Chapter 2 - What Went Into the Trash
A deputy was waiting when I reached the station.
So was an ambulance.
Seeing it nearly brought me to my knees.
Then Mateo spotted my car through the glass and ran toward the door. Earl reached it first, opening it carefully, and my son hit my arms so hard I stumbled.
“I’m sorry,” he kept saying.
I held the back of his head.
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
He smelled like chocolate, dust, and the unfamiliar laundry detergent from someone’s sweatshirt.
Earl had loaned it to him.
A paramedic explained that they had assessed his breathing and treated him according to their findings. He was doing better, but they recommended further evaluation.
I nodded through the familiar words, grateful somebody else could be the clinician while I was simply his mother.
His Dodgers hat was missing.
So was the blue backpack we had chosen together before school started.
Deputy Marisol Vega introduced herself and asked whether Mateo could remain with the paramedic while I spoke to Earl.
My son tightened his arms around my waist.
“You can stay right here,” I told him.
Earl brought out a tablet.
“The camera doesn’t record sound,” he said. “But it’s clear.”
The footage showed my father’s SUV beside pump four.
My father got out.
He opened the rear door, waited, then reached inside.
Mateo emerged wearing his little gray hoodie.
I knew that hoodie. I had bought it two sizes too large so it would last through winter.
On the screen, my son stood beside the SUV with his backpack hanging from one shoulder.
My father pulled it away.
Mateo reached for it.
Dad held it higher.
Then he opened the front compartment.
I saw him take out the clear pouch containing Mateo’s inhaler and spacer.
The pouch had a bright orange medical tag.
I had attached it myself.
Dad looked at it.
He shoved it back inside.
Then he carried the backpack across the lot and dropped it into a large trash container beside the air pump.
My son followed him.
Dad turned, pointed toward the store, and walked back to the SUV.
Mateo ran after him.
The passenger window lowered a few inches.
My mother’s hand appeared.
For one second, I thought she was reaching for him.
Instead, she pushed his Dodgers cap through the opening.
It fell beside the rear tire.
The SUV pulled away.
My son bent to pick it up.
A gust carried it beneath the vehicle before he could reach it.
Then he stood alone.
Not in the vague, dramatic way adults sometimes describe loneliness.
A nine-year-old child.
Under fluorescent lights.
Watching his family leave.
I made a sound I didn’t recognize.
Mateo pressed his face against my stomach.
Deputy Vega stopped the video.
“That’s enough for now.”
Earl cleared his throat.
“I recovered the backpack after I reviewed the footage. I didn’t know it was there when he first came inside.”
He brought it from behind the counter.
The blue fabric was stained with spilled soda and coffee grounds.
The medical pouch lay separately in a clear bag.
“I didn’t want him using anything that might have been contaminated.”
“You did exactly right,” I said.
My voice sounded distant.
Inside the backpack were his granola bars, a paperback about planets, and a folded drawing.
The drawing showed five stick figures beneath a yellow sun.
Me.
Mateo.
My parents.
Paige.
Above them, in uneven pencil, he had written OUR FAMILY.
I folded it before he could see my expression.
Deputy Vega asked for the messages.
I handed her my phone.
She read my mother’s promise to return in an hour.
Then she checked the footage.
“They left at nine eleven.”
“What time did you first speak to Mateo?” she asked Earl.
“About nine thirty-five. He was standing by the ice freezer. I thought he was waiting for someone until I realized he was crying.”
I looked at the time.
Nearly three hours had passed.
Nobody had returned.
My mother called while the deputy was photographing the messages.
Her name filled the screen.
I answered on speaker.
“Where are you?” she demanded. “Your father went back, and that clerk wouldn’t tell him anything.”
Deputy Vega looked at Earl.
He shook his head.
Nobody had come back.
“Mom,” I said. “Where is Dad now?”
“At home. Lauren, this has gone far enough.”
I looked at my son, still clutching my shirt.
May you like
“Yes,” I said.
“For once, we agree.”
