Could I give that up? Were the Rushers right, that I should focus on the fate of my soul, not that of a little white ball? Or was I just scared of letting down the team?“Cooper! Quit daydreaming and get your ass to the plate.”

I gave Coach Kopecki a thumbs-up, then tapped the handle end of the bat against the ground to loosen the iron doughnut around it. The doughnut clinked when it hit the dirt, another sound I’d leave behind.

I stepped to the plate, touched the end of the bat against the far side of the white pentagon, took a practice swing, then set into my stance. Brendan Rhees stared down at me from the mound. A look of understanding passed between us.

What the pitcher wants most is nothing. If your opponents never leave home plate, it’s called a perfect game. The batter’s job is to ruin that dream of perfection, that fantasy of nothing.

I offered my decision up to God: If I hit this ball, I’ll stay on the team. If I strike out, I’ll quit.


I got walked, and decided on my own to stay.

I was feeling particularly brave the night after baseball tryouts as I helped prepare dinner, despite the fact that my mother was armed with a knife and I had nothing but a potato masher.“Mom, what if the Rush doesn’t happen?”

She stopped midchop, the blade of the knife poised above the pile of green beans. Her eyes went in and out of focus a few times, like she was trying to see through the countertop into the cabinets below. Maybe she was hoping I’d change the subject or prompt her impatiently so she could snap at me.But I didn’t. I simply mashed and waited.

Finally she let the blade fall, slicing off the ends of the beans. “I don’t know.”


It seemed like an honest answer. “You haven’t thought about it?”


“Thinking about it would be a sign of faithlessness. Please don’t let your father hear that kind of talk. The Lord will come for us all.”


“But what if He doesn’t? Or if He does come but not on May eleventh at three a.m.?” I hurried to add, to avoid a larger discussion about the Rapture. “What if He’s not coming for another year or decade or millennium? What’ll you and Dad and Sophia do on May twelfth?”


Mom sighed, then lifted her eyes and watched Tod strut into the sunroom toward Juno. She was grooming herself near the back door, pausing to look out its full-length window at the squirrels. The tiny older cat chirped at the sight of her giant offspring and proceeded to wash his face. Tod raised his paw half-playful, half-threatening. She streaked into the kitchen in territorial surrender.


“Don’t worry, David.” Mom wiped the knife clean. “Everything is taken care of.”


What could I say to that? I rapped the masher on the side of the pot to loosen the bits of potatoes, trying to figure out how to reopen the conversation. Couldn’t she tell her vagueness was freaking me out? “Taken care of ” could mean anything, especially considering the gun I’d found in Dad’s desk.


Suicide . . . murder . . . murder-suicide?


I vowed I’d give Mom and Dad an ultimatum at dinner that night: You have to get serious psychiatric help, or else.


Or else what? I didn’t know. I only knew that their lives could be at stake. The idea of the Rush brought them so much hope for the future, the moment it was stolen from them, they’d be filled with despair.


We sat at the table, where Mom said a quiet grace, then passed the dishes of potatoes, chicken, green beans, and bread. There was no sound but the clink of silverware against plates, and murmured thanks for passing the whatever, and the slight slurp of beverages. I waited for the right moment, but the silence stretched on, until it seemed unbreakable.


Mara was absorbed in eating. Her green beans stayed untouched until the end of the meal, when she buttered a piece of bread, folded the beans inside, and ate it. Then she glared at me as if to say, I dare you to make fun of my bean-and-butter sandwich.


Normally I didn’t mind our silent meals. For years now, the less we spoke, the better. When I was on my graffiti rage kick, I’d had so many lies to keep straight—about where I’d been, who I’d seen, what I’d been doing. Then once Mom and Dad got superreligious, we couldn’t bring up heavy issues without arguing. It was easier to shut up and eat or make small talk about sports or the weather.


Ah, sports. My entry.


“If the Rush comes, do you think there’ll still be Stanley Cup playoffs?”


“You mean when the Rush comes,” Mom said. “And the answer is, it depends how quickly society deteriorates.”


“For when they are saying, ‘Peace and safety,’” Dad proclaimed, “then sudden destruction will come on them, like birth pains on a pregnant woman; and they will in no way escape.”


Mara snorted. Mom and Dad stared at her. She lowered her eyes and made another bean-and-butter sandwich.


“Either way,” I said, “if I’m still around, I’d like to see it. The Flyers have a good chance this year.”


Mom gave me an indulgent smile. “Where we’re going, there’ll be no TVs, but you’ll be able to watch. You’ll have a front-row seat for everything from the Stanley Cup to Armageddon.”


“I’m setting up a popcorn stand,” Mara said. “I’ll make millions.”


“Go to your room,” Mom snapped at her.


My sister’s eyes went wide with what looked like remorse. “But I wasn’t—”


“Now. Leave your sandwich.”


Mara slid back her chair and left without a word. Great, now I’d have to do dishes, too.


While my parents went back to eating, I drew tracks in my mashed potatoes with the tips of my fork tines, horizontal, vertical, diagonal, diagonal the other way.


I’m worried about you guys. I’m worried about Mara. I’m worried about me.


“Dad, can I come with you on your next fishing trip?”


My father went still, a bite of chicken halfway to his mouth. I kept my eyes on him and didn’t look at my mom. Neither did he.


He set down his fork. “By the breath of God, ice is given, and the width of the waters is frozen.”


He’d used this quote from Job before, when discussing the weather.


“I know, but I was thinking we could go south, where it’s not so cold. Unless you’re into ice fishing now.” I attempted a laugh, which was not echoed at the table.


“My lord knows that the children are tender, and that the flocks and herds with me have their young, and if they overdrive them one day, all the flocks will die.”


That sounded like a no.


I still have nightmares about the day he died. Do you, Dad?


“I’ve just noticed that you’re in such a good mood when you come back from these trips. Mom seems happy then too.” Do you still miss John? Do you feel anything at all? “I figured I could use an early spring break.”


“A break from what, exactly?” Mom asked. “Hanging out with your girlfriend? Playing baseball? Your weekly paper route? Life’s tough for you, isn’t it?” Her tone was only slightly less bitter than her words. “So much responsibility for one so young.”


I shut up, shut down. Finished my potatoes. Asked to be excused. Cleared my plate and Mara’s.


When Mom and Dad weren’t looking, I put Mara’s abandoned bean-and-butter sandwich on a clean saucer and took it upstairs. I set it on the floor outside her door, knocked twice, then went to my room.


As my door shut, hers opened. “What do you w—oh.” I heard a short pause, then my sister’s voice. “Thanks.”

CHAPTER 21

NOW

Mara grabs my arm before I can leave John’s room. “What are you talking about?”

“Remember when we left my phone in Dad’s car and he drove to upstate New York with it?”


Mara gasps. “Do you still have the coordinates?”


“They’re in a notebook. You guys stay here.”


I run into my room, which fell into such a state of chaos during

the past few weeks that I’m embarrassed for Bailey to see it. It’s probably a good thing I didn’t drag her to my bed a few minutes ago. (Well, maybe not a good thing.)

Last semester’s notebooks are piled in my desk drawer. I grab the one for English composition class and dash back to John’s room, flipping to the dog-eared page from November. “Got it!”

“Mara just explained how you did this.” Bailey takes the notebook and slaps the page. “So you guys knew your dad was traveling to this place in upstate New York, and it’s just now occurring to you that that’s where they are?”

Mara snatches the notebook from her. “Hey, when your parents disappear into thin air, let’s see how clearly you think.”


Bailey crosses her arms, chastened. “Good point.”


Mara turns back to me. “We can’t just drive up there without knowing what we’re getting into. We need more information than just a set of GPS coordinates.”


“True.” I sit on John’s bed to think. “We should go through every inch of Dad’s office and their bedroom.”


“I don’t know, guys.” Bailey sits beside me. “If your parents didn’t want to be found, wouldn’t they be careful not to leave any clues?”


“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t look.” Mara holds up her phone. “After all, Mom texted me. If Dad left his phone here, she was probably told to leave hers, too. If she disobeyed that order, she might disobey others.”


“Like an order to leave no evidence,” I finish.


“I guess.” Bailey unties her loose braid, which came partyl undone while we were rolling around on the floor a few minutes ago. “Except, she disobeyed at the last second, when you guys weren’t with her. Maybe she sensed something was wrong with the escape. But when she was destroying evidence, she was thinking you guys would be going. She’d want to protect you by following all of Sophia’s rules.”


“Ugh, you’re probably right.” Mara stares at her phone. “Maybe she’ll send another text.”


“Either way, we still need to search their stuff.” I usher the girls out ahead of me, then reach back to close John’s door.


Something makes me stop and open the door wider. When I walk away, his room is open, letting out the light.

I splurge on delivery pizza for me and Bailey and Mara, figuring we don’t have time to cook, and because our parents aren’t there to tell me not to have pizza two nights in a row.

We eat while we work in Dad’s office, no longer being careful to put everything back in its place. Juno and Tod wander in and out, thrilled to explore previously forbidden territory.

“Stop chewing that.” Mara tugs the corner of a credit card statement from Tod’s mouth. He bats at it as she pulls it away. “That reminds me, David, just as Kane was leaving, the pet sitter showed up. She said Mom hired her to come once a day for the next two weeks, then wait for further instructions.”

“I wonder what’s at the end of two weeks.” I watch Juno pounce on a dust bunny, then dance around it on her hind legs. Bailey gives an adorable laugh at the spectacle.

“Maybe the cats would be put up for adoption?” Mara suggests. “Anyway, I had to think fast. I told the pet sitter our ‘trip’ was canceled, so we wouldn’t be needing her after all. I also gave her twenty-five bucks for her trouble so she wouldn’t bitch to her friends about us canceling last minute. The fewer people who know something’s wrong at this house, the better.”“Good thinking.”

Dad’s office provides no more answers, and Mom still hasn’t sent another text, so after our late lunch, we move on to their master bedroom. Mara assigns herself Mom’s dresser, I take my dad’s, and Bailey heads for the nightstands.

“Just warning you.” She kneels next to my father’s side of the bed. “This is where my parents keep their fun stuff.”


“Fun stuff?” I ask her.


“You know, books like the Kama Sutra. Various oils. Toys.”


Mara puts her hands to her cheeks in horror.


Sweet baby Jesus, please let my parents’ nightstands be free of oils, toys, and the Kama Sutra. I will never, ever ask another favor as long as I live.