Episode 16
“Is that somewhere near the Canary Islands?” I’m sure it isn’t. Where it IS, though, could be the way it sounds: tropical.
Sky so blue it hurts your eyes, surf so clear you can see the bottom for a mile out. Coral reefs with fish tank fish in the wild and seaweed waving in spears of sunlight. Palms swaying in sea breezes and clean white sand under bare feet. Coconut everything, drinks, desserts, coating shrimp like the dish I once had at a Red Lobster for my birthday. Paradise.
Or, it could be one of those bits of rocky land off the coast of Maine or Nova Scotia. I wish now I’d paid more attention in geography class.
Ernie laughs. John says, “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m heading to Canada.”
Not so you’d notice. We’ve been going west for what feels like three days. Might run across Hoodoo and Fran again after all. I never doubted he’d end up in California, though Ernie’s taunt about being in a horror movie probably wasn’t far off base.
“It’s not where we’re heading, exactly. Only, the money is.”
John’s head snaps around and he gives Ernie an astonished look. “You’re kidding.”
“It’ll be safer there than it is in a bag.”
Ernie drives the Caddy into a bank parking lot. The place is swarming. John’s breathless with disbelief. “Oh, my God.” He scoots down in the seat and pulls the ball cap visor as low as he can.
“We have to do this,” Ernie tells him. “It’s Friday and waiting till Monday could be a mistake.”
“Going in would be a mistake, and what the hell do you mean by parking in the open?”
Ernie gets out. “Come on, John. We’re three hundred miles from—” He stops.
We know what he means. Home. The place where everything bad happened, and where we can never go again.
“Do I stay with the car?”
“No, Mouse, you come with us.”
I grab my S. E. Hinton book to read in the lobby. Ernie opens the trunk and places the paper bag full of money in John’s care. On the way inside, I hear Ernie say, “You have a friend at the credit union. I have one at the bank. He’ll fix you up with a new life.”
John recoils with surprise and almost walks into the edge of the glass door. Instead of lining up with about fifty other people doing banking on their lunch hour, Ernie signs in on a sheet like he’s made an appointment.
I weigh myself on an old fashioned scale and I’ve lost four pounds. Suddenly I’m starving and try to take my mind off food by picking a fake leather chair where I can begin reading.
Half a book later, the lunch bunch is gone and I’m alone. The Caddy’s alone too. Like an old maid on a basketball court.
Voices approach along the carpeted hall. My buddies, with a pleasant-looking man in a rumpled shirt and wide tie. They stop in front of an office, he shakes John’s hand, calls him ‘Mister Baker.’ Ernie shakes the man’s hand, thanks him. He goes into the office and they come toward me.
Ernie gives John the car key. “I need to make a couple of calls. Move around to the back if you want to.”
He wants to, asap. From where he parks, away from the street, I can see Ernie at a pay phone. I wish I’d stayed with him, maybe find out who he’s talking to, but somehow I didn’t quite trust John not to leave us.
Friday. The day I was supposed to call Jerry and Steve and tell them I’d found a job in Dentonville and earned enough money to book a motel room for them. I wonder whether they ever really expected me to do that, or it was all just a prank to get me in trouble with old Collins and his boss O’Leary. In less than a week, I’ve lived more in the real world than in my whole life before.
Which could be more interesting, sharing John’s new life, or digging into Ernie’s old one? If we stay together, I can do both.
“We’ll be here a few days,” Ernie tells us when he comes back. He’s picked up a map in the bank, and adds, “Better let me drive.”
Sun’s bright, sky’s clear, leaves are almost to their full summer growth already. Instead of touring the town, which appears to be larger than the ones we’ve been in so far, Ernie takes us through a maze of residential streets and finally out on a curving by-pass.
We hit a stretch of empty shopping centers, a closed car dealership, little places still open but dying. A traffic light stops us.
In the next block, a small run-down motel makes my heart flutter. Ernie flicks on the turn signal. My mouth goes dry. At least it’s one level, no fire escape, and the sign’s readable. ‘Starshine.’ Bulbs around the name form a star, and I make a mental note to see how many of them come on after dark.
We drive around to the back and Ernie parks up close to the building. He and John look at each other. “I’ll go,” Ernie volunteers. “Nobody’s looking for me.”
Definitely the best thing going for us. But the way he says those words hurts me. All those people in his family, and he’s as alone as we are. I want to tell him, having the orphan police after you is no picnic, but he’s rounding the corner of the motel to the office. John says softly, “Not yet, anyway.”
“Ernie’s smart.” The only thing he hasn’t excelled at is running a carpet sweeper. I clamp my lips shut against listing out loud, not in any order, what he can do.
Find shelter, avoid detection, pick locks, soothe skinned skin, repair a lawn mower, convince grown men he’s a tough teen, grill a mean burger. Catch and cook fish, remember to pack dental floss, pretend not to notice embarrassing moments. Joke around like a regular guy instead of a rich brat. Navigate from memory or a map. He can stand up to people, drive a heavy old car in impossible places, pull strings to create a new life for the three of us. Oh, and make coffee.
He couldn’t do the one thing he set out to accomplish, though. Persuade Francine to wise up and go home. I wonder what kind of hold Hoodoo has on her, that Ernie can’t break.
Seeing him returning, we get out of the Caddy. He hands John a room receipt and a key. “We’re here, you’re there.” The rooms are next to each other, opening on this parking lot.
John reads what he’s written in the blanks, and laughs.
“When you’re settled in, Mister Baker, come on over for lunch.” Ernie carries in the bag of veggies. I take the bedroll and my duffel. Ernie goes back for his new guitar.
“Can you play that thing?” I leap onto the nearest bed and test the mattress and pillow. Thick and thin, the way I like them. The sheets and even the blanket smell clean, a relief.
“Later,” he tells me. He checks the bathroom and brings in the toilet paper from the campground. There’s no phone book, and we find the tv remote under my bed. There is an ice bucket which has seen better days. “No liner, no cups. Better get some drinks. Machines are in the covered walkway.” He gestures.
I pass John’s open door. He’s standing at the foot of his bed, staring into his suitcase. Missing that bag of money. Wondering what he’s gotten himself into. I grin. Welcome to the club.
Our lunch of tomatoes, cucumbers, and carrots is an almost-salad. Cut up with Ernie’s knife, it’s finger food. No lettuce, dressing, peppers, or onions. John clicks on the tv and I’m amazed. Not only does it work, it has about three hundred channels and they all come in clear. He quickly switches away from a commercial advertising a local steak house. News, he shuts off.
I fill in my hollow spaces with junk food from the candy machine. Open my book to where I left off. Ernie gathers up our lunch trash, and John goes back to his room for a nap.
“He’s in bad shape,” I venture. “Lost his spunk.”
Ernie stretches out on his bed. When you’re on the run, you sleep every chance you get. “Haven’t we all.”
I haven’t. I’m happier than I’ve been in… Ever.
It’s still early—well, daylight—when John knocks. He’s carrying a phone book and announces, “I’m going to call out for pizza. Place your orders.”
“Pepperoni,” I shout. Ernie votes for a veggie. Figures. John wants sausage. Three mediums should be enough to share and gorge half the night.
He comes back and says they won’t deliver a pitcher of beer, so we bring more soft drinks from the machine. While we wait for the food, John gives the tv another try. The news sounds funny, since all of the anchors and weathermen are unfamiliar.
“You know any of these people?” I ask Ernie, meaning, ‘Are they the ones on tv at your home?’ but the pizzas arrive so he avoids answering.
John mutes the sound so we can eat in peace, and we trade slices so everybody is satisfied with the selection. It’s my idea of perfect pizza—thin crust, medium cheese, and plenty of tomato sauce. While we’re stuffing our faces and guzzling soda, we glimpse a silent kaleidoscope of crying mothers and cop cars racing about, groups of citizens at some meeting, others carrying signs and demonstrating, kids and animals being rescued. Stock market report, ads for tire stores.
Then a Special Bulletin. Our chewing stops. We watch John’s wedding photo flash to the front. Margie, alive. Happy. It zooms to a fraction of the screen and hovers over the head of some bald guy whose mouth moves, saying things John doesn’t want to hear.
“Find out where they’re looking,” Ernie suggests quietly.
John presses the button and the announcer trails off with, “…wanted for questioning. If you have any information, please call the number at the bottom of your screen.” The bald guy repeats the number twice, and someone else at the station starts waving his arm over a weather map.
“He’s reporting from Dentonville,” Ernie says. “Not to worry.”
John doesn’t say anything. He leaves the last few slices of his pizza, drains the drink can, takes a cigarette pack from his shirt pocket. Outside, he paces, smoke trailing him.
Ernie perches on the edge of the single plastic chair and starts tuning his guitar. He looks like he knows what he’s doing. It’s unamplified, and he has a simple pick, not the kind you fit over your fingers, but the kind you lose the first time you turn around.
Ernie’s tune is pretty. John must not think so, because he yells, “Good night,” and disappears into the evening gloom.
“Margie’s favorite,” I remark.
“Fran’s.”
“You can’t stand her.”
“I like the song.”
“What is it?”
“Moon River.”
I sit on my bed, kick off my new shoes. He’s playing softly, but hears me when I go on. “That’s why you didn’t mess with the blonde in the red car. She made you think of Fran.”
He doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t look up. “Yep.”
Flipping channels, I come across a bunch of nearly naked women dancing around in a basement. Ernie motions me to give up the remote and shuts off the whole thing. I snap on the bedside lamp and finish my book. The ending’s tragic and I toss it away.
The weatherman predicted hotter temperatures tomorrow. Using Ernie’s knife, I rip off the legs of my thrift shop jeans at the knee. Turn my East Wind tee shirt so the logo’s on the inside. Remember the wig and dress, and try to think of some prank to pull on Ernie. One that doesn’t end up with my foot in my mouth.
After we’re settled in, everything’s dark except for a faint glow outside from a distant street light way down past the end of the building. Cool air circulates between the tiny bathroom window and the front door. A patter of rain reminds me of Haw Creek, except tonight I’m not drunk and my scabby knees and elbows and chin have peeled and healed.
It’s a lot like camping in the tent, but more comfortable, and I should be sleeping, but too much food and caffeine, memories and questions, keep me awake. Ernie’s snoring gently. He might be alone except for us, but that’s not interfering with his rest. I remember one of the drink machines has juice, coffee, and chocolate milk. Feeling in my jeans pocket, I come up with enough change.
A step over the threshold, I’m startled by the shape of someone sitting in the Caddy and I duck back, then lean to peer through the cascade of water on the windshield. Whoever is behind the wheel doesn’t move. For a long while, nothing. Only the rain, Ernie’s snoring, and an occasional gust of night wind.
John gets out, locks the car. Goes into his room. I breathe a long sigh. No Suit, planting a bomb. No cop looking for clues. No danger.
The walkway is cold and damp under my bare feet. The window to John’s room is open, curtains closed, the light over his door is out, just like ours. I hurry to the brightly lit machines and pay for a couple containers of chocolate milk. While drinking the first one, I count bulbs in this side of the motel sign. Two of the starfish arms look chopped off, blending into the night sky behind them. Seedy or not, I love it.
Inside again, I slip the chain lock into place. Open our window. Drink the second milk in the dark. Get into bed without brushing my teeth, and smile on the way to sleep.
* * * * *
The tv news wakes me. Sound’s turned so low I can barely hear it. Dressed, Ernie sits on the foot of his bed, watching the same clip about John re-play. I keep quiet, waiting to see what he’ll do. He watches firemen put out a house fire, and shots of a car wrapped around a telephone pole. Does he expect to see Francine? She wasn’t on either of my milk cartons from last night.
“What’s for breakfast?” I ask, to distract him from such thoughts, if he’s thinking them.
He shuts off the tv. “Leftover pizza.”
“John sleeping in?”
“It’s early. Just after seven.”
The machines dispense coffee, but I want mine in a mug, not paper or plastic. “Where’s the phone book?”
“Nearest breakfast is ten blocks away.”
“You really know this area, don’t you.” And me, I think.
“Yeah.”
I wait for him to tell me more, but he picks up the guitar and plays a sad melody I don’t recognize. “What’s that?”
“My own composition.”
“Does it have a name?”
His eyes dart a warning into mine, so I guess he calls it ‘Francine.’ With only two years separating them in age, they must have bonded in a way I never did with any of the foster kids who lived in the places I stayed. If I have brothers or sisters, I’m not aware of them. I’d be the oldest, probably. Someday, maybe I’ll go on a talk show and make a crying appeal and be reunited with people I once knew but have nothing in common with anymore.
Yeah. Sure.
“Where’d you go last night?” His question from left field surprises me.
“To the machines. And to count the star bulbs in the sign.”
“Big night out, huh?” He grins. Lays aside the guitar.
“John was sitting in the Caddy. Maybe deciding to let you paint her after all.”
Ernie leaps to his feet. The color’s drained from his face, and that scares me. He jerks the knob but the chain holds. “What’s the matter?” I hover behind him, reaching to close the door and free the chain.
“He’s got another key!”
Before he can run outside, I pull back the curtain. The parking lot is empty.
TO BE CONTINUED!