Chapter 7
Jack

My cousins pop out of the car before it even comes to a complete stop, racing across the front lawn to escape my mom and me. Aunt Rachel greets them at the front door, then scowls at Mom before heading inside and slamming the door behind her.

I’m so mad I almost wish I could go with them. I saw George, and she yanked me away. Dragged me to the car. Told me to sit down and put on my seatbelt before speeding off to drop Morgan’s friend at his house, followed by my cousins at theirs. I thought she wanted to help. I should’ve known she didn’t mean it.

The car idles. I can smell the gasoline polluting the air around us. Why aren’t we moving? Why aren’t we going home?

I glance up at Mom and catch the glimmer of tears in her eyes.

“I try so hard, Jacky.” Her voice is broken, the complete opposite of the toy store secret agent. “I’m so sick of failing.”

My stomach flutters, and I’m sure she can hear my heart thumping in the silence that follows. Not this again. “No, no, Mom. You didn’t fail.” I reach across and put my hand on hers, which is clenching the steering wheel. “We succeeded. We found George. Because of you!”

She pulls her hand away and massages her temples. “What did he say to you?”

A tear slips down my cheek, but I keep talking, steady as I can. “He didn’t say anything. He was with the walruses—”

“Not George,” she interrupts me. “Your father.”

Not this. Please not this. My mind flashes back to Mom when Dad first left. The last time she insisted she’d failed. Crying on the couch for days. Sleeping all the time. Not bothering to buy groceries. Forgetting to pick me up from school. This can’t happen again. I want to cry but that’s not what she needs, so I snort loudly to suck in the tears. Each word is a challenge: “He’s busy with work, you know. He said he saw George, too.”

Mom runs her fingers through her hair as she takes a deep breath, then smashes her hands against the steering wheel. She’s no longer whispering: “Come on, Jack! What did he say that made you run away?”

“It’s not important.”

Her fist slams on the horn. The horrible blare pierces through the air of Aunt Rachel’s usually quiet street. One of the neighbors peeks through their sheer curtains.

“HE SAID HE FOUND SOMEONE ELSE!” I shout. “He’s replacing us!”

I start to sob. I should’ve known the fun Mom who takes me to the toy store and the zoo wouldn’t last long. She usually doesn’t. I can’t let it get further than this though. “But it’s okay,” I struggle to say. Again, I reach out, rubbing her hand. “We’re okay, Mom. Let’s go home, and I’ll make you a grilled cheese. Just like I used to.”

She snorts, almost disgusted. “Back when I was pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic,” I insist. “You’re just . . .” I stumble. What the heck am I supposed to do? George would know the exact right joke to break the tension. “You’re just sensitive,” I finally say, recalling the word she used to describe me.

“You know that’s just another word for pathetic,” she snaps. So that’s what she really thinks of me. She lets the jab sink in before calmly stating, “I know you’d rather be with him.”

“That’s not true,” I promise. I want them both.

“Then why did you try to run away from me twice today?” she demands.

“We were looking for Geor—”

“Cut the bull, Jack,” she snaps. Any hint of sadness has been replaced by annoyance at my stupidity. “You’re not seven.” Mom gets mad a lot, but I’ve never gotten used to how much her words can sting. “I know everyone thinks I’m a screw-up.”

“Nobody thinks that.”

“Your father. Rach. You.”

“I don’t.”

Mom sounds defiant when she says, “But I’m going to show you all.”

She’s not making any sense, but at least we’ve gotten past sad. “Show me what?”

“You’ll see.” She chuckles. The car door unlocks. “Get out, Jacky.”

What? Get out of what? Our place is a ten-minute drive away. “This isn’t our house.”

“Rachel will take much better care of you than I can.”

She’s kidding, right? Aunt Rachel helped raise those monsters, Jason and Morgan. “What are you talking about, Mom? I wanna be with you.”

She unclicks her seatbelt, opens her own door, and comes around to my side of the car. When she opens my door, she insists, “And you will be. But I need a week, you know?”

I don’t know.

She undoes my seatbelt and scoops me out onto the lawn. My legs collapse as she releases me, and I fall onto the grass. The cool blades tickle my skin, but I’m not sure if these chills are from the bug-crawling sensation, or the realization that Mom is abandoning me, too.

“I’m sorry, Jack. You’re too much. This is all too much, and I need to go.” Last time I checked, when you’re actually sorry, you don’t sound like it’s Christmas morning, but Mom is practically giddy.

“Go where?” I ask shakily.

“Away.”

She can’t even look at me, and I can’t ask her the question that’s racing around in my mind because I’m afraid she’ll tell me exactly what she said about George: You’re the reason he’s gone. You’re the reason I’m going. So that’s why she took me to the zoo. Why she pretended to care about George. Why she let me buy the playing cards. To make up for deciding to dump me.

She bends down to kiss my forehead but I pull back. She ruffles my hair, rises, and returns to the car. “Just a week,” she promises as the door closes behind her. “I’ll be back.”

The lock clicks.

I force myself up, my noodle legs wobbling.

I can’t believe it. She’s leaving me, too. Why does this keep happening? There’s a waterfall running down my face, and I’m sniffing and snorting like a pig. I don’t understand, so can somebody PLEASE tell me what I’ve done? “Why does everyone keep leaving me?” I scream.

I smack the side of her car as the engine revs, and she begins to pull away. I run alongside, whacking the front door, then the back door, the trunk, and finally just the air.

The bright red taillights get smaller and smaller, until my mom disappears into the night.