Hit the Ground Running

by Alison Hughes

  “I mostly worked on this pretty little porch overlooking the pool,” he’d told them when he reappeared. He’d described the design, the landscaping, the view, over burgers paid for from the $100 the grateful temporary friend had paid him for his help. She and Eddie, as usual, got suckered into admiring a house and a view that would never be theirs.

  Dee knew things were more serious this time. He’d been away for much longer than he ever had before. He’s such a fool. Hopeless, clueless. He could be anywhere. He could have hitched a ride with anyone, trusted somebody he shouldn’t. A child would have more sense. Eddie would have more sense.

  Then she pictured her father, slim and animated, his open, friendly face, his big Eddie-eyes, his unruly hair. Her anger faded.

  “A free spirit, a dreamer,” was how Auntie Pat described him, with an edge to her voice. “That’s what your mom loved about him, his restlessness, his openness, his plans. Never mind that she was the one who had to be the adult. The anchor. Every family needs an anchor, Dee.”

  But what happens when the anchor dies? Then you have an anchorless family, floating wherever the waves take you. And the waves of her mom’s death had washed them up here in Santacino, in the middle of the desert, at the end of the world.

  Please don’t have crossed the border into Mexico, Dad. She’d read the sensational stories that ran in the Phoenix papers. Drug cartels. Shallow graves. Beheadings. Please, please don’t be arrested, don’t bring other people’s stuff over the border, don’t be caught up in some drug war, don’t be dead…

  Dee saw Susan looking at her, waiting.

  “That’s odd,” Dee said, doing what she hoped was a good job of sounding genuinely puzzled. “I don’t know how you would have heard something like that. He’s working. Just working. He’s an antique collector. Dealer, actually. So he travels a bit, collecting and selling and stuff.” She took a shallow breath and glanced at the kitchen clock.

  “He’s actually due home any time now.” She looked directly at Susan. “You want to wait for him?” It was a lie and a gamble, but the words were out—she couldn’t take them back.

  “Well, sure, but I can’t stay too long…” Susan said.

  “Shouldn’t be long, but he’s not exactly punctual.” Dee forced a laugh. “Generally he’s home before seven.” She eyed Susan. Was this working? No use in bluffing if you’re not going to brazen it out, Auntie Pat had once told her.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Dee asked, remembering how normal people were supposed to act with visitors. “Lemonade, iced tea?” The words were out before she remembered there was no lemonade or iced tea. Or milk. That left tap water. Strike one for Little Miss Hostess.

  “Oh, just a glass of water’d hit the spot, thanks,” said Susan. Dee turned to the sink with relief. “What a scorcher, hey?”

  “Yeah,” Dee said, holding out the glass. She felt she should add something more. “Summer,” she said with a wry smile, a shake of the head.

  Eddie came back down the hall, hesitating in the kitchen doorway. He’d rummaged around to find a cleanish shirt, Dee noticed. Too small for him, and terribly wrinkled, but clean enough.

  “Eddie,” said Susan quickly, “I’m just waiting to talk to your dad. Do you think he’ll be home soon?”

  Dee was taken aback by how adeptly Susan had prevented her from tipping off Eddie. The woman was sharper than Dee had given her credit for. Eddie was a smart little guy, but he was only seven years old. She was sixteen and barely handling this interview.

  Eddie paused and looked at Susan. He let the pause lengthen in that unnerving way he had, blank blue eyes blinking slowly.

  “Guess he’ll get here when he gets here,” he said, not looking at Dee. He turned back to his labeling.

  Susan laughed. “Yep, that’s about right, I’d reckon. How old are you now, Eddie?”

  Eddie ignored her.

  “Eddie.” Dee’s voice was sharp.

  He turned and stared at Susan. Blank. Stupid. Oh, shit, thought Dee, panic flaring up inside her, he’s going into his idiot-child routine. He did it to ward off people who asked too many questions—store cashiers, substitute teachers, counselors, librarians. People he was bored of or annoyed with. It worked, mostly, but this was different.

  “Eddie, Susan asked you a question,” Dee said, her eyes flashing a warning. “He’s seven, aren’t you, Eddie?” God, could I sound more fake? She clenched her teeth. Act normal for once in your life, you little brat. Don’t you know what’s at stake here?

  Eddie continued to stare as though not understanding the question. This from the child who just today, just this morning, bored me with a meticulous, technical description of a stingray’s anatomy. She’d been flipping through People magazine behind the counter at the gas station, but she’d still listened. Eddie knew if you weren’t listening. Cartilaginous, kite-like body, creepy mouth, gill slits, barbed stinger, the whole shebang. The little brat…

  “Sometimes Eddie just doesn’t feel like talking much,” she said to Susan with what she hoped was a conspiratorial smile, the kind she’d seen between mothers at the playground near Eddie’s school.

  Susan smiled and looked at Dee. It was a kind, knowing look. Wait—was there a hint of pity there too?

  “You sound like a very good big sister.” Susan smiled again. She glanced at her watch. “Darn, I really should get going. Another appointment.” She slipped her purse on her shoulder and got up, holding out her hand.

  “It’s been good to meet you, Dee. I’m sorry I can’t stay longer. Could you please tell your father that I’m going to stop back for a chat on Friday morning? Tell him it’s important. Here’s my card.”

  “Got it. Friday,” Dee said, staring at the card. She looked up, and their eyes met. Dee hesitated.

  For a wild, fleeting moment she wanted to explain. To tell this nice woman—who clearly knew there was something fishy about this family—everything. To tell her that their father had never been gone this long, that she should’ve called the police to report him missing but was scared that if she did they’d take Eddie away, put her and Eddie in separate homes. She wanted to tell her that she’d tried to reach Auntie Pat and Uncle Norm up in Canada, but they were away; that the rent was due in a few days and the money jar was almost empty. She wanted to explain how her dad was kind and generous and harmless and odd and depressed, and how you couldn’t hold things against him if you knew him.

  It would have been a relief to talk to somebody. But no, not this lady. She was government. She was not a friend.

  “Okay, so, ’bye,” Dee said, lifting her chin. “See you Friday.”

  She stood on the step and gave Susan a fake-cheerful wave, making sure she drove away. Dee wondered if she’d done all right. On the whole, she thought she had. She’d made children’s services go away until Friday.

  Friday. They had one day.

  One day to get away.

  ARIZONA

  THURSDAY

  Dee lay awake, listening to Eddie reading out loud. It was a strategy they’d started when he was having trouble learning to read, and sometimes he fell back into it, especially when he was really absorbed in what he was reading. He read in a quiet voice, but with emphasis, like he was having a conversation.

  “Imagine having to walk, to move forward constantly because your life depended on it!” Eddie read, raising his voice a little, part real amazement, part exclamation mark. “Two dozen of the 400 identified shark species, including the great white shark, the mako shark and the whale shark, must maintain a forward-swimming motion in order to breathe. These obligate ram breathers”—he sounded it out, liking the scientific phrase, storing it away—“will actually drown if they stop moving.” There was a pause, then a rustle of pages. She imagined him flipping to get visuals on all the named sharks.

  “Obligate ram breathers,” Eddie repeated. He was often up early, reading in bed. Dee had long ago stopped hoping to hear an actual story—Eddie’s only interests lay i
n factual books, usually about animals. He could not even understand the reason behind the creative-writing paragraphs he occasionally was assigned at school.

  “But why? What is the point of just making something up?” he would ask at the kitchen table where they both did their homework.

  “Just do it, Eddie. Jeez.” Dee wrestled with the fact subjects. Math. Chem. What was the point of them? At least you could escape into a story.

  Eddie was always up early. Dee would hear him puttering around his side of the room for a while, reading, building with Lego, rattling his collections of rocks and insects and snake skins. Then he’d pull back the sheet curtain and look into Dee’s side of the room. They always started their days the same way.

  The reading stopped. The book clapped shut. It was time.

  Eddie leaned over Dee, peering at her face in the gloom. His curly blond hair, unruly from sleep, framed his face like a halo.

  “Guten Mooorgen,” he said softly. Dee knew from experience that there was no ignoring him, no putting a pillow over her head—he’d just keep repeating it louder. She’d never figured out where he’d picked up the German.

  “Morgen, Eddie. What time is it?”

  “7:03 AM. Sharp,” he announced, pointing to the big watch dangling from his wrist. He always woke her at 7:03.

  “What day is it?” she asked, holding up her end of the exchange. But she already knew. She’d been lying awake for hours knowing it.

  “Thursday, July 24. Sharp.”

  Thursday. Their last day. Her heart started to pound. She’d been up late, planning. And freaking out and panicking; don’t forget the freaking out and panicking. At one point she’d tried to settle down enough to write a list. It took her ten minutes, her mind whirling. When she looked down, she’d written:

  money

  passports

  food

  EVERYTHING ELSE

  She’d tried to call Auntie Pat one last time, slipping out of the house after Eddie was asleep to use the ancient, decrepit pay phone down the street. She shouldered the phone, wrinkling her nose at the uriney smell in the booth, and plugged in a fistful of quarters, glad for the first time that their phone had been disconnected several weeks ago. I am officially completely paranoid. Thinking like a criminal already. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was safer to call on an outside line.

  It was the fourth time she’d tried calling the greenhouse in the past two weeks, letting the phone ring until she heard Auntie Pat’s voice-mail message, unusually subdued and formal. “Thank you for calling Rolling Wood Greenhouse and Gardens. Norman and Patricia are unavailable to take your call at this time…”

  Auntie Pat and Uncle Norm always went to Shuswap Lake in British Columbia for a break after the flat-out long hours of bedding-plant season in May and June. They loved their old-fashioned little houseboat with its small boxy cabin and chug-chug motor, and shook their heads at the sleek new houseboats equipped with theaters, waterslides and hot tubs.

  Dee listened to the phone on the other end of the line ring. Please, please be back, Auntie Pat. I need to talk to you.

  But the voice that answered was not Auntie Pat’s. Or Uncle Norm’s.

  “Rolling Wood Greenhouse and Gardens,” a male voice said. You had to answer the phone like that, Dee remembered—the house line was connected to the greenhouses next door. Auntie Pat’s motto was “In a family business, you’re never off duty.” Except, apparently, when you go to the frigging lake when your niece desperately needs you.

  “Oh, hi,” said Dee uncertainly. “Is Pat or Norm around?”

  “Nope,” he said, “they’re not back yet. Should be soon though. Um, you want to leave a message?” He sounded distracted, as if he was hunting around for a paper and pencil.

  “Could you just tell them that Dee called? That I really need to talk to them?”

  “Dee? Uh, is that just, like, the letter D?”

  “No, D-E-E,” she said. “Stupid name, I know.”

  “No, no. It’s cool. Different. I like it. Kind of code, like K from Men in Black. Or M from Bond.”

  Dee smiled at the cracked glass of the phone booth.

  “Wait! You’re Pat’s niece, right? She’s mentioned a Dee,” he said.

  “Yeah, that’s me. And who—I mean, sorry, but I don’t know who you are.”

  “Oh, I’m Jake. I’m—let’s see—Norm’s cousin’s kid. Hal and Linda? I’m house-sitting for Norm and Pat while they’re at the lake, which has been great, except for this effing cat that wails all night long…”

  Dee laughed. “Scout, the diabolical Siamese,” she said, and he laughed. Then she thought, What am I doing, chatting with some strange guy like I’ve got all the time in the world? I have to organize things, plan, pack. And Eddie’s home alone…

  “Look, I have to go,” she said, “but when Auntie Pat gets back, could you let her know that we’ll be coming for a visit this summer?” Like, sooner than anybody could possibly imagine.

  “Okay, got it. You want to leave your cell?”

  If I didn’t have to spend my savings fleeing the frigging country, I might have a cell phone. Thanks again, Dad.

  “It’s okay. I’ll call. Well, bye, Jake,” said Dee awkwardly.

  “See you, Dee,” said Jake.

  She’d sprinted back to the house, feeling slightly better. I am truly pathetic. A disembodied voice on the other end of a phone half a continent away thinks my stupid name is cool, and I’m feeling all happy and hopeful, like this nine-thousand-mile drive will be a piece of cake…

  But the short conversation had been reassuring. Normal. Normal life unfolded up there, just a few days’ drive away. The big old farmhouse with the beautiful gardens still sat on a hill near the greenhouse up in Rolling Wood, just west of Calgary. Auntie Pat and Uncle Norm were still there, still selling petunias and geraniums and fertilizer, and would be back any day now. And there was Scout, still wailing all night. And Jake.

  As she’d let herself back into the house, she’d had a moment of total clarity. It was really very simple. They had to act fast, they had to pack essentials, and they had to go as soon as they could the very next day.

  Now, as Dee lay there with Eddie looming over her, she struggled to keep her voice normal, willing herself to stay still. Eddie would be upset and bewildered if they didn’t finish the morning routine.

  “What kinda day is it out there?” she asked. This was Eddie’s favorite part.

  “STINKIN’ HOT!” he yelled, jumping up and bouncing wildly all over the bed. She smiled, watching his scrawny little body monkey-jump.

  That last bit will have to change when we get to Canada.

  “What’s all this stuff for?” Eddie asked through a mouthful of cornflakes, waving his spoon at the box on the table. Dee looked at the box she had packed the night before. Canned pineapple, granola bars, cereal, two bowls, two spoons. Can opener, she thought suddenly, and tossed it in. Eddie watched, chewing.

  Dee looked over at her brother.

  How do I do this? Not many options truth-wise. “Well, Eddie, you know how our family is so monumentally, phenomenally screwed up…?” Or “Seeing as how Dad’s abandoned us, or is possibly locked up in a Mexican jail, or lying bloodied and dead in some highway ditch…” Or “Well, Eddie, you know that nice lady from yesterday? She’s gonna come with some cops and haul us off and force us to live with strangers, sooooo…”

  “Know what we’re doing today, Eddie?” she asked, forcing a smile. “Starts with R, ends with oad trip.”

  Eddie’s head snapped up.

  “Road trip?” he whispered, hardly daring to believe it was true. Dee knew that Eddie loved road trips. Every once in a while, Dad had taken them out for ice cream and somehow they would just keep driving down the highway, sometimes for days, sleeping at tiny motels that sat just off the highway, and eating at Denny’s. When they would talk about it later, Eddie would remember seeing desert foxes, climbing the distant blue hills and eating waffl
es with whipped cream. Dee remembered navigating dusty, unmarked backroads, worrying about getting lost and missing her chemistry midterm.

  “Yep. Road trip! A big one! Guess where we’re going. Guess.” This was going better than she’d hoped.

  “What about Dad?” Eddie asked. “Are we going without Dad?” Eddie was hard to sidetrack. His thoughts had brought him around to Dad, and there would be no moving him. “We’ve never gone on a road trip without him. Just…you and me.”

  He was a smart little guy. She would tell him as much of the truth as she could.

  “Well, you know how we’ve always talked about visiting our relatives in Canada? Auntie Pat and Uncle Norm? Remember, we used to live with them before we came here? Okay, you wouldn’t remember because you were a baby, but anyway, we did. So I thought, Hey, summer vacation; we’re not doing much—why not go now?”

  Eddie started to say something, but Dee talked over him.

  “I know Dad’s not around right now—he’s doing his antiques stuff—but he’s the one who’s always suggesting we go. I’ll leave a note. He’ll follow us up there when he gets back.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact, confident. Like, hell yeah, just following this iron-clad master plan we have going here. Not at all making it up as I go along.

  Eddie considered this.

  “But we’ll take the car,” he said slowly, trying to figure out how it would all work.

  “We’ll take the car,” Dee said, pushing her chair away from the table and bringing the bowls to the sink. She turned her back to him and looked out the window. The sky was a searing blue, the morning already radiating heat.