Chapter Twenty
A jar of peanut butter that’s almost full, half a loaf of bread, a bag of potato chips with the top rolled down, and one dried-out doughnut is not the healthiest of lunches, but it’s food. I’m grateful to Darren, even though I don’t want to admit it. Meg and I sit on the bench at the bus stop and plow right through the doughnut and potato chips. I twist the lid off the peanut butter jar so we can dip our fingers in and scoop out the rich, creamy treat, popping it straight into our mouths.
Our bus arrives. I screw the top back on the peanut butter and pull change out of my pocket. Meg and I step on, find a seat near the front, and settle in for a trip back to the library. Where else can we go? At least there, Meg can sit and read and I can charge my phone while I figure out what comes next.
I slump on the bus seat, sad and tired. My nervous energy is gone. Wasted on Darren. Used up on a dead-end, childish idea that I should have known was ridiculous from the beginning. I am embarrassed at my flailing attempts to find Mom.
The bus turns onto River Road and heads downtown. I stare out the window, letting the landscape blur together with no form or structure. My mind is groggy, but I work at pulling my thoughts together. We’re near St. Vinnie’s, where Mom works with Carly and Jen. I don’t have their phone numbers, but if I could talk to them, they might know where Mom took Ruby for repairs.
Did we go by the bus stop closest to the store? I glance around, but it takes me a minute to orient myself and see we’re a couple of blocks past it. We could get off at the next stop, but we’d either have to walk the extra distance or wait for the next bus to take us back to the right stop.
If I knew Carly or Jen was working, it would be worth the trek, but if they aren’t there, I would waste valuable time. The minutes I bought for my phone still haven’t been added, and I don’t want to use the last of my data time to look up the phone number for St. Vinnie’s.
Because of my indecision, the bus is now several blocks away. I lean back against the bus seat. When I get to the library, I’ll look up the phone number for St. Vinnie’s. Carly or Jen should be able to take a call, especially if I say it’s an emergency.
I close my eyes and let the motion of the bus lull me back into a state of half-consciousness. Darren gave us enough money to keep looking for Mom, so I should be relieved, but instead, a huge wave of sadness washes over me.
What if spending this long, weary day is the last time Meg and I have together? The sun will set, and if we haven’t found Mom, Meg and I will go into foster care. The caseworkers won’t have any trouble finding a home for a cute little girl with good manners, but what about a teenager?
I try to concentrate on what to do next, but it’s useless. I open my palm and look at Jack’s phone number. The blue ink is smeared and faded, the numbers illegible, but it doesn’t matter. I know them by heart.
Jack’s easy manner and the softness of his voice when he talked to me were a lifetime ago—so far away it’s hard to remember if they were real or just stories from another world or a different time in history. Still, the warmth I felt with him hangs on, seeping through my body and deep into my very bones.
Do I text Jack and thank him for lunch yesterday? Until I find Mom safe and alive, my life is shattered. Is it fair to drag him into this chaos, or do I fade away, maybe never to see him again?
Jack offered to help if I needed anything, so programming his number into my phone is a safety precaution for Meg and me, not just a personal one. I slide my cell out of the front pocket of my pack and stare at it for a long time. If his cell number is easy to call, I don’t have to think. I can just tap the screen if Meg and I are desperate. My fingers fly across the numbers, programming Jack into my phone—and maybe into my life.
I go one step further and tap out a text. If I hit send, Jack has my phone number and can call or text me. Do I want that? Sharing my number with Jack makes me more vulnerable to him. Can I handle the pressure, or will I lose sight of my own goals? Before I change my mind, I hit send, then stare at the screen long after my message has flown through the air to land in Jack’s back pocket.
Jack doesn’t respond, which I’m glad about. He’s busy, and I don’t have to lie and say we’re fine, or spill out the sad tale of my life and drag him down into my problems. I slide my phone back into my pack, zip it in, and hook the straps through my arms even though it sits on my lap, just to make sure it can’t be stolen.
I squeeze my fingers over the inky smear on my hand, lean my head back, and close my eyes. I don’t wake until the driver stops the bus and yells, “End of the line! Everybody off.”