All That's Missing Read Online Free PDF Page A

running thin.
    Poppo’s shoulders collapsed. “Are we playing twenty questions?” he asked.
    â€œNo,” Arlo said in a small voice. “I’m just curious.”
    Poppo sighed. “No harm in that, I suppose.” He turned around finally and came over to stand behind Arlo’s chair. “You’ll see her someday,” he said. “I promise. But right now you’re busy with school, aren’t you?”
    â€œI guess so.” A mixture of anger and disappointment swirled in Arlo’s chest. Poppo was keeping something from him. Something big. Maybe a lot of things.
    The air was thick between them. Poppo lifted his hunting jacket off the hook by the back door.
    â€œI think I’ll go out for a while,” he said. “Leave me a note if you go to Sam’s house. All right?”
    â€œSure, Poppo,” Arlo said. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”
    Poppo sighed again, deeper this time. “It’s all right, Arlo. You didn’t make me mad. None of this was ever your fault. Remember that. All right?”
    None of
what
? Arlo stared at his grandfather’s back. He had no idea what Poppo was talking about. But he didn’t want to upset him, either. So he answered the best way he could.
    â€œSure, Poppo,” he said. “I’ll remember.”
    â€œGood.”
    After he was gone, Arlo studied the photograph once more. He flipped through the rest of the album, stopping at the page with the picture of his parents standing under an apple tree. His father had his arm draped across his mother’s shoulders. Her face was turned to his, and they were smiling at each other. They looked so happy. If only Arlo could have known them,
really known
them, before they died. He studied his father’s eyebrow, the place where the hair thinned until there almost wasn’t a line. Arlo reached up and touched the same spot on his own eyebrow, where it narrowed the same way. He wanted to feel some connection.
Father. Son. Family.
But all that came was a single word.
Gone.

Poppo’s good days never lasted. By the following Thursday, he was as confused as ever. Arlo sat at the kitchen table, struggling with math problems and waiting for Poppo to come home. By six thirty, he had eaten a bowl of cereal for dinner. Still Poppo wasn’t home. Seven fifteen came and went and still there was no sign of Poppo. Cold air seeped through the gap underneath the kitchen door. Then it started to rain, a light sprinkling that barely counted as rain,
at first,
but who knew what might happen later? Poppo was out there alone in the streets, and Arlo needed to find him. He pulled on his parka and headed outside.
    He was halfway down the steps when a dark sedan pulled in front of the house. Out stepped a man and woman in uniform. As they moved up the sidewalk, Arlo felt the cornflakes he’d eaten for dinner form a rock in his stomach.
    â€œYour name Arlo Jones?” the man asked, hitching up his pants as he placed his foot on the bottom step.
    â€œYes, sir?”
    â€œAnybody here with you?” the lady asked.
    Arlo gulped. For a moment, he considered lying. But then they would probably ask to go inside, and how would Arlo explain why no one was at home? “I live with my grandpa,” he said finally.
    The lady glanced sideways at the man.
    â€œYour grandpa named Albert Sabatini?” the man asked.
    â€œYes.” Arlo’s shoulders stiffened. “Is he all right?”
    â€œDon’t worry,” the lady said. “Your grandpa’s at the hospital now. The paramedics took him to Marshboro General.”
    â€œHospital?” Arlo’s heart ricocheted in his chest.
    â€œMr. Fanucci was taking out the garbage,” the man explained. “You know Fanucci’s?”
    Arlo nodded.
    â€œFanucci found your grandpa climbing out of the Dumpster. Or trying to. Seems he didn’t quite make it before he passed