Watchers

Some things were starting to make sense, but not all of them. I was still confused in a lot of ways. I was just one kid with a not-too-smart brain, so I couldn't be certain of much of anything. I really just wanted to talk to Adam. I wanted to let him know what I had found out, because maybe it would help him to understand more about his dad. But Adam was nowhere. Not the rest of the day after I'd talked to Dylan, and not the following morning either. Day four since he'd been missing came and went, and when day five came, the news was starting to say that the cops didn't have much hope of finding him alive. I stopped turning the TV on. I didn't care about what they had to say—I knew Adam was alive. His disappearance was the biggest story in Goldenrock since the time I'd been in fourth grade and some guy had shot his brother in the leg because he'd lost a game of pool. Goldenrock wasn't a very busy place, so when things happened, they were really, really talked about. Adam was in the paper and on every channel. People were still organizing search parties, and police in neighboring counties had been called and put on alert for the missing kid. One policeman even came to our house to interview me about what I knew (which was, of course, nothing).

I still didn't know how to feel about all of it. I was so angry at Adam for doing this to his mom and to me, but I was also getting very worried. That panic in me was getting bigger every day, and after what Dylan had told me, I was dying to find Adam and just talk to him. But that didn't seem like it was going to happen, so I did the next best thing. I decided to talk to his mom.

When I got to Adam's house, I saw cops on the front porch talking to each other. For half a minute, I was afraid they wouldn't let me inside. They did eye me suspiciously as I went toward them, but fortunately Mrs. Nyler was standing near the doorway and saw me. She came out onto the porch and before saying anything, hurried down the stairs and hugged me like I was Adam. It was really weird. Then she let go and held me at arm's length, saying, "It is so good to see you, Cole." I saw the dried evidence of crying on her cheeks. She looked the worst I'd ever seen her, even though she was still real pretty for a mom. "Come inside. Let's talk."

So in I went with her, and we sat on the sofa and she got me some lemonade. At first, I didn't know what to say, so she started off by telling me what the progress of the searches was. Really, there wasn't any progress, but she tried to act like there was. She asked me if I had any idea where Adam could've gone, and I had to tell her that I didn't. That was hard to do.

"Can I ask you something, Mrs. Nyler?" I said. She nodded with a forced smile. I had to think of exactly how to word what I wanted to say. I had to be careful not to say the wrong thing. "Why . . . why did Adam's dad leave?" I couldn't let her know that I knew things. Then she'd ask me too many questions.

Taking in a large breath, Mrs. Nyler looked sort of confused. "That's sort of an odd question," she said. I didn't say anything, hoping she'd answer me anyway. And she did. "It was quite a while ago," she went on in a flustered sort of way. "My husband was involved in a terrible car accident. Not even I knew much at the time. Somehow the whole thing was very covered up, and Adam's father wouldn't speak to me about it. There were three deaths, I remember, and he was the only one who lived. The papers said it was a bizarre glitch in the traffic signals. All I really know for certain is that Adam's father let it eat him up terribly, that he'd been the only survivor and his own dear friend had died. Within a month after the accident, he was gone."

Mrs. Nyler had her eyes on the coffee table. I swirled my lemonade around with my straw, not really wanting to drink it but knowing I should. "Adam didn't know that," I interjected.

She looked at me. She really missed Adam, I knew. She was so worried. It was obvious. "I never told him. I . . . at first because he was so young, and then because I kept telling myself it was too late and it would do no good to tell him. Now . . . I wish he'd known. It was only fair. He could get so angry about his father. If he'd known, he might not have felt so bitter toward him."