Page 23 of The Last Guy On Earth
Yeah. No.
I park in the overflow lot, feeling grumpy. After unloading the car, I hoof it past the playground with my arms full of groceries. I notice a boy sitting listlessly on a swing, but I don’t make eye contact. It’s a little odd to see a kid alone out here in the snow. And he isn’t wearing a coat. But he seems old enough to be on his own, and people get weird about strange men interacting with their kids, so I keep walking.
Suddenly, he calls out, “Hey mister!”
I stop as he jumps off the swing. “Yeah? Problem?”
“Can I use your phone? I need help.”
“Uh, probably. What’s the matter?”
He wanders closer, hands jammed in his pockets. “It’s like this,” he says, looking down at his Chuck Ts. “I snuck out of our new place, and now I don’t remember which building it is. They all lookexactlyalike. And my phone is dead. See?”
He pulls an iPhone out of his pocket, the screen black.
Oh heck. I take in his broody face, green eyes… and a hockey sweatshirt from Detroit. My neck prickles. “By any chance are you Jethro Hale’s kid?”
He gives me a startled glance. “Maybe. Who wants to know?”
I crack a smile because that’s such a Hale-style answer. So suspicious. “Your dad and I are friends. I’m Coach Powers.”
The kid’s eyes widen like saucers. “You?You’re the guy who’s ruining my life?Yougot him traded?”
“No!” I argue. But then I stop myself, because a good management team doesn’t ever admit to disagreements. I mean, this child probably won’t phone ESPN and tip them off to internal strife in the front office. Although given his expression, I can’t entirely rule it out. “It’s complicated,” I say lamely.
He glowers.
“But your dad and I have known each other a long time, and I’ll help you find him. That’s what friends do for each other.” I set down my groceries and pull out my phone.
His eyes narrow. “You seem kind of shady to me,” he says. “If you were such good friends, you’d probably know that Jethro’s not my dad.”
“Wait, what?” I look at him again and do a quick recalculation. So he’s Hale’s stepkid? But that’s pretty wild, because he looks like Hale, prickly personality and all.
“He’s myuncle,” the kid says crisply. Like I should already know this.
“Oh. So you’re Shelby’s son. How is Shelby doing?” I never met her, but Hale was always worried about his sister.
The kid’s face drops. “Well, she’s in jail, which is why I’m having my life ruined by you and Colorado.”
I gape at him. “God, I’m so sorry to hear that.” My mind is full of questions, and I’m rapidly revising my understanding of Jethro’s life. “Let’s, uh, find your uncle. You know his number?”
He rattles off a number with a 313 area code, and I dial. Unfortunately, it doesn’t connect. And my memory prickles with unease. “Does, uh, he use WhatsApp, by chance?”
“He didn’t answer?” the kid yelps.
“Um…” I don’t feel like explaining why the call won’t go through. “Maybe he’s showering or working out. I’ll try WhatsApp.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to take your call,” the kid muses. “Can I have that?” He reaches for my phone, opens WhatsApp and taps out a quick text.
Powers
I’ve kidnapped Toby. Send one million dollars and a family-sized package of Oreos.
“Um…”
“That will get his attention.” Toby rubs his hands together and then shoves them in the pocket of his sweatshirt. “He’s talking to the real estate lady with Grandpa. The place we’re getting here is empty. So we have to spend Christmas at ahotel.” He says the word like you’d saymaximum security prison.
“I’m so sorry. Here, put these on.” I pull a pair of gloves out of my pockets. “I’ve got another jacket in my car. Should we grab that?”
