I was out of breath by the time I entered our front hallway. I dropped my knapsack near the door—it had started to feel like a sack of cement—and skidded down the hallway towards the kitchen. I almost collided with Roxie, who was taking a bite out of a peanut butter sandwich just inside the kitchen doorway.
“Umph,” she grunted. She swallowed and said, “Geez, where’s the fire?”
I took a step backwards. “It’s Ambie,” I gasped. “She’s gone to Toronto to meet her real dad. I think something is wrong.”
“Ambie doesn’t question people’s motives very often, does she?” Roxie said, her eyes narrowing. “Is this the father she’s never seen?”
I nodded, trying to keep the panic from getting higher than my esophagus. “His name’s Martin Donaldson. He’s been e-mailing her but asked her not to tell anybody. It looks like she’s sent him some money, not a good sign. Ambie’s wanted to meet her real father as far back as I can remember . . .”
“Where’s she meeting him?”
“Toronto Airport. Air Canada. Three o’clock.” I realized that I was spitting out words in groups of two.
“I’ll get my jacket. I have some money saved, and I’ll go get it. Write your dad a note, and let’s get going.”
“Say we’ve gone out for the evening with Ambie. We’ll probably be back before he reads it.”
“Okay,” I said to Roxie’s disappearing back, wondering why I was listening to a thirteen-year-old. Still, a big part of me was extremely pleased not to have to find my way around Toronto alone. Roxie’d grown up in the city and had spent a lot of time running the streets when she’d been skipping school. I grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and my purse and heavier jacket from the coat hook by the back door. I met Roxie at the front door.
“What are you doing home from school this time of day?” I asked as I swung the door open.
Roxie pulled a red toque over her pink hair. “Spare,” she said, racing past me and down the front steps.
“I don’t remember getting spares in Grade Eight,” I called as I hurried to catch up.
Roxie pretended she didn’t hear me. “Let’s get going!” she yelled. “We might just make it there by the time the plane lands.”
It took me a few minutes to convince Roxie that there was no way I was going to hitchhike to Toronto. I guess Mom’s lectures had sunk in, because I’d long ago decided the dangers of getting into a stranger’s car far outweighed any possible benefits. Even saving money on a bus ride wasn’t enough to make me put out my thumb or agree to let Roxie stick out hers.
“You’re just a big fraidy cat,” Roxie finally said, exasperated, scowling at me as if I was the one being unreasonable.
“Yeah . . . well . . . I say I’m just a big smarty cat,” I said and was rewarded with her lopsided grin. “Come on. Let’s go make the next bus,” I added.
Roxie and I were double-timing down Armstrong Street towards the bus terminal when I heard a car slowing behind us. When it didn’t pass us, I turned and pulled Roxie by the arm towards the curb. “Look out,” I said.
We watched a silver-grey car edge past us and pull over several yards ahead with the turn signal flashing. The driver’s window lowered. Roxie and I looked at each other, deciding which way to run. I tried to angle myself in front of her.
“Jennifer!” I heard, and we took a step closer. A blond head and wide smile peered out at us.
“What are you doing here, Evan?” I asked.
“Looking for you. Want a lift?”
“Only if you’re going to Toronto Airport,” I said.
“That’s exactly where I’m heading,” Evan smiled. “Don’t worry. I got the whole story out of Cindy after a bit of guilt-tripping.”
“Great,” I said and pulled Roxie with me around the back of the car toward the passenger door. Roxie scooted into the back seat, and I sat up front with Evan. “Where did this car come from?” I asked.
“This one’s actually . . . uh . . . mine.”
“It’s a Jaguar, isn’t it?” I asked, and for the first time, I began to believe that Evan’s family really could be into something illegal—something illegal that was worth a lot of money.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around. Roxie was looking at Evan’s reflection in the rearview mirror, and her eyes were as big as quarters. “Aren’t you Evan Myers?” she asked, her voice rising into the higher range. I couldn’t tell if it was fear or excitement I heard in her voice.
“Hi,” Evan said, turning to smile at Roxie. “Let’s get moving.”
Traffic was heavy going into Toronto on the 401, and there was an accident that held us up on the airport parkway. I was getting pretty nervous and didn’t want to talk with all the worried thoughts scrambling around in my head like bumblebees. Evan had the radio turned up loud, and the music filled in the empty spaces. When we finally started moving and the airport came into view, I checked my watch. It was almost three thirty. Ambie would probably be long gone from the arrivals area by the time we found a parking spot. Evan seemed to read my mind. He reached over and turned down the volume.
“I’ll pull up to the front entrance, and you and Roxie can go find Ambie while I park.”
I looked across at him and nodded. “I hope we aren’t too late,” I said and went back to checking cars going in the opposite direction to see if Ambie was in one of them. At last we pulled up in front, and I hopped out. Roxie scrambled out of the back seat, and we ran for the revolving door. I stopped and tried to read the signs. When I looked around, Roxie was standing under a screen suspended from the ceiling. “The flight was on time,” she said. “The arrivals area is this way.”
We walked quickly, following the signs that led the way to the arrivals. The noise level was high, and every so often, a woman’s voice made announcements over the sound system in English and French. I looked at the flight numbers above my head. The fear that we’d missed Ambie hit me like a sick feeling in my stomach. What if she’d been lured into a meeting with someone who wasn’t her real father? What should we do next? Call her parents and try to explain? Call the police?
I couldn’t see Ambie anywhere. I turned and touched Roxie on the shoulder. “We should go find Evan.” My voice faltered. “I’m not sure where they’ve taken her.”
“It might be okay, Jennifer. Maybe her dad really does just want to meet her.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I said, but it didn’t feel right. I started leading Roxie back towards the exit.
We were out the door when I saw Ambie, alone—sitting on a bench, looking down at the floor with her hands clasped in front of her. She was wearing her good blue duffle coat, and she’d curled her hair so that it hung in tendrils around her face. A gift wrapped in silver paper with a red bow sat next to her on the bench. She looked so sad and dejected that I stopped and watched her for a second.
Roxie bumped into me from behind. “What are you . . .”
I reached around my hand to stop her. “Wait here,” I said. “It’ll be okay. Just wait.” I walked across the carpet towards Ambie and sat down next to her so that our arms touched. She raised her head and looked at me, startled for a second before a smile flashed and was gone. Her eyes quickly filled with tears.
“Jen. He didn’t come. My dad didn’t come.”
I put my arm around Ambie’s shoulders, and she leaned into me, her head resting on my shoulder. “It’s his loss, Amb,” I said. “He’s got no idea what he’s just thrown away.”
We sat like that for a minute until she was over the worst of it. I looked over her head and saw Evan and Roxie talking. Evan met my eyes, but they kept their distance until Ambie and I got to our feet. Then they rushed over and encircled Ambie, and we had a group hug as if she’d just arrived home after being away on a long trip.