I was just going to leave it at that, Aleah. I finally (like three hours ago) fell asleep thinking: that’s all she needs to know, that Andrew disappeared because of something to do with my dad’s parents (one of whom is totally dead, like Dad). Aleah’s not my family. Ronald has probably told her everything anyway and she never bothered to contact me, which is terrible.
Aleah? You’ve really made me feel bad. Do you know that? What am I suppose to do?
Forget it.
Want to know something funny? There’s a heat wave in the South. One airport is having delays because of pavement issues. One airport just shut down completely because of some kind of power outage. Fort Myers is fine, apparently, but they’re having problems with planes getting where they need to be everywhere in the system. I am very confused.
I actually said to the gate agent, without stuttering or stumbling, because I was pissed: “The South doesn’t know how to handle hot weather? That’s ridiculous.”
“Not this kind of hot, sir. This is unprecedented.”
Sir? Unprecedented? Like in the world? Makes me worry about the future.
Now they won’t tell me if my flight’s going to get the crap out of here on time.
I am angry. Angry! Monkey chest pound.
I do not enjoy air travel, for it puts me in prison.
• • •
My legs feel like Jell-O. Donkey needs to run.
What if I’m stuck in Chicago forever?
Jerri would come get me.
Your dad is still in Bluffton, so he can’t just drive over to O’Hare and take me for breakfast.
Maybe I’ll still be here when you get back from Germany on Friday morning. Then you can spit on my shoes in person.
Or maybe we’d make up?
No. Maybe.
Gus and I sort of made up after I received that unbelievable email from Randy Stone. Who could I call? Who could I talk to? Not Jerri, you know? After falling on the floor for like three hours, I decided no, no, no Jerri.
I called Gus.
(After I left Andrew several hysterical voice mails, by the way.)
Gus didn’t pick up when I called, of course. But in my message I pretty much shouted: “Check your email immediately!” Then I forwarded him the child detective Randy Stone dispatch.
Gus called me back about thirty seconds after I hit Send.
“Holy shit!”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Randy Freaking Stone! Andrew!”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “I’m sorry I blamed you for that crap.”
“I wish I did it because Randy Stone’s awesome, but I didn’t,” Gus said.
“Uh-huh.”
“Jesus. That drunken, bony unicorn girl told the truth, didn’t she?”
“Looks that way,” I said.
“Whoa, man. So weird.”
Gus knowing about this made me feel better.
“Where do you think he went? Is he smoking cigarettes, that sly devil? What the hell is going on? What’s all that ‘rosy’ babble about at the end?”
“I think he’s probably in Florida. I think maybe with our cousin, Tovi. I don’t know for sure, though.”
“Evidence?”
“He posted a picture of a pelican on feltonreinstein.com.”
“Solid.”
“Couple days ago he claimed his new friend at orchestra camp is named Tovi.”
“So?”
“The Rose babble at the bottom led me to my grandma’s obituary where a girl named Tovi is listed as our cousin.”
“Grandma? Grandma Berba? What do you mean? Grandma who?”
“Grandma Rose Reinstein.”
“Wow.” Gus’s voice lost its normal edge. No one else in the world other than Andrew and Jerri would know exactly what that meant. (Long. Lost. Grandparent.) “No shit, Felton.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Seriously.”
“What are you going to do? Tell Jerri?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know…No.”
“Whoa,” he said.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Aw, Jesus Christ, Felton.”
“What?”
“Do you want to hang out or something?” he asked, clearly not totally convinced he should.
“Yeah,” I said. “Please.”
“Okay,” he sort of whispered.
• • •
Announcement on loudspeaker…
Oh, god-dang dog crap.
My flight is now officially delayed.
I’m in prison, Aleah.