Counterfeit Son (7 page)

His mind raced—would the two boys sit on one side, and Diana on the other? Or would the two older kids sit together, so Stevie could sit all alone where he could make a mess? Cameron felt his feet move him closer to the table, and he suddenly walked steadily to the solitary chair, gambling that Diana had been right about Neil. The kid she described would have wanted to sit by himself. And that chair faced the window, looking out at the lake. As Cameron pulled the chair out and slipped into it, he made himself look up to read the judgment in the Laceys' faces. From his mother's smile, he could tell he'd chosen right.

For every right choice, though, how many wrong ones had he made, or almost made? He'd been there only a day and a half. How many days could he do this? How could he work so hard every day of the next three and a half years, until he was eighteen and could look after himself? It
was
hard work, trying to live someone else's life, harder than digging in the cellar. Was he strong enough to do it day after day?

Breakfast wasn't only pancakes with Mrs. Pierson. His parents were there, too, waiting for him so they could eat. Cameron made himself smile at them and let Mrs. Pierson hug him, then slipped into the only empty chair at the round table, relieved not to have to choose which one should be Neil's. His wary glance at the table saw only syrup, so he figured that was what Neil liked on his pancakes. Maybe today would be easier. He sat down quickly, apologizing for being late, and took a bite so the others would start on their own meal. When he told the housekeeper how good the pancakes were, she looked pleased.

He glanced cautiously at his parents. His father was wearing a suit, but his mother wore slacks and a loose top, and her golden hair was tied back. Surely she didn't dress like that at the museum?

She smiled at him, and he realized his uncertainty must have shown on his face. "I thought I'd stay home with you again today, Neil. We need to take you shopping for some new clothes—you can't live in that shirt and jeans!"

He remembered how Pop had complained about the cost of clothes, and wondered how he'd be expected to pay for the clothes here. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Nothing to be sorry about," his father said, dragging a forkful of pancakes through the syrup puddled on his plate. "Your mother still loves to go shopping as much as ever."

"And it's been so long since I've been able to buy you anything," she said, her voice catching.

Cameron looked down at his plate, the pancakes settling heavily in his stomach.

"Diana, Stevie," his father said, "are you two going along to help your mother and brother buy out the mall?"

Diana shook her head. "No, thanks. I don't have any allowance left."

"Me, neither," said Stevie.

So the kids must pay for their own things, Cameron realized. He wondered how they earned their allowances—how he would be expected to earn his.

"You've both been big spenders, eh?" His father chuckled. "Well, it's a special occasion—we can spring for some extra summer stuff for you, too."

His mother looked a little disappointed. Cameron realized she must have wanted to spend the time alone with him. He wasn't sure whether he wanted the others to come along to distract her, or whether it would be easier if it were just the two of them. It turned out not to matter what he wanted, though. Diana saw her mother's expression and said, "That's okay. I don't need anything. I'll just stay here and read."

Stevie said, "I want to play on the computer."

"It sounds like it's just the two of us," his mother said quickly.

So Cameron let her take him to a crowded mall, where at least no one paid any attention to him except her. Terrified of making a mistake, he watched her closely and followed her lead in everything from the car radio (she told him he could pick the station, and he saw a smile cross her face when the dial paused on a station with loud music. "You still like that horrible stuff, don't you?") to what color T-shirts to buy ("Let's see, is red still your favorite color? How about this one with the clipper ship on it—you still love those tall ships, don't you?") to what to choose for lunch at the mall food court ("You can still eat plate after plate of those nachos smothered in fake cheese, I'll bet.").

The worst moment came when they looked at a rack of windbreakers and she said, "Here—you pick what you want, Neil. I've been choosing everything for you!" He reached instinctively for a clear blue jacket the color of the lake on a sunny day, and she said, "I was so sure you'd choose the black one. You always thought a black jacket was so cool."

Cameron froze. Now the accusation would come.
You can't be Neil—who are you?
But he couldn't make himself pick up the black one. Pop had a black jacket. He didn't think he could wear a jacket like Pop's. "This one looks like the lake," he said finally. "Would it be okay if I got it, instead?"

He held his breath, but she only said, "Of course! I want you to have whatever you want, honey. It's okay if you want to choose something different." She paused a moment, then added, "You're not eight anymore." But she sounded reluctant to admit it.

Finally she was spent, and he was relieved. He'd passed embarrassment at how much she'd bought him at least an hour earlier, and now felt actively guilty at taking so much from the Laceys. They walked by a video arcade on the way back to the car, and he couldn't help wondering if this was the same mall where Neil had been abducted. She didn't say anything, though, and so he kept his eyes straight ahead and followed her to the parking lot, lugging the overstuffed department store bags.

By the time they got home, he was exhausted from the effort of picking up on her hints and fearing that he'd do something so un-Neil-like that she'd realize the truth. How was he going to act the way the Laceys expected Neil to behave day after day? He could only hope that they'd ultimately decide their son had grown up and accept Cameron as they'd have accepted the fourteen-year-old Neil, but he didn't know if that would ever happen.

Diana came to watch them carry in the bags of clothes, her book under one arm. "I'd have come with you if I knew you were going to buy out the mall for real," she said. "I thought it was just an expression."

"I wish you had come," her mother said. "Have some dessert with us. I had Mrs. Pierson make chocolate cake."

Cameron didn't have to ask if that was Neil's favorite.

"I know," Diana said. "She wouldn't let Stevie or me eat any of it until you got home."

"Well, you can have some now," her mother said. She served Cameron a huge piece, and then gave Diana a smaller one. "You two enjoy—I'm going to call the office and make sure they're managing without me."

Cameron waited until she was gone. "Here," he said. "You can have the big piece. It's too much for me."

"No way," Diana said. "She'd notice, and blame me for bullying you."

"You didn't," he said.

"I know. But it wouldn't make any difference."

Cameron was too tired to argue. Once Diana licked the last of the frosting off her fork and left the table, he chewed mechanically for a while, in case his mother came back in. Then he scraped the rest of the cake down the garbage disposal, rinsed off his plate, and escaped to the dock, where he was too tired to track down Diana so he could go sailing. It was enough to look at the boat bobbing in the water, and to know he could escape into it if he wanted to.

He made it through the evening, finding it easier now that he knew where to sit and could guess Stevie's riddles. But the next morning when he awoke to find the twisted blanket squeezing him, not Pop, Cameron had to remind himself all over again that he was Neil now, and he was safe—as long as the Laceys believed him, anyway.

Mrs. Pierson was making bacon and eggs. She put a plate of sunny-side-up eggs in front of him as Cameron slid into his chair. "Just the way you like them," she said, beaming.

Cameron looked at the bright yellow runny yolks and felt his stomach clench. "Thanks," he managed. "They look great."

His father set aside the paper and smiled at him. "So—what do you have planned for today?"

Cameron saw Diana eyeing the paper curiously. "Sailing," he said. "If it's okay with Diana, I mean."

His father chuckled, and Diana sighed. "I'm not going to live on the lake all summer, you know." Then her father caught her eye, and she shrugged. "But sure—we can go sailing today, if you like."

"Good," her mother said. "Then I'm going to pick up some donations for the museum."

Stevie grinned. "Then the computer's all mine," he crowed.

His father groaned. "We've got to wean you from that machine before you start sprouting computer cables instead of hair."

"Cyberkid," teased Diana, and they all laughed. Cameron felt a bright flash of pleasure at the way his laughter blended with theirs.

"Okay, okay," Stevie said. "I'll play outside in the morning, and then get on the computer this afternoon, okay?"

"It's a start," his father said.

Cameron wondered why Stevie didn't ever sail with them.

Then his mother hugged him tightly and went to get ready to leave. His father picked up the newspaper and left the table, telling them to have a nice sail. And Stevie crammed a whole piece of bacon into his mouth and slid off his chair.

Diana looked around to make sure they had the kitchen to themselves, then leaned closer to him. "You made the front page of the local paper. Dad took it with him, but I saw it first. There's the picture of you when you were eight, and an article all about your turning up at the police station and everything."

"So?" he asked, cringing inside and wondering why she'd brought it up.

"So you're pretty definitely alive," Diana said around a mouthful of bacon. "What about the guy they arrested two years ago for killing you?" she demanded triumphantly.

Cameron set his fork down in the runny egg yolk and stared at her. "What guy?" he whispered.

Diana groaned. "Oh, come off it. I don't buy this amnesia stuff the doctor was talking about. And even if you can't remember everything you've got to remember this. The cops came and talked to you about it while you were still with that man Miller. I don't know why you didn't tell them who you were—he couldn't have killed you if the cops were protecting you."

"I remember," Cameron said dully, staring at the egg-smeared plate and feeling sick.

Mrs. Pierson suddenly appeared with fresh bacon, and Diana changed the subject, talking about sailing. When her mother came in to say good-bye again, Diana told her, "You go to work every day, Mom—it's not such a big deal."

The housekeeper shushed Diana as her mother hugged Cameron again, then went around the table to give Diana a perfunctory hug as well.

"Bye," Diana said impatiently. As soon as the car pulled out of the garage, she jumped up from the table, grabbed her dishes, and carried them into the kitchen, then went outside.

Cameron heard the side door slam as he managed to choke down the last of his eggs and some more bacon. Then Mrs. Pierson sat down beside him with a cup of coffee and a hungry expression on her face. Cameron thanked her for the breakfast, then got up from the table with his own dishes, leaving her the last of the bacon even though he didn't think that was what she was hungry for.

He found Diana sitting at the redwood picnic table outside. "So what did the paper say about that guy?" he asked without preamble.

She shrugged.

"Come on," he said. "What happened to him?"

She looked up at him. "Why do you care?"

Cameron watched the lake, glass-smooth in the calm morning. The sailboats rested quietly beside the dock. He could see Stevie sitting in the larger family boat, a life jacket on over his T-shirt, gazing out across the water. Cameron tried to make his mind blank and peaceful. But he had to ask, "Did he go to jail?"

"Of course."

"But not for killing me," he said quickly.

She chuckled unkindly. "So it seems now."

He shrugged. "Okay, have it your way. I'll ask Mom and Dad when they get home." Calling them that still felt strange in his mouth.

Diana drummed her fingers on the table. "They thought he'd killed you, and a lot of the other boys, but I don't think they could prove it."

"So what did he go to jail for?"

"For something else, another boy." She sighed. "I'm not sure, I only know that he was involved with Hank Miller."

He sure was,
Cameron thought, remembering the man Pop had called Cougar. He was hardly a man, really. He wasn't much more than a boy himself.

"You want to find out more?" she asked abruptly.

He looked at her "How?"

A slow smile crossed her face. "Dad took the paper before I could finish the article, but I know where we can find out about him."

"Where?" He needed to know, he realized suddenly. Pop was gone, but Cougar was apparently still alive. Deep inside, Cameron couldn't help wishing it were the other way around.

She stood up. "The library. They won't have just today's paper, they'll have the papers from when the guy was arrested, too."

"Would Mom take us?" he asked.

Diana laughed. "You don't think I wait to go to the library until Mom's around, do you? She sure doesn't stay home on weekdays for Stevie and me! I just bike over whenever I want a new book." She measured him with her eyes. "You're small enough to use Stevie's new bike. Don't worry—it'll just be for today. I'm sure Mom and Dad will get you a new one. I can't imagine why Mom didn't buy you one when you went shopping."

Cameron ignored the edge in her voice and followed her to the garage, more worried about how he was going to explain his inability to ride a bike. All kids knew how to ride bikes. Could he get away with blaming this on the amnesia?

Cameron stared dubiously at the green-and-black bike Diana had wheeled up to him.

She returned with a turquoise racing bike and laughed at him. "Come on, surely you haven't forgotten how to ride a bike?"

"I haven't ridden one for a long time," he said. He took a deep breath, threw one leg over the seat, and rested his right foot on the pedal.