All American Boy Read Free Page B

seventy-three this year, with arthritis in her legs, and the boy had weighed at least a hundred and fifty pounds.
    But once it was done, she sat down at her kitchen table and had a cup of orange tea and some graham crackers. Once her breath returned, she dialed the number for the police.
    â€œHello? Is this the Brown’s Mill police department? Yes, this is Regina Day. May I speak with Officer Garafolo? Oh, yes, hello, how are you? I’m fine. No, no, it’s not anything like that. I just—well, I want to report a missing person.” Pause. “My nephew. Kyle Francis Day. He was in the navy. I think he’s gone AWOL.”
    â€œMother!” Walter calls up the stairs. “There’s nothing in this crate but a bunch of old linens!”
    Regina stands at the top of the basement stairs looking down.
    â€œNo, no, Walter, don’t look inside—”
    Her son has appeared at the bottom of the stairs glaring up at her. “Why in God’s name would you want to sink a crateful of linens into the swamp?”
    â€œOh, dear, oh, dear,” Regina says, gripping hold of the banister and starting down the stairs. Her arthritis twinges but she keeps going. She brushes past her son to hurry round the furnace and peer down into the opened crate.
    Linens.
    She begins moving them aside, digging underneath. The crate is filled with musty old linens. And has been for fifteen years.
    Regina closes the lid and sits down on top of the crate.
    â€œMom,” Walter says, and dare she think it? Is there a small hint of compassion in his voice? “What did you think was in that crate?”
    â€œI—I’m not sure.”
    â€œAre you on any medications that might be—?”
    â€œNo. Well, for my arthritis. But I’ve taken those for years.”
    She lifts her eyes up at him. Yes, he does look like Robert. Exactly like Robert, so tall and handsome when she met him, resplendent in his uniform.
    Would you come back to my room with me? Robert had breathed in her ear. Before I head off to face certain death in the jungles of the Mekong?
    Oh, how Robert had dazzled her. He was younger than she was, and far more handsome than she deserved. In that moment, Regina had felt not like herself, but like her sister Rocky, who all the boys had fancied. Rocky—who was never afraid, who was always taking risks—
    â€œMom.”
    She looks up at her son.
    â€œDoes this have anything to do with Kyle?”
    Kyle.
    Dear God, I’m afraid I’m losing my mind …
    â€œMom,” Walter says again
    It happened before. Why not again?
    â€œ Mother! Do you have any idea where Kyle went?”
    Not in the crate. Why had she thought he was in the crate?
    I buried him. I remember now. In the back yard. The shovel … Yes, I took the shovel and I dug. Beside the poplar trees …
    â€œHe was a bad boy, Walter,” she says finally. “Such a bad one. He got into so much trouble as a boy. You remember, don’t you? You were a good boy, Walter, but he was bad.”
    â€œStop saying that.”
    â€œOh, but you were good, Walter. You—”
    â€œYou know what I did, Mother!” Her son is raising his voice now. “Stop saying I was a good boy!”
    I dug a grave in the backyard. That’s where he is. I’m sure that’s where he is .
    â€œYou all wanted to make me out to be a good boy, but I wasn’t.” Walter is looking at her with hard, glassy eyes. “You know what I did, even if you won’t talk about it.”
    â€œIt was Kyle who was bad, Walter. Don’t you remember when he stole that money from Father Carson? Oh, how ashamed poor Bernadette was. And then he got into that fistfight with his teacher. Remember, Walter? How embarrassing it was for the family?”
    Walter laughs. “ That’s what embarrassed the family, Mother? Nothing else?”
    Beside the poplar trees .
    â€œA bad boy, Walter. That’s