Natasha,

Take this letter to Flora at the bike shop—she’ll give you what you need.

Chuck

 

That was it? Who was Flora? I thought hard. It had to be the blonde sitting next to Chuck the day Bambi and I found him. What did the letter mean? I walked back through town, more frustrated than ever. Why all the secrets? Why couldn’t people just say what they meant, instead of making things so complicated?

A cop car passed me. I ducked around the corner and into the next block, my face hidden in the folds of my hoodie just in case. I heard the patrol car turn around, swinging a wide loop. Lights flipped on, a siren wailed. I nearly fell to my knees as it whizzed past me, screaming into the early dawn.

Rays of weak sunlight strained to penetrate dark clouds gathering in the morning sky as I drifted down empty alleys, dodging homeless people huddled against walls and begging for spare change. Rain wept and then poured. Water filled my shoes, squishing beneath my feet with each step. By the time I reached the bike shop, my clothes were soaked. I pounded on the door. Nothing. I pounded again.

The rain stopped and the sun fought for a place in the sky. But the clouds smothered its attempt, casting dark shadows at my back. Across the street, a billboard advertised a sunny Florida vacation. I thought about how warm it must be in Florida, oranges ripe and ready to harvest. Or the Caribbean where people smiled all the time. That’s where I would go with Bambi’s money, someplace warm and inviting. I’d cut my hair and dye it as black as my mood, wear oversized sunglasses. I’d eat lobster and coconuts, wear flip-flops on the beach, drink soda pop for breakfast and forget about being alone, about all that had happened. I felt the small lump of cash in my pocket. I wouldn’t get as far as California before the money ran out, or before someone caught me.

This realization hit me hard. I was floating. Weightless. Helpless. I’d give anything if Chuck were alive, grounding me, holding me down to earth like a string on a balloon. But the string had broken, Chuck was dead and I was airborne, drifting away from everything I had ever known.

I leaned against the building. I needed something concrete, something stable to hold on to. A solid reality in a shifting world. Deep in the belly of the building, a dog barked, footsteps shuffled, and there came the continuous rattle of a smoker’s cough. The door cracked open, somewhere in the background a television blared. In the shadows, I saw the hard-faced blonde who'd been sitting next to Chuck the day he told me he was coming home again, giving Bambi another chance—if only I could have warned him.

“Are you Flora?” I asked.

Lines deepened in the creases of her forehead. Blue eye shadow, caked on her eyelids from the night before, crept toward her eyebrows. “Who wants to know?”

“My name’s Natasha,” I stammered. “Chuck gave me something for you.” She eyed me for a moment, like she knew me from somewhere and couldn’t quite place me. She’d only seen me once but I hoped for some glimmer of recognition.

I handed her the letter and Flora’s gaze darted over the words. She glanced at me, then behind me to see if I was alone, and motioned for me to come in. I followed her to a dingy room through a door at the back of the shop. A boxy television the size of Texas blared away on a countertop of a cluttered kitchen. In the dark recess of the small apartment, I made out a saggy double bed, end table, and bookcase. She motioned me to a ratty kitchen chair.

“Got some identification?”

I handed her my student ID. She studied it and then handed it back. “Did Chuck skip town?”

I nodded. If I told her Chuck was dead, she might change her mind.

“Figures,” she said. “He had his fill of that woman he was shacked up with.” She walked to the wall and selected a key from a pile hanging on a hook, one with a topless hula dancer on the keychain. “This is for Chuck’s locker. It’s the one in the middle.” She handed me the key. "Lockers are next to the workbench near the back of the shop.”

“Thanks.” I hurried from the depressing living quarters to the main body of the shop.

I wove between disassembled bikes, dodged oil spills and grease spots to a row of dingy lockers. The middle one stood out from the rest, painted a cobalt blue with a cartoon character of a bulldog riding a motorcycle. I slipped the key inside the lock and pulled on the handle. The door rattled open. Resting on the bottom shelf was a thick manila envelope. I flipped it over and tore it open. A passport and ID was enclosed along with some foreign money.

I sorted through the other papers tucked inside and unfolded a letter with words written in rigid block letters. It was from Russia, from an attorney. The letter stated I was the sole heir to my parents' farm in an abandoned village of Osko in Chuhlomskoy in the district of Kostroma and that I was to travel to Russia by the 12^th of this month to sign the estate papers and make claim to the property or it would be seized by the government. The last piece of paper had Chuck’s handwriting across the front. Chase your dreams, kid. Love, Chuck.

I turned the paper over. It was an itinerary and electronic ticket for my flight to Russia.

“Did you find the papers?”

I turned around. Flora leaned against the end of the lockers smoking a cigarette. “He went to a hell of a lot of trouble to get all that for you.”

I frowned. “I don’t understand. Won’t they tag me as a runaway?”

“Not likely. He bribed some government official. Told him he was taking a hell of a risk but he didn’t seem to care. Guess he must have liked you a lot to go to that kind of trouble.”

I nodded, tears came to my eyes. I looked at the date on the ticket. No wonder Chuck had already arranged everything so quickly and in advance; I only had a week to get there.

I thought about everything that'd happened in the past few days. He already knew he would be leaving Bambi. And he wanted to make sure I could also escape. Why hadn’t he just told me? It would have been risky, I guess. Bambi could have caught me packing or talking to someone about it and it would have given me away. Chuck knew it had to be a last minute thing because Bambi would have done anything to stop me. If I would've left she would have lost her monthly check from the state. Bambi needed that check. She’d never get another foster kid, not unless she dried out. She could hide her drunkenness with me, I’d always covered for her.

I clutched the papers to my chest. Hopefully, I could avoid being caught before I got on the plane.