Oh, thank God! I’d been afraid—well, never mind what I’d been afraid of. “Moved where?”
“To a regular room.”
A regular room? That was good, right? “Then he must be doing better.”
“He’s stable. I’ll get you the room number.” She flipped through a few more papers. “Here it is. Room 515. Go out those doors and—”
“I’ll find it,” I said, hurrying away. I took the elevator up two floors, then followed the signs to room 515.
Joe was in the bed over by the window. The big tube in his mouth was gone now, but he had a skinny clear tube running into each nostril. He didn’t see me because he was looking out the window.
“Looks like you’re doing better,” I said, marching into the room. Oh. He had a roommate now. Some skinny old guy who hardly had any hair and whistled when he snored.
Joe turned his head slowly toward me. He didn’t look much better. He was still all bruised and swollen. His eyes sort of sank into his head. But at least he could talk to me now that he didn’t have that tube in his mouth.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, lowering my voice so I wouldn’t wake the roommate up.
“Throat’s sore.” Joe rubbed his throat. “From the tube.” It sounded sore, too, the way he was talking.
“Yeah, but the rest of you is getting better, right? Otherwise they wouldn’t have moved you to a regular room.”
He didn’t respond to that. “Have … you … seen Gram?” he asked. I had to listen really hard to make out what he was saying.
“Yes.” I grabbed a chair and dragged it closer to the bed. “I was just there. She’s okay. She’s having a regular day. Not good or bad. Just regular.”
“Did you … tell her … about me?”
“No!” I couldn’t believe he even asked. “You told me not to.”
“Doesn’t … mean … you … didn’t.”
“I didn’t,” I said. Jeez! “I told her you were busy at work and you wouldn’t be able to visit for a while. But she forgot ten minutes later.”
“What about … your mother?” It was such an effort for him to talk.
My mother? “You mean Suzanne? What about her?”
“Have … you … called … her?”
I assumed he meant have you called her to tell her you’re not coming? “Not yet,” I said. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to tell her you’re in the hospital. She’ll want to know who’s staying with me—”
“You … should still go … to Iowa.”
“What?” I cried. “No!”
“Yes.”
“You’re in the hospital. I’m not going to Iowa while you’re in the hospital.” What kind of person goes off on a big trip when her dad is in the hospital?
Joe shifted position and winced. “The hospital social worker … came around … asked questions … about you. Lots of questions. You can’t … stay alone … at the house. I said … you were staying … with a neighbor.”
“Good,” I said. Except I’d told that nurse this morning that I was staying with my grandma. I hoped the nurse and the social worker didn’t talk to each other.
“I also said … you’re going … to your mom’s … tomorrow. You should go … like we planned.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t want to. I don’t want to leave you.”
“Yes,” he insisted. He closed his eyes. “Otherwise Suzanne … will think … something’s wrong.” His breathing grew slow and heavy, like he was asleep. I sat and watched him for about fifteen minutes. Then I got up and went home.
There was no way I was going to Iowa, I thought as I sat cross-legged on the recliner in front of the TV, eating my Kraft macaroni and cheese right out of the pan. Absolutely no way. And I would call Suzanne and tell her so as soon as I finished eating. I’d tell her somebody really important to me was in the hospital and I couldn’t possibly go to Iowa right now. Of course, she’ll want to know who’s in the hospital, so I’ll tell her my best friend was in a terrible accident. Hmmm … I’ll need a name for that friend.
The doorbell rang. Sherlock’s ears perked up and he let out a short woof as he got up and trotted down the hall. I followed him, carrying the pot of macaroni and cheese with me.
Great. It was my social worker, Mrs. Morris.
Sherlock stood at the door and barked at her, but he didn’t scare her away. “May I come in, T.J.?” she asked, her hand already on the outside door handle.
“I guess.” She was already most of the way in anyway.
Mrs. Morris was an older lady with a long black and gray braid that she wore twisted around her head. Even though it was summer, she always came to our house dressed in a nice skirt and matching jacket. She peered inside my pot and wrinkled her nose. Then I saw her glance with disapproval at the basket of dirty laundry sitting in the middle of our living room. What? Didn’t she ever have dirty laundry?
“I heard about your dad,” she said, her eyes returning to my face. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But he’s not dead. He’s just hurt. He’ll be okay. How did you know he was in the hospital anyway?”
“Our office received a call from the hospital social worker. They said they had a patient who possibly had a child home alone. When I heard the name of the patient, I put two and two together.”
“Oh, I’m not staying here alone,” I assured Mrs. Morris.
“Really,” Mrs. Morris said, looking around. “Who’s staying here with you?”
I gulped. “Well, no one’s actually staying here,” I admitted. “I’m staying next door.” Hadn’t Joe said he told the hospital social worker that I was staying with a neighbor?
Mrs. Morris pressed her lips together. “Then why are you here now, eating dinner all by yourself?”
She thought she had me, but she didn’t. “I came home to do laundry,” I said, gesturing toward the big basket. “And to get packed for my trip. I’m supposed to go visit Suzanne tomorrow, remember?”
I’m so smart I amaze myself sometimes.
“Yes. That’s the other reason I’m here,” Mrs. Morris said. “I wanted to see if your plans had changed now that your dad is in the hospital.”
I couldn’t tell whether she thought my plans should have changed or not. “No, he’s doing pretty good,” I lied. “And he said I should still go.” That part was true.
“Well. Your mother will be happy to hear that.”
“Did you tell her Joe was in the hospital?” I asked, feeling a little panicked.
“No.” Mrs. Morris looked surprised. “I thought you would have called her.”
Whew. What a relief. “I haven’t had time,” I said. “I’ll call her as soon as I finish my supper.” To let her know I’m not coming.
I edged closer toward the door, hoping Mrs. Morris would get the hint. She did, but when she got to the door, she stopped. “So, which neighbor are you staying with?” she asked.
“The one over there.” I pointed loosely toward Dave and Nick’s house.
Mrs. Morris slipped out the door, took a closer look at the house I just pointed at, then started across the grass in her high heels.
I poked my head out the door. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“I want to check in with your neighbor.”
Uh-oh. Dave and Nick’s parents were nice, but they wouldn’t tell Mrs. Morris I was staying there when I wasn’t.
I went all the way outside. “I don’t think they’re home,” I called. But Mrs. Morris kept right on walking.
I watched nervously as she marched up the brick steps and rang the bell. When no one came to the door, she rang the bell again. For once, luck was on my side. They really weren’t home!
“Told you,” I said as she made her way back to my house.
Mrs. Morris glanced over at their house once more, then pressed her lips together. I could tell she was trying to decide what to do. “You’re sure you’re staying over there tonight?” she asked. “You’re not staying here
by yourself?”
“Of course not.” I loved how she actually expected me to tell her I was lying.
“And you’re really going to your mom’s tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Morris still didn’t look entirely convinced. “Okay,” she said finally. Then she got in her car and drove away.
But all of a sudden I realized people were going to be checking on me if I stayed here by myself. That one nurse at the hospital had already been suspicious enough about me to call Social Services. She’d call again if they saw me hanging around. Which meant it was going to be hard to visit Joe. In fact, Mrs. Morris might actually call Suzanne to make sure I really did show up. If Suzanne found out that 1) I’d lied to her, 2) Joe was in the hospital, and 3) no one was staying with me, she wouldn’t just make me come and stay with her for a week, she’d make me stay there for good.
Joe wasn’t dying or anything. In fact, he was getting better. He was out of the ICU. He could talk. And … he’d told me to go to Iowa.
Maybe I should go?
But what about Gram? Could I really go away when I knew Joe wouldn’t be able to visit Gram? She probably wouldn’t have any visitors the whole time I was gone.
Did I have a choice? It was better to go to Iowa now and be able to come back than to not go and get taken away from Joe forever.
So I spent the rest of the evening cramming all the stuff I thought I’d need for the next week into Joe’s old duffel bag. Pair of jeans, couple of pairs of shorts, T-shirts, socks, underwear. Of course, I was going to a wedding, so I needed something dressy, too. I didn’t have a lot of fancy clothes. Just a pair of black pants and a white shirt that Gram bought me for my band concert last winter. I hoped they still fit. I grabbed the pants and shirt off their hangers, folded them neatly and laid them on top of all my other stuff in the duffel. I went into the bathroom to get my toothbrush, toothpaste, and shampoo, shoved them into the side pocket, then zipped the duffel closed.
“I guess that’s it,” I told Sherlock. I sank to the floor beside him and he climbed into my lap. I buried my face in his fur and hugged him hard. “What if Joe gets worse while I’m gone, Sherlock?” I asked.
I’d have to call Joe while I was in Iowa. I didn’t have a cell phone and I didn’t know if Suzanne would let me use her phone to call him, but I would find a way to talk to him. I’d seen a phone in his room, but I didn’t know the number. I would have to go to the hospital one more time to say good-bye to Joe before I went to Iowa anyway. I could see if the number was written on the phone while I was there.
“Is there anything else I need to do before I go?” I asked my dog.
“Oh, my gosh! Sherlock!” I cried. What was I going to do with him while I was gone? Joe couldn’t take care of him. The only people I knew well enough to ask were Dave and Nick next door. But I didn’t really want to ask them. They had a dog get run over by a car once. Plus they weren’t even home.
Would it be crazy to take him to Iowa with me?
I called the bus station to see whether they allowed dogs on the bus. They did. I thought about calling Suzanne, too, to make sure it was okay with her if I brought Sherlock. But what if she said no? It was better to just show up with him. Then she wouldn’t be able to say no.
I filled an old ice cream bucket with dog food and set it in a big grocery bag along with Sherlock’s bowls, his leash, and a couple of toys. I put that bag next to my duffel. Now I really was ready.
I set my alarm for five o’clock in the morning so I’d have time to go see Joe before I left for the bus station. Then I went to bed.
But once again, I couldn’t sleep. My brain just wouldn’t shut off. I worried about Joe, and I worried about Gram. I even worried about Suzanne and Sam. What would they be like? I wondered. Would they expect me to just blend right into their family while I was there? Would I be able to keep the fact that Joe was in the hospital a secret?
At a quarter to five, I gave up on sleep. I got up, took a quick shower, then jogged over to the hospital. I ran along the sidewalk, cut through the mall parking lot, and arrived at the hospital at exactly five thirty.
I wasn’t sure I was actually allowed to visit Joe this early, but there wasn’t anyone sitting at the main desk to stop me, so I zipped across the lobby and ducked into a waiting elevator. When I got to the fifth floor I saw a couple of nurses talking quietly at the other end of the hall, but they didn’t pay any attention to me. I kept on going, all the way to Joe’s room.
I wasn’t surprised to find the room dark and both Joe and his roommate sound asleep. The roommate was whistling again. I tiptoed over to the phone. There was enough light from the hallway that I could read the number on it. I found a pen in a drawer, but no paper. So I picked up the pen and copied the number onto the palm of my hand. Then I went over to Joe.
At first I just watched him sleep. I watched him inhale and exhale loudly through his open mouth. He sure wasn’t going to wake up on his own, so I leaned over him and whispered, “Joe? Joe, it’s me. Wake up.”
His eyelids fluttered open and he blinked a couple of times in my direction. “T.J.?”
“I-I’m going to Iowa,” I said.
“Okay,” he said drowsily. He closed his eyes.
“You said you wanted me to go,” I reminded him. But I could still change my mind. All he had to do was say, “Don’t go, T.J.,” and I wouldn’t.
“Behave yourself while you’re there,” he said, his eyes still closed. “Make them think I raised you right.” And then he was asleep again.
My eyes welled with tears, but I blinked them away. I leaned down and kissed his forehead. “I’ll be back in a week,” I whispered.
Chapter Six
How was I supposed to get to the bus station with my duffel, my dog, and all my dog’s stuff? It was too far to walk. I couldn’t take a city bus. Not with Sherlock. About the only other thing I could think of to do was call a cab, so that was what I did. I had to use some of the money Suzanne sent me for the bus to pay for it, which meant that when I got to the bus station, I didn’t have enough left for a round-trip ticket to Cedar Rapids, Iowa. I only had enough for a one-way ticket.
If I couldn’t afford a round-trip ticket, how would I get home next week? Well, I’d worry about that next week. Right now, I had to get to Iowa. “One way to Cedar Rapids, Iowa,” I told the guy at the ticket counter. His name tag said “Tony.”
The bus was already boarding, so as soon as I got my ticket, I threw my duffel bag onto my shoulder, grabbed Sherlock’s leash in one hand and his bag of stuff in the other, then hustled toward the double doors.
“Excuse me, miss,” Tony called after me.
I turned.
“You can’t take your dog on the bus like that.”
“Are you kidding me?” I stomped back over to the counter. “I called here last night. Whoever I talked to said dogs were allowed.”
“They are. In the cargo bay. Do you have a kennel or something to transport him in?”
“No,” I said. We never bought a kennel because Sherlock always slept on my bed. “He’s small, though. I can keep him on my lap the whole time.”
Tony shook his head. “I’m sorry. Pets have to ride in the cargo bay.”
I sighed. What was I supposed to do? I was already here. With my dog. I had a ticket for the bus, but no kennel. I didn’t even have enough money to take a cab back home if this guy wasn’t going to let Sherlock on the bus.
“We might have a spare kennel in the back room,” Tony said. “Let me go check.” He went away for a couple of minutes, then came back with a huge, way-too-big-for-Sherlock kennel that smelled like dirty dogs.
Was he serious? He wanted me to put my dog in that? Who knew what diseases were lurking inside there?
“I’ll carry it out to the bus for you,” Tony said, lifting it up over the counter as he bumped the little gate open with his hip.
“Gee, thanks,” I muttered. I followed him out to the bus. The gas fumes and ci
garette smoke made me feel a little sick to my stomach. Tony set the kennel down in front of the open cargo bay, and a guy in a bus driver uniform came over to check it out.
“Looks like we’ve got some special cargo for this trip,” the bus driver said, bending down to scratch Sherlock behind the ears.
“Yup,” I said. I waited until Tony left, then asked, “Do I really have to put my dog in there? Couldn’t I just hold him on my lap?” The bus driver seemed nice. And he obviously liked dogs.
“Sorry.” He shook his head. “It’s against the rules.”
Personally, I always thought rules were made to be broken. Especially when they were stupid rules to begin with. But the bus driver made it clear that the only way my dog was getting on this bus was in a kennel. In the cargo bay.
“Sorry, boy,” I said, dropping to my knees. I hugged my dog hard, then I pointed toward the open kennel. “I guess you have to go in there.”
His tail drooped. He just looked at me and whined.
“I know,” I said, giving his back end a nudge. “I wouldn’t want to do it, either. And I wouldn’t make you if I didn’t have to.” I pushed him all the way in. The bus driver closed the door behind him, picked up the kennel like it was just a light briefcase, and set it in the cargo bay.
Sherlock pawed at the door and whined some more, which about broke my heart. He would probably whine the whole way to Iowa. I hoped the bus driver was happy.
I felt all choky inside as I climbed onto the bus. An old lady who was knitting in the front seat smiled at me, but I kept moving. At least there were lots of open seats. I chose one in the middle, tossed my duffel bag onto the window seat, and plopped into the aisle seat so no one would sit down with me. Then I reclined my seat back as far as it would go and settled in for the long ride.
Once we got out of the Twin Cities, there wasn’t much to see. Just one field of corn after another, broken up by the occasional bean field. I wondered how Sherlock was doing in the cargo bay. It was probably dark under there. Was he scared? Was he bus sick? Or had he simply curled up and gone to sleep?
I wanted to sleep, but I couldn’t. I was too worried about Sherlock … and Joe … and Gram … and this whole upcoming week. As I rested my head against the window I thought back to that day that changed everything. The day I met Sam.
Yes, I Know the Monkey Man Page 4