Unspeakable by Kevin O'Brien

the trail, and then he headed into town.
    Front Street, the hub of the Scandinavian village, was Tourist Central today. He pedaled past Muriel Williams Park—with its gazebo, dockside restaurants, and the tall, solemn-looking Viking statue on a pedestal. It was a mob scene. He wove around all the tourists until he finally reached Hot Shots Java.
    During his last visit, when Melissa had flirted with him, he’d felt like an adult in the funky, hip café—among the other arty coffeehouse types on their notebook computers, reading their books or writing in journals. He remembered the soft jazz music and the rich coffee smell.
    After locking up his bike and helmet on the post outside, Collin checked out his reflection in the window, and then stepped into the café. His former sanctum sanctorum was now crowded and noisy—with a couple of babies crying, a gaggle of teenage girls talking and laughing loudly, and some guy practically screaming into his cell phone.
    His heart sank even lower when he didn’t see Melissa behind the counter. He stepped to the back of the long line, and hoped she might be in the kitchen or something. The longer he waited in the line, the more depressed he got.
    The last time he was here, he’d dreaded catching the ferry home the next day. On several occasions, his mom had forgotten to pick him up when he’d returned to Seattle Sunday night—or she’d kept him waiting outside the ferry terminal for almost an hour. He remembered returning from the last visit, certain she wouldn’t be there. But she’d been waiting by the car, smiling and waving at him. That was the funny thing about his mom. Just when he thought she was a total screwup who didn’t care, she would surprise him.
    The line moved forward a bit, but Collin hesitated. His throat started to close up and he felt tears stinging his eyes. A gasp came out, and he tried to pretend he was coughing. He’d had a few crying jags since his mother’s death, but always in private. Even at the funeral, he’d managed to remain dry-eyed. Now he couldn’t stop the tears. He had to get out of there.
    His head down, he threaded around the crowded café tables and hurried to the alcove for the bathroom. But they had only one restroom, and it was locked. Wiping his tears, Collin ducked out the screen door beside it. The exit could have been for employees only. But at this point, he didn’t care. He just had to get away from all those people.
    The screen door slammed shut behind him. He stepped down and found himself in a narrow, dead-end alley. It was like an old driveway—with patches of grass and weeds sprouting up through the crushed gravel. A big air conditioner unit hummed along the brick wall of another store at one end of the alley. On the other end, a tall chain-link fence was closed—with a chain lock wrapped around the post. Collin ducked behind several empty milk crates and a garbage bin. It smelled like rotten fruit and sour milk. But at least he was alone.
    He buried his face in his hands and sobbed. Nothing about it was a good cry . He felt miserable and achy. His throat hurt and his nose dripped with snot. He kept thinking even though she’d disappointed him so often, she was still his mother. She’d been home to him. He couldn’t believe he’d never see her again. And he couldn’t stop crying.
    But then he heard the screen door yawn and slam shut. Collin swiveled around and gaped at the tall, thin, forty-something dark-haired man. The guy held out a fistful of napkins for him. He must have grabbed them off the stack at the café’s cream-and-sugar station. “Here, Collin,” the man said.
    Collin didn’t budge from where he stood. He quickly wiped his eyes with his hands. He didn’t recognize the man. He glanced over at the locked chain-link fence at the one end of the alley. The only way out of there was to go back inside through