Hit the Ground Running

by Alison Hughes

  We’re pretty safe here. Dee considered this as she helped Jake gather Scout’s stuff and slide both van doors wide open. Pretty safe. From criminals. We’re safe that way. But otherwise, how safe are we really? It’s so nice here, it’s hard to remember all the rest of it.

  Are we really safe here, Gail?

  Promise?

  My first and hopefully only night at a police station is going pretty well. Feels a bit like a sleepover, other than when we heard that drunk guy being brought in.

  Gail, Dee and Jake had found blankets and towels, rearranged furniture and raided snack cupboards and vending machines. Dee and Jake got a couch each, Eddie a loveseat.

  Gail set up a laptop at one of the tables and settled in to tackle her “mountain, absolute mountain of paperwork.” Gord headed home after viewing the unconventional sleeping arrangements.

  “The kids are taking over the place! Never had a campout here before.” He grinned. “Feel like there should be hot dogs and s’mores!” Eddie told him about the pretend campfire they’d had in the car on the old lady’s property on the drive up and had Gord laughing about how she had honked them awake the next morning.

  “Oh boy, no kidding? Her front yard?”

  “Yeah.” Eddie laughed excitedly. “Was that illegal?”

  “Naah. Depends on who does it and for what purpose. I’d classify that as more of a mistake. I think you guys would’ve been fine.”

  “Eddie,” said Jake, “I promise you the biggest, realest campfire ever when we get to Pat and Norm’s. There’s a huge fire pit. Don’t mean to brag, but I’ve perfected the über-s’more—six layers of chocolate, marshmallow and graham cracker. Barely fits in your mouth and really gums up the old hands. The s’more, but way more.”

  “Okay, Jake, deal! I bet I could eat four of those things. No, five!” Eddie held out his hand wide, shaking it for emphasis.

  Dee listened to them, smiling down at the couch she was making into a bed. Please let that happen, she thought. Please let Eddie get to have the monster s’more at Auntie Pat’s fire pit.

  They finally turned off the lights, and Gail shielded her lamp with a towel. Dee was exhausted but restless. She watched Eddie curl around Scout, and then she lay on her back, staring at the ceiling for a long time.

  She was remembering summer at Pat and Norm’s house overlooking the greenhouse. Relaxed and open, people dropping in, customers who felt like family friends. Enormous pine trees dotting the property. Flowers, flowers, flowers.

  Dee remembered running barefoot down that long sweep of soft grass to the greenhouse parking lot. She remembered the smell of sweet peas that grew in a twisting riot of color along the fence. In her head, she mapped the gravel paths branching off to the office, the greenhouse, the barn-turned-garden-shop that smelled of acrid fertilizer. The memories grew more fragmented: Uncle Norm’s crooked front tooth and whinnying laugh, Auntie Pat coming home with an alarming perm that she said made her look “like a chrysanthemum,” a tree black with caterpillars, the noise of night crickets, Mom trimming her hair with big kitchen scissors, using a kitchen knife to uproot a dandelion with a long root like a pale carrot, Eddie—bright red and angry—home in a basket.

  She remembered walking with her dad to one of Pat and Norm’s fields down the road, wandering on the cracked, dry dirt and breathing in the dry, weedy summer smell.

  “Might have a house of our own here someday, Dee. When Mom’s better,” Dad had said. “Maybe build it ourselves. Logs. Or stone.” He held out his arms, picturing it vividly. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

  “Maybe,” she’d said uncertainly. Ten years old, already wary of believing him.

  Eddie made a muffled sound—part gasp, part sigh. He was sitting up on his loveseat across the lounge of the police station.

  “Dee?” he said in a loud, thick sleep-voice.

  “Shh, right here.”

  He came to where she was, crouching over her.

  “You okay?” she whispered, grabbing his hand.

  “That creeper doesn’t know where we live, right?” he asked in a slurred rush. This one’s easy, Eddie, she thought. We don’t even know where we live.

  “Absolutely not. No way. Don’t worry about him. He’s in a whole different country. That jerk’s gone.”

  God, if you can’t feel safe even sleeping in a police station, where can you feel safe? She hated that Montana man with the fake smile and the shiny face, hated him not only for terrifying them at the time, but for scaring them even when they’d gotten away.

  “Yeah, a real jerk,” Eddie repeated. “A asshole. Murph said.” She wasn’t going to argue or tell him not to swear. He kept standing there, and she began to wonder if he was actually still asleep.

  “Look, this couch is probably comfier than that loveseat. It’s big. You want to—” She turned on her side, held open the blankets, and he slipped inside, squirming onto his side, back against her. She rested her chin on his hair, her left arm tucked all the way around his bony frame.

  “You’re safe, Eddie,” she whispered. “We’re safe.”

  LETHBRIDGE, ALBERTA

  SATURDAY

  The light was creeping in around the edges of the blinds when Dee woke up. The station hummed with faint early-morning noises: printers, footsteps in the hallways, the crackle of a police radio, cars pulling into the parking lot. She blinked at the unfamiliar room, eased her arm out from under Eddie’s head and sat up. Scout turned his narrow-eyed, impassive gaze toward her from the loveseat he’d had all to himself. Jake was sprawled in a tangle of blankets on the other couch. But Gail was gone, laptop, paperwork and all, her chair pushed in.

  Dee heard a creak from over near the window. Somebody else was in the room.

  Her head whipped around. There was a tall woman lying back in an armchair by the window, her legs extended, arms crossed over her chest. Her head was tilted away from Dee, on the headrest. She was wearing shorts and walking sandals. Not a police officer. Dee crawled off the couch, trying not to wake Eddie.

  “Auntie Pat,” she whispered, hardly daring to believe it could be her.

  The woman stirred, stretched and opened her eyes.

  “Dee!” She struggled to extricate herself from the chair, stood and pulled Dee into a tight hug. “Jeez, good to see you. You got big. Tall.”

  The relief of having her there rushed over Dee, and she was appalled to find herself crying.

  “Shh,” Auntie Pat said. “It’s okay.”

  “Sorry, Auntie Pat,” she whispered into her aunt’s shoulder, rubbing her eyes. “It’s just, this is all such a mess…”

  “Hey, you can always clean up a mess. Cleaned up lots of ’em,” Auntie Pat said with a smile.

  “This is a huge one. The biggest mess you ever saw.”

  Auntie Pat led her over to the table and pulled out two chairs.

  “Look,” she said, her voice low, “I don’t know what’s happened, where the hell your dad is or why you and Eddie had to drive up here by yourselves. I don’t know almost anything, other than Jake’s message saying you needed me here ASAP. But we’ll sort it out. We just have to get you guys out of here, right?” Dee was so grateful Auntie Pat wasn’t a freaker-outer, a crier, a ranter.

  “Right.”

  “Better tell me what you can. While we’re alone here.” Eddie and Jake were stirring.

  “Dad’s gone, Auntie Pat. Like, gone. I’m scared he’s… He left to antique-hunt weeks and weeks ago, like six weeks ago, and Jim Dunford came back but not Dad. And a social worker came around and started asking questions, and I panicked because she knew something was wrong, and the Johnston kids got separated by children’s services, and I had to get Eddie away. Plus, our passports were expiring, and then we would have had nothing.”

  Dee was breathing hard, blurting everything out incoherently, but Auntie Pat was nodding her understanding, her mouth tight. Dee took a shaky breath to continue and then froze. Noises in the hall.

  “I told th
em we were coming to visit you, and you were expecting us,” she whispered urgently. “I said Dad was meeting us up at your place. I thought we should be in Rolling Wood before we tell them he’s missing. Otherwise…”

  Auntie Pat tapped Dee’s leg. A silent message: Don’t worry—that’s enough to go on with.

  The door to the lounge opened.

  “—so we just got our wires crossed, Dee,” Auntie Pat said as though they were in the middle of a conversation, loud enough to carry across the room. “Of course we were expecting you to come up. Just weren’t sure when.”

  “Good morning, all.” Gord shouldered his way into the room, carrying a big box from Tim Hortons. Gail came in after him, closing the door behind her.

  “Gotta keep this door shut, Gord,” she said. “That cat’s a runner.”

  “Oh yeah, the cat,” he muttered.

  Gord set the box on the table. “Got some breakfast sandwiches, donuts, coffee and milk here. Dig in! Mrs. McPherson! Can’t tell you how glad I am to see an adult relation. I’m Gord Burnham. Gail tells me you had quite a trip getting here.”

  Auntie Pat got to her feet unhurriedly. Dee remembered how unflappable she was.

  “Officer Burnham,” she said, shaking his hand. “Just a bit of a rush. Got flagged down by another boat, headed to dock, borrowed a car, drove to Kamloops and flew here. I got mixed up on the dates they were coming. Anyway. I’m here now. Looking forward to taking these kids of mine off your hands this morning.” Auntie Pat regarded him steadily.

  Attagirl, Auntie Pat. You’re so much better at this than I am. Over to you, Gord, to say why we can’t go. Argue, fight, shout the place down if you have to, Auntie Pat! Get us the hell out of here.

  “Well, you and me gotta have a chat about that,” he said. “Coffee?”

  “Absolutely. Thanks.”

  “Help yourselves. Back in a second.”

  Eddie and Jake were sitting up blearily, their hair wild.

  “Oh, hey, Pat!” said Jake. “Good, you’re here.” He smothered a yawn. “Join the cop-shop party!”

  “Hey, Eddie,” said Dee, “look who came last night. Auntie Pat.”

  Eddie padded over in just his shorts, leaned against Dee and looked at his unfamiliar aunt.

  “Hi, Eddie,” said Auntie Pat. “It’s been a while since I saw you. You probably don’t remember.”

  “Nope. But I like your crazy van.”

  Auntie Pat let out a snort of laughter. “So Jake drove that beast down here. I’ll tell Uncle Norm you’re a fan. I drive a nice truck. Show you when we get to Rolling Wood. How’s about some breakfast?”

  Eddie and Jake were soon wolfing apple fritters and laughing at a SpongeBob rerun.

  Gord came to the door. He shook his head. “Looks like my rec room in here. All right, Mrs. McPherson, let’s have a chat in that office there, if you’ve got a sec…”

  “You bet.” Auntie Pat got up to follow Gord to an office across the hall. She laid her big chapped hand on Dee’s shoulder as she passed her. “Better pack up. We’ll be heading out soon.”

  Dee stood at the door, straining to hear what Gord and Auntie Pat were saying. They’d been in there for ten minutes, and the murmurs had been punctuated by Auntie Pat’s deep voice, raised several times. Not shouting, but louder than talking. Determined, emphatic. At one point Dee had heard her bark “Absolutely not!” Absolutely not what?

  “Everything okay, Dee?” Jake called.

  “Oh, yeah, yeah. Just thought I heard something.”

  “Dee, it’s the one where Patrick is a real jerk,” Eddie said, pointing to the television. “’Member? It’s hilarious.”

  “Yeah, that’s a good one,” Dee said, her mind and ears on the office behind her. But you know what, Eddie? That talking, pants-wearing sponge and his starfish friend are supremely, irritatingly irrelevant at the moment. And frigging loud.

  She made a sudden decision.

  “Be right back,” she muttered. She was across the hallway and opening the office door before she’d even really figured out what she was doing. Gail called out to her, but she didn’t stop.

  Gord and Auntie Pat sat facing each other across the desk. Both had looked up in surprised irritation at the interruption, their faces clearing when they saw who it was.

  They got to their feet and spoke at the same time.

  “Dee…”

  “Everything okay, Dee?”

  “No, everything is clearly not okay,” she said, her voice louder and higher than she’d meant it to be. “This is about me and Eddie, and I think I have a right to know what you’re saying.”

  “I think Dee’s right,” said Auntie Pat.

  Gord looked at Dee steadily, and she held his gaze.

  “I’m not a child,” she said. “I’m not just a kid you can throw a donut to while you guys make decisions about me and Eddie.”

  “Fair enough,” he said, gesturing to a seat beside Auntie Pat. “It’s okay, Gail,” he said to the figure hovering in the doorway. “Dee’s staying.”

  When Dee and Auntie Pat came back into the room, Eddie hopped over to Dee, swinging his arms in big circles.

  “Patrick is so funny in that—what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, nothing. Yeah? It was a great episode, hey?”

  “Because it seems like something’s wrong.”

  “Nah, just official stuff. No problem. We’re taking off. Saying sayonara to the cop shop, Eddie.”

  “Good. With Auntie Pat, right? To her house?”

  “Right.” She met his high five. For now, anyway.

  “Well, folks, grab your stuff,” Auntie Pat announced. “Time to go home.” She scooped up Scout and kicked open the door of his carrier. The cat twisted and flailed as she shoved him in, then protested in a keening wail until Eddie crouched beside the carrier, feeding him tiny bits of egg and sausage.

  “God, that cat,” Jake muttered, folding a blanket. “That was what I listened to the whole way down here.”

  Auntie Pat smiled, watching Eddie. “Eddie, we also have two dogs, Rocky and Moose. Outdoor dogs. They’ve got their own house and everything. They are supposed to guard the greenhouses, but spend most of their time sleeping in the sun and getting everyone to pat their fat bellies.”

  Eddie looked up. “That’s a pretty good life for a dog,” he said.

  “Yeah, they sort of think they own the place. Want to come see them?”

  “Rocky and Moose,” Eddie repeated. “Why Rocky? Why Moose?”

  Dee was turned away, shoving things in her backpack. Auntie Pat had finally got permission to take them all back to Rolling Wood, after Gord had photocopied every piece of ID she owned and written down every address and telephone number. He’d talked about the missing-person search and temporary guardianship and custody orders. That meant lawyers, that meant money. I’ll have to get over feeling guilty about Auntie Pat and Uncle Norm taking us in. We don’t mind sharing a room. Maybe there’s a summer job I could do at the greenhouse.

  Thoughts scudded through Dee’s head. Guardianship, custody, whatever. The more legal, the better, the more permanent, the better…I’m scared they won’t find Dad…I’m scared they will find Dad…I desperately need some new clothes—these aren’t even worth packing… Auntie Pat looks so tired…she hasn’t made me feel guilty; I’m making me feel guilty…I bet she’d let me and Eddie take the Rolling Garden if we really needed it someday, if we had to get out quick…there’s also Murph…and that houseboat out in BC…

  Stop. Dee closed her eyes.

  Breathe.

  Always waiting for the next disaster, always worrying about what’s going to happen. I don’t want to live like that. I’m not going to live like that. Right now is pretty good. I will think of right now, of just this moment. She opened her eyes and looked around.

  Here, right now, is Eddie, crouching over Scout’s kennel, crooning him a little song. Here and now is Auntie Pat, slumped in a chair, laughing with Gail. Here is Jake, leaning on t
he counter, checking his phone, looking up and catching my eye. Was that a little zing! there?

  There’s still a long road ahead of us. Not just the ride in that crazy, cat-uriney Rolling Garden either. A longer road than that.

  But now is enough. Now might just be everything.

  Now, right now, we’re heading home.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I am indebted to Sarah “Hard-Line” Harvey for pulling no punches and making this a much better book. Her skill, humor, patience and friendship have meant a lot to me over the years. I am also grateful to my husband, Mitchell, for more than I can list, but in this case for driving endlessly through the desert while I scribbled down notes for this book.

  ALISON HUGHES writes for children of all ages and for adults. Her books have been nominated for the Silver Birch, Red Cedar, Diamond Willow and Hackmatack Awards, as well as the Sigurd F. Olson Nature Writing Award. When she's not writing, she presents at schools, volunteers with a family literacy organization and bikes in the river valley. She lives in Edmonton, Alberta, with her husband and children, where her three snoring dogs provide the soundtrack for her writing. For more information, visit www.alisonhughesbooks.com