Matt pushed the breakfast conversation aside the minute he got to school. The only thing to occupy his mind in the morning were integers and ratios. At noon, lunch with Caroline was highlighted by milk shooting out her nose when she laughed at someone slipping on grapes. In the afternoon the memory of the shooting milk and after school, football practice with gruelling drills. It had been the first almost normal day he’d had in months.
Until he got home.
His parents startled him the minute he stepped in through the front door. His father’s brow pulled was together, his forehead deeply lined. His mother looked lost, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open.
“We called the weather station in Eureka on Ellesmere Island. I was trying to reach Dr. Hawthorn,” his mother said. Her voice quivered.
With a pain in the pit of his stomach, Matt closed the door against the cold wind outside. The anguished look on his mother’s face made him feel guilty about that morning’s conversation. He wished now he hadn’t encouraged her to fill in the gaps of her memory.
“Did you talk to him?”
She flushed and stuttered. “He wasn’t there…I mean he isn’t there.”
Matt moved towards the staircase, dropping his backpack on the second step. He turned back to look at his parents who hadn’t moved. “Couldn’t someone give you a number where he can be reached?”
She moved her head slowly back and forth.
“What she’s trying to tell you is that he’s never been there,” his father answered in a strange grumbly voice.
“But I thought that’s where his office was.” Matt frowned.
His mother looked bug-eyed. “Nobody knows anything about him.”
“Mum, you’re not making any sense.” Matt sat down next to his pack. “The whole reason you went to Ellesmere Island was to work with him. You said he took care of you after the fire.”
Rooted in place, his mother rubbed her arms. “I don’t understand what’s gone on.”
His father walked over to Matt and leaned against the newel post. “We were on the phone the better part of the day. We checked through all the emails your mother and Hawthorn exchanged, looked through all the papers he had supposedly written. In addition to calling the weather station in Eureka, on Ellesmere Island, we phoned the institutes in Stockholm and Chicago that, we thought had published his papers. We contacted every other place where Hawthorn was meant to have worked.”
Matt frowned. “What do you mean, ‘supposedly written’?”
His mother walked closer. “I had no reason to doubt him.”
Matt held up his hands to stop her. “What are you talking about? Couldn’t anyone tell you how to get in touch with him?”
His father sighed. “No.”
“Because Dr. Peter Hawthorn doesn’t seem to exist,” his mother said. Her whole body was shaking.
Matt’s mouth dropped open. “That’s crazy. You met him. You were working with him. He helped you.”
“I met someone who I thought was Peter Hawthorn and that man helped me. He’s the one who told me about the fire and gave me the photos and forensic report. But whoever he was, he was not Dr. Peter Hawthorn.”
“And nobody has any knowledge of him.” His father’s expression was a combination of confusion and anger, something Matt had never seen.
“Or any recollection of a man who helped me.” His mother looked dumbfounded.
“This is crazy. He has to exist!” Elbows on knees, hands holding the sides of his face Matt looked up abruptly. “Wasn’t there another guy. Someone Cory didn’t like. Arlo or something?”
“Amos…Amos Argyle?” His mother was clearly agitated.
“Yea, that’s the one. Cory thought he was weird.” Matt unzipped his backpack and brought out his phone. “Maybe he can help find Hawthorn or the man you met. You said he was there…at the fire…so he’d know something.”
His mother considered him. “I guess so.”
“Do you have his number?”
She shoved her hand into her jeans pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “I think the only way to get in touch with him is through the Eureka weather station. That’s where we called earlier. I didn’t think to ask about Amos.” Her hand trembling, she handed the paper to Matt. “That’s the number.”
Matt dialled and then waited, looking from his father to his mother.
“It takes a while to connect,” his father warned.
“Hello,” Matt said almost a full minute later when someone on the other end finally picked up. “I’m trying to locate a man by the name of Amos Argyle,” he looked up at his mother to make sure he’d gotten it right. She nodded. “This is the only way we know to contact him,” he continued. “Thanks, I’ll hold.” He looked at his parents and explained that the person who answered was new and didn’t know Amos. “He’s going to ask the janitor because he said he’s been there for years and knows everyone on the island.”
His attention shifted back to the phone. “Yes, I’m still here,” His brow creased. “What?” He barked. “There has to be.” His jaw tightened. “That’s impossible, my mother…but…o-okay…thank you,” he said in almost a whisper. He rang off and stared at his phone for several seconds. When he looked up, his face was ashen. “They said that there had been a man by that name living on the island but he’s been dead for more than twenty years.”
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