said. I felt my heart hammering again, the same feeling that I always used to get whenever I knew I was going to get in trouble.

“What,” said my mother, her voice low and steady, always a bad sign, “on earth are you doing in Missouri?”

“Just listen for a second, okay?” I asked, swallowing and trying to get my bearings.

“Am I stopping you?”

“No. Okay.” I held the phone away from my ear for a moment and looked out on the highway. I thought I could see a little tiny ribbon of light creeping up on the horizon, bringing the dawn. But it might have just been brake lights. “So Roger and I,” I said, trying not to think about how mad my mother was probably growing on the other end of the phone, “we decided to take a little bit of a scenic route. We’re fine, I promise, he’s driving safely and we’re stopping whenever he gets tired.” There was silence on the other end of the phone. “Mom?” I asked tentatively.

“Did you just say,” she asked, sounding more incredulous than angry, “that you’re taking the scenic route?”

“Yes,” I said, swallowing. “But I promise we’ll be there before too long. We’re just—”

“What you will do,” she said, the anger now back in her voice, full force, “is get in the car and drive straight to Connecticut. I will put Roger on a train to Philadelphia, and then you and I will discuss your consequences.”