The Scent Keeper(56)

After a while the bus stopped again, and this time the engine turned off. I opened my eyes and saw the driver looking my way.

“End of the line,” he said.

What am I doing? I wondered.

The bus driver clicked his tongue impatiently.

Just go forward, Emmeline, I told myself.



* * *



I stood in front of the bus station, trying to get my bearings. Buildings rose up all around me. There was a hostel in the city, I knew; I had found it on the computer in the library. But the map I had seen on the screen made no sense here in the midst of this chaos.

“Do you know where you’re going?” It was the bus driver.

“I’m trying to find this place,” I said, holding out the piece of paper with the address.

The driver turned out to be sympathetic; he had a daughter about my age. He insisted on walking me to the hostel, giving me what he called an orientation along the way. He walked me through the forest of buildings, until they opened and I saw a body of water that could have held fifty, maybe a hundred Secret Coves.

“That’s the harbor,” the bus driver said, pointing. All along its edges were great buildings with towers and grand doors.

“Are those palaces?” I asked, and he laughed.

“Only for rich people.”

The bus driver took me along a wooden walkway that ran between the wharf and a long row of buildings made of faded red brick. Our shoes made soft clomping sounds on the old wood that reminded me of home, and I pulled the music of it into me, a shield against all the other noises. We passed restaurants that looked out over the water, the people on the decks beautiful and laughing. My stomach woke at the smells of melting cheese and roasting garlic, cool lemons and warm chocolate, but my mind shut when I saw the prices on the chalked signs outside the doors. I wouldn’t be eating at any of these places.

We turned back into the city, taking a complicated series of rights and lefts before heading down a narrow brick alley lined with tiny stores. Smells came out of all of them, dense, too sweet, too strong. A camera-carrying swarm of tourists came toward us, their voices clattering off the walls. We made our way through them, paddling against their tide.

How will I ever find you here, Fisher?

“There you are,” the bus driver said as we emerged from the alley. I startled, thinking for a moment he meant Fisher, but then I saw he was pointing across the street to a narrow yellow building stuck like sandwich filling between a restaurant and a language school. “You gonna be okay?”

“Sure,” I said, not believing it for a minute.

He patted me on the shoulder, and then he was gone.



* * *



Fingers shaking, I pushed the doorbell and was buzzed inside. I paid for a week’s stay, giving the money to a young woman with too-black hair and ears pierced with what looked like fishing lures. She gave me a key and said, “Number ten.”

Two flights of stairs and a long hall later, I found the room: three metal bunk beds and a single white sink, as spartan as everything outside was chaotic. The windows were tall, the floors made of scuffed wood. It might have been beautiful once, but it hadn’t ever gotten one of Colette’s deep cleans. All the same, it was cheap. If I was careful, I had enough money for almost two weeks.

Back in the hostel lobby, I spent a few precious quarters to call Henry and Colette from the pay phone.

“Where are you? Are you okay?” Colette sounded almost frantic.

“In the city,” I said. “I’m fine. I’m staying in a hostel.”

“You scared me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Do you want to come home? Henry can drive down and get you.” In the background, I could hear the clink of Dodge’s metal dog tag against the water bowl, and I thought for a moment I might break in two.

“No,” I said. “Not yet.” I would not give up on the first day.

We talked for a few more minutes, but all too soon the money ran out and I listened to the long flat buzz as the phone disconnected. A girl walking by looked up from the glowing screen of her cell phone.

“That thing still works?” she said as she passed.



* * *



I stood there, the phone receiver in my hand. All I wanted to do was go back to that plain, quiet room upstairs and hide. I wasn’t sure what I’d thought would happen once I got to the city—maybe that I’d see the red of Fisher’s hair blazing like a beacon across a crowded street. Or maybe I’d hoped an instinct born of love would guide my feet. But this city was like nothing I’d imagined. It made oceans feel small. Instinct drowned here. I needed a plan, something to hold on to.

I heard my father’s voice in my head. Assess the situation, Emmeline. Eliminate the variables. Determine the best course of action.

I forced myself to go outside. Around the corner was a small grocery store, where I bought a jar of peanut butter, a loaf of bread, and a map of the city. Back at the hostel, I found a set of bus schedules. I took it all to my bunk, made a sandwich, and spread out the map. I noted each of the nurseries in green ink as my mouth worked on the sticky, dry bread. I didn’t stop until I’d located all forty-nine.

The marks looked like a school of fish in a huge ocean. As I looked at them, the burst of energy that had taken me this far suddenly ran out. It was only eight o’clock, but I brushed my teeth in the sink and lay down on one of the beds, pulling the covers over my nose.