Don't Fail Me Now(32)

“I just want you and Cass and Mom as my family,” he says, giving the back of my seat a hard kick for emphasis.

Shit, Cass. I have no idea where she went. “Stay here for a sec,” I tell Denny, getting out of the car and surveying the overwhelmingly beige suburban landscape. Leah is standing in the middle of an empty parking spot a few feet away, staring intently at her phone. The lot is about half-full, and people amble from their cars toward the shaded strip that houses, in addition to the Kinko’s and RadioShack, a sad-looking gym, an Edible Arrangements, and a Mexican restaurant called Burrito Allegre.

I lean against the hood, dial Cass, and try not to panic as it rings and rings. I don’t think she would actually try to ditch us—this is still the girl who, now that my mom’s legs aren’t long enough to hide her, darts around corners to avoid talking to strangers—but she’s not above laying low for an hour or two and making me sweat it out as punishment.

“Cass, please come back to the car,” I beg after that Stepford female robot voice tells me to leave a message at the tone. “I know today has been crazy, but you’re only making it worse by hiding.”

“Who’s hiding?”

I turn to see Cass standing by the rear bumper, holding her backpack by one frayed strap.

“I was just doing my shot,” she says. “The gym let me use their bathroom.” She leans in conspiratorially and gives me a little smile. “I could’ve even taken a shower, they didn’t care. For future reference.”

“Thanks,” I say slowly, shutting off my phone. My sister is acting downright chipper . . . which happens about as often as a Halley’s Comet sighting these days. I’m thrown by the quicksilver change in mood, but hey, I’ll take it. Since we don’t have enough cash to get us all the way to Venice, we might have to rely on our sparkling personalities.

Speaking of which, Tim has materialized with a triumphant grin and is chaperoning a reluctant Leah back to the car.

“I got us some food,” he says, holding up a greasy paper bag. “Figured we could have a parking lot picnic.” I watch as Tim doles out tacos to the kids, calling the girls “m’lady” and goofing around with Denny—even offering food to Max. Having another person around to play grown-up might not be so bad after all.

“And for you, I got a burrito,” he says, turning to me with a smile. “For old time’s sake.” He’s clearly very pleased with himself, and although I try to fight a reflexive smile, I can feel it starting to show.

“What, I’m not worth a bouquet of cantaloupe?” I ask, putting my hands on my hips and nodding toward the Edible Arrangements.

“Next time,” he says, “I’ll buy you a dozen long-stemmed honeydews. But for now: truce?”

I take the foil sleeve and examine its contents. “What kind?” I ask, poking a finger under the wrapper.

“Just bean and cheese,” he says. “I didn’t know if you were a vegetarian.”

“Sour cream and guac?” I like to douse my food in more condiments than a normal human should consume in one sitting.

“Yes and yes,” he says. “I decided to go for it.”

The smile breaks through, despite my best efforts. “Thanks,” I say.

Tim looks relieved. “So we’re good?”

I cock my head and think for a minute. “Maybe just one more thing?”

A few minutes later, Tim is punching Aunt Sam’s number into his phone, and I’m holding up a cue card made from the back of a Chinese take-out menu I found on the floor in the backseat. I’m 99 percent sure Aunt Sam won’t pick up a random call from an unknown number, but I bite my tongue nervously until Tim gives me a thumbs-up sign.

“Hi, Mrs. Means,” he says, dropping his voice again. “This is Agent Yusuk from CPS. I’m calling to let you know we picked up your nieces and nephew and will be holding them for a few days to ask them some further questions. We’ll be sending you a check for your trouble. Take care.” He hangs up and shakes his head, laughing. “I don’t get it.”

“You don’t have to,” I say. “Just know you got back some good juju.” Hopefully that message will keep Aunt Sam from reporting us missing or saying something to Mom, at least for a while. And I love picturing her checking the mailbox every day, resplendent in her kimono, for a nonexistent payoff.

“Phew,” he says with a playful grin. “I guess things are looking up.”

I take a bite of my burrito and look up at the bright, cloudless sky. I’m not convinced yet, but I have to admit, it’s a nice thought.





EIGHT


Wednesday Night

I-70 W, Near Terre Haute, IN




Almost nine P.M. and the Indiana highway is dark and quiet, with streetlamps only at intersections, so in between all we can see are the headlights of other cars flashing past like fireflies. In the past ten hours, we’ve been through four states. Pennsylvania was a breeze, just a quick shortcut across the southwestern corner (which took us right through a town named, ironically, California), but then Ohio was a long, flat slog punctuated by passive-aggressive fighting between Leah and Cass—who literally could not agree on a radio station to save their own lives—and Denny either complaining about being bored or having to use the bathroom. (An impromptu song consisting only of the lyrics “I HAVE TO POOP!” serenaded us through downtown Columbus.)