The White Boy

Friday

THE NEXT MORNING QUINN WAS the first one out of bed. He brewed a pot of coffee and then poked his head back into the bedroom. Mel, Abby, and Drew huddled together under the white comforter. He returned to the sofa in the living room and placed his feet up on the coffee table in front of him.

What is Drew seeing at night? And is it the same thing I saw as a kid?

Quinn stood up and walked up the steps to the second floor. He walked into Drew's room and looked around. He checked the window again. Locked. He opened the closet door. Drew's elephant laundry basket and a rickety white bookshelf were the only items on the floor. He parted the clothes hanging in the closet half expecting to see some passageway, an ancient door made from wooden planks and large iron hinges, something out of a horror novel, but all he saw was the smooth white closet wall. He slid the hangers back into place and checked behind the glider where Drew had first seen the white boy. He slid the glider out to the center of the room and dragged his bare foot across the soft carpet. He didn't know what he was looking for, anything that could offer a clue to what Drew was experiencing. Anything that could make the past week make sense, but there was nothing. Nothing except solid carpet on the floor and sturdy drywall in the closet.

When Quinn returned to the first floor, he found Mel pouring a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

"Morning," said Quinn. "Sleep well?"

"Not really. What are we going to do about this? What if Drew had walked out of the house last night? He could have wondered out of the neighborhood. Or worse. He could have—"

"Don't think about that," said Quinn.

"What are we going to do?"

"I'll think of something." Quinn sipped his coffee and flipped through the mail on the kitchen island. He felt he had to get out of the house to come up with a solution. As if being in the house was clouding his brain and prohibiting him from seeing what was truly happening. Finding the envelope from William's Moving and Storage gave him the excuse he needed. He plucked the envelope from the pile and held it up. "I'm going to run to the bank and deposit this."

"Now?" asked Mel.

"Good a time as ever. Plus I need to get out of this house. Been cooped up in here since my surgery."

"You're supposed to be recuperating. I can make the deposit for you."

"I'll be fine. No reason why I can't drive. And I can clear my head. Maybe come up with something we can do about Drew."

Quinn stuffed the envelope in his pocket and grabbed his keys from the counter. He kissed Mel on her cheek and walked out the door.

QUINN PULLED INTO THE FIFTH-THIRD Bank parking lot to find the drive-thru teller lane closed. A repairman in a dirty white T-shirt and khaki carpenter pants stood atop a wooden ladder dismantling a section of the pneumatic tube that delivered capsules of cash to and from the building. He considered the drive-thru ATM for a moment, but then remembered the paycheck from Miller Moving and Storage wouldn't scan in the new ATMs. He couldn't snap a photo and deposit it through his cell phone either, which was why he'd driven to the bank in the first place.

A glance across the packed parking lot told him it wasn't going to be a quick in-and-out stop. He parked his car, walked into the building and took a spot in line. Six people in front of him. Two of them appeared to be a couple, so that only meant five transactions until Quinn reached the counter. He eyeballed the two tellers and calculated his odds of getting the attractive blond or the graying woman with thick glasses and seemingly permanent frown.