by Linda Benson
“Just up to Washington,” I say.
“Sure.” She glances over at us, looking at the purple bag on the table and Olive sitting tired and forlorn in the booth. “You can use my cell if you want,” she says. “What’s the number? I’ll dial it.”
My mind races in circles, trying to think of anyone else to call besides my parents. Swede? Sherm’s parents? My coach? I have to decide—the woman holds her phone out in front of her, looking at me expectantly. Finally I just say the only number that pops into my head—our home phone number.
The woman fingers the numbers and hands me the tiny phone. I hold it to my ear with shaky hands. What if my dad answers? I have no idea what I will say to him. I am already in so much trouble I’ll probably be grounded for the rest of my life.
“Hello, who is this?”
“Mom?” Relief washes over me at the sound of her voice.
“David, where are you?” My mom’s frantic tone surges out of the small phone and I’m sure the woman next to me can hear everything. I back away a couple of steps.
“Dad said you never showed up for your appointment this afternoon,” says my mom. “He had to go back to work, and I figured you’d be at basketball practice, but when I went to pick you up you weren’t there. I’ve been calling everybody. Where—David, whose phone number is this? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Mom,” I say, drawing a deep breath. “I’m in Portland.”
“Portland?” she says, loud enough for practically everyone in the entire McDonald’s to hear. “Oregon?”
“Mom,” I whisper. “Do you think you could come get me? Me and Olive?”
“Yes. You and who? Just tell me where you are and I’ll be there, soon as I can.”
I tell her the McDonald’s closest to the bus station. I don’t know the actual address.
“We’ll find it,” she says. “Young man, do not go anywhere, understand? You stay right there. It’ll take us a while to get there, but we’re leaving right now. All right?”
“Okay, Mom,” I choke out. “Thanks.”
I hand the cell phone back to the woman, just as she stands up to get her order of food. I’m relieved I didn’t have to talk to my dad. But Mom kept saying “we.” He’ll come with her, I’m sure, because it’s a long way to drive and the roads are slick with rain. My stomach feels sick just thinking about him.
I pick up our food wrappers and grab Olive’s bag. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s go.”
53-Olive
“Where are we going?” I ask. “Aren’t your parents coming?”
“Yes.” David pushes out the door and into the McDonald’s parking lot. “I just need some fresh air.”
The lighted parking area seems like an oasis in the dark night. Boarded-up buildings and scary dark windows on the adjoining streets surround us. Traffic rumbles by, and a siren sounds close. David has long legs and I hop-step to keep pace with him.
“Hey, wait up,” I mumble.
He turns and takes my hand. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I was walking so fast.”
“How are they going to find us?” I ask. Portland is a big city, and I don’t know where David is headed. “Your parents.”
“They’re coming here. To this McDonald’s.” He sighs and comes to a halt at the sidewalk bordering the parking lot. “They won’t be here for like an hour or so, and I was just getting tired of sitting.”
“Oh.” I glance up at his face. He seems distracted. “Are you worried? About seeing them?”
David looks straight at me and blinks. “Yeah. My dad and I sorta got into it the last time I talked to him.” He sighs. “And now this.”
“He’ll be mad, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“But they’re coming for sure, right?” Part of me is scared. What if they’re so mad at David that they just leave him here, like a stray?
He sets my bag down and hugs me against him. “Don’t worry, they’re coming. No matter what, they’re coming.”
It feels warm and safe to be near David like this. I mean, in some ways this has been the absolute worst day of my entire life. But in another way, I just had what was almost an actual date with a boy that I really like. He bought food for me, and we…
“I’m glad you’re here with me, ya know?” says David. His voice is husky, and my insides tremble.
“Same here,” I say.
We stand at the edge of the parking lot for a long time. I don’t know how long. It’s light enough that we feel safe, but sort of private at the same time, even though cars swoosh by on the street, and people come and go out of the drive-up window. It still drizzling a bit, but I don’t care, because it feels right to just lean against David, and his arms keep me tight against him, and I feel cozy inside, like we’re in our own fuzzy cocoon.
“How long has it been, do you think?” I ask him, finally.
“I don’t know. Are you cold?”
I shiver a little. “No.” I really don’t want this moment to end. “Maybe a little.”
“We can go back inside and order something, maybe coffee, to warm up. And get a table again.”
“Okay.” I’ve never had coffee before, but warm sounds good.
David shoulders my bag again, with my running-away clothes and my jar of olives inside, and we walk toward the entrance of McDonald’s. There’s a crescent of darkness before we reach the glass doors and David stops and leans toward me.
It’s almost like he’s going to kiss me. I’ve never been kissed by a boy, ever. But I’ve never run away on a bus before, or stolen money from someone, or had a date with a boy, and everything happens on this one day and before I can think of anything else I feel David’s lips soft on mine and I kiss him back.
I look at David and grin. He kissed me. The boy I like—really, really, like—just kissed me. Then David takes my hand and opens the door for me into the bright lights of the restaurant and I blink, but I cannot stop smiling this enormously goofy grin.
54-David
I’ve never kissed a girl before except for that one time at a party when we played spin-the-bottle and it stopped on Samantha, but I didn’t really like her and it was just a peck and not the same at all. But Olive. Her lips were soft. And warm.
I wish I could just close my eyes and think about it, but I keep glancing at the clock on the wall and then back out toward the parking lot, and counting the minutes. It’s been almost one and a half hours since I called them. My parents should be here by now. Where are they?
My gut turns sour when I see the Lexus pull into the parking lot. I shrink into the booth as my dad pushes open the doors and his no-nonsense footsteps stride quickly toward us across the dining area.
“What were you thinking, David?” he shouts. “How did you end up way down here in Portland?”
Olive looks like she’d like to disappear off the face of the earth, and several people eating in the other booths turn away, but watch out of the corners of their eyes. What can I possibly say that won’t make him more angry than he already is?
My mother hustles through the doors and across the brightly colored floor of the McDonald’s and leans over and wraps her arms around me. “David, I was so worried.”
“I’m okay, Mom. I just took a little trip, because I was worried about Olive.”
“You came down here together?” my dad says, glancing back and forth between me and Olive like he has a bad taste in his mouth.
“We…well, not exactly.”
“It was m-my fault,” Olive mumbles. “I was trying to get to California to see my mother. David knew about it and he got on the bus at Cowlitz. If he hadn’t come, I’d be—”
“She’d be down here all by herself,” I say. “So I came with her.”
“How did you get to Cowlitz?” my mother asks.
“Sher—” I stammer. “A friend gave me a ride.”
“Why didn’t you let anybody know?” my dad says.
“I would have,” I try to say, “but you prob—”
“You should have called someone,” my mom says softly. “But I’m glad you’re both all right.”
“Let’s go,” says my dad, looking around the room with disgust. “I don’t care to have this conversation right here.”
I walk with Olive out to my parents’ car, carrying her purple zipper bag. She ducks through the rain and sits in the back seat with me. My father drives, threading the maze of one-way streets effortlessly, crossing several big bridges until we’re finally on the interstate, headed north toward Washington.
We sit in silence as we pass a sign that reads Leaving Portland, and then as we cross the bridge over the Columbia River, another one that says Oregon Thanks You! Almost immediately is another sign: Entering Washington. In the darkness of the back seat, Olive finds my hand and wraps her pinkie finger around mine. It’s like a secret signal between us, and I know she read the signs, too.
No one speaks for a long time. I feel like I’m in scalding hot water with my dad, and it hasn’t even begun to boil. There is so much left unsaid between us, and the tension inside the car feels like it’s building to a breaking point.
When we get to Cowlitz, about halfway home, my dad exits the freeway abruptly, and pulls up alongside a restaurant called Meg’s.
“We’ve already eaten,” I say. “At McDonald’s.”
“Well, your mother and I haven’t had a thing,” says my dad, sounding cross, “and it’s been a long trip down here. We need to eat.”
“Maybe you’d like some hot chocolate or something,” my mother says gently. “Or a Coke.”
“But could we hurry?” I say. “Olive needs to get home. She’s worried about her Aunt Trudy, who’s in the hospital.”
“And the animals,” says Olive, in a small voice. “I don’t think anyone’s been home to feed them.”
We follow my parents silently inside. My dad walks stiffly to a table for four, and Olive and I sit on one side and my parents on the other.
My parents order dinner, and Olive leaves to use the restroom. As soon as she’s gone, my dad lets me have it.
“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, David. Running down here with some girl that we don’t even know. What in God’s name were you thinking? Not to mention that the senator was plenty steamed when we had to cancel our appointment.”
I listen in silence. Who cares if they never met Olive before? And didn’t the senator cancel the appointment last time?
“I had to make up a last-minute excuse for you, David. I thought we were all done with this kind of behavior after the firecracker incident last summer. But you let me down again. We can probably write off that endorsement with Senator Hyster, because I doubt that we’ll get another chance to meet with him.”
“So what?” I say. “What’s the big deal, anyway?” I am tired of my dad harping on me, tired of never being able to please him, tired of going where he expects me to, tired from the long day. “I don’t even care about meeting with the stupid senator. I don’t care about getting into the Air Force Academy. Why does it matter so much to you anyway? What if I don’t even want to go there?”
The waitress sets a cup of coffee down in front of my dad and walks quickly away.
“David, that’s enough,” he says, with an angry glint in his eyes. “I will not have you speak that way to me, especially in a public place.”
But the words tumble out of me now and I can’t seem to stop them. “It’s not like you ever stood up for me, anyway, like James’s dad did for him, when we signed that contract with Swede. You just caved and said, ‘Oh yeah, that sounds fine. Let them work their butts off.’”
“I did what I thought was best for you,” my dad spouts. “To get this off your record.”
“That’s all you care about? My record? What difference does it freakin’ make? It’s my life, not yours. And I’m not sure I even want to go to your stupid Air Force Academy.”
My dad rises and glares at me across the table.
I duck instinctively. My dad has never, ever hit me before, but I have never seen my dad this angry before either.
“No son of mine will talk to me like that,” he says, gritting his teeth.
My mother pulls him back by his sleeve. “Phillip, sit down.”
“I will not sit down,” he says. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to this—”
“Phillip,” she says, with more resolve than I have ever heard in her voice in my entire life. “I said sit down. You are making a scene.”
My dad glares at her, but slowly takes his seat.
“You need to listen to your son, for once,” she says.
What? She’s taking my side? I can barely believe it. My dad has always called the shots in our family.
“If he doesn’t want to go to the Air Force Academy, so what?” she says. “It’s not the end of the world.”
My dad squirms uncomfortably, as if he’s totally lost for words by this change in family dynamics.
“Grant and Lincoln both wanted to join the military, and I believe they like it. But perhaps David needs to make up his own mind, and we should let him.” Her eyes fill to the brim with moisture. “Besides,” says my mom, choking the words out, “I don’t know what I would do if I lost a son. Any one of them.” She digs in her purse for a tissue. “So I think you should listen to David, for once. Let him decide want he wants to do with his life and where he wants to go to school.”
My father says nothing. He looks bulldozed and defeated.
Olive comes back to the booth right then, and I stand up and let her scoot inside. Is my father still going to make a scene?
The waitress sets a cup of hot chocolate in front of Olive, hands me a Sprite, and places a piece of apple pie with two forks between us.
I watch as my dad clears his throat as if to speak. Then he seems to think better of it, because he says absolutely nothing, and begins to eat his dinner.
I take a couple sips of my soft drink and my mom smiles at me across the table. My gut stops flip-flopping and settles back down as Olive and I dig into the apple pie together. I thought I wasn’t hungry, but I am suddenly famished.
55-Olive
“Doggone it, Olive. Could you grab that box of cereal for me, up on the second shelf? I feel like an invalid since I’ve got this pacemaker.”
“I know, Aunt Trudy,” I say as I find her favorite brand of granola and pour it into a bowl. “But remember what the doctor said. You’re not supposed to reach for anything for a few weeks, and by then you’ll be almost good as new.”
“Hmmmph. I still say pacemakers are for old people,” she says, “and I’m not old. I’ve got too much to do around this place as it is, without being waylaid by some darn computer chip sewn into my chest.” She pats her shirt carefully, where I know it’s still swollen and sore from her operation.
Swede barges through from the back porch with strands of hay swishing from his jacket. He’s been outside feeding the horses. “That little device in your chest, Trudy, is keeping your heart going, so you’d better get used to it and quit your bellyaching.”
“I can bellyache all I want, you old fool. I’ve got both you and Olive pestering me to take it easy. Geez. Do I look like an invalid?”
“No,” says Swede. “You look like a stubborn woman, but if you don’t take it easy for a least a couple more weeks, I’m going to call your doctor and tell him you haven’t been following his orders.”
“Fine,” says Aunt Trudy. “But hang your jacket up. You’re getting hay all over the kitchen.”
She slouches back in her chair. I can’t help smiling as I pour her a cup of coffee. Aunt Trudy must be feeling better if she’s this feisty.
“I’m glad you have a pacemaker,” I say, in a small voice. “At least it’s keeping your heart beating.”
She reaches for me then
and pulls me into a hug with her good arm, on the opposite side from where her operation was. From this level, I can see that she has a few more gray hairs than she did last summer when I first arrived.
“Thank you, pumpkin,” she says. “And I’m glad you didn’t ride that Greyhound all the way to California. Who knows? You might have met some surfer boy down there and never come home.”
I blush. “Well, I did meet a boy on there, but he wasn’t a surfer boy,” I say. “And once I got on the bus heading south, I remembered how noisy and smelly and uncomfortable it is. And what a long way it is down to California. So, I decided I’d just go as far as Portland and then turn around and come back home.”
“Uh-huh. Right. That’s not exactly the way I heard that story,” says Aunt Trudy, her eyes piercing right into me. But she smiles as she takes another sip from her coffee cup.
“By the way,” says Aunt Trudy. “There’s been so much going on around here I forgot to tell you what happened that day at the animal shelter, before I collapsed and the ambulance came.”
I shudder. The day that I tried to run away, and stole the money from her purse and—
“It was a good day for someone, anyway,” she says.
“Who?” I ask.
“That yellow dog.”
“Calypso? What happened?”
“Well,” said Aunt Trudy. “He’d been turned in to the shelter, you know, for running loose and eating chickens. But the most wonderful family showed up. They wanted an outside dog, and they have five acres for him to run on, but they also have a fenced yard to keep him in. And they just flat-out fell in love with that dog.”
“Did they adopt him?”
“They did. And they had a whole bunch of kids, and a mother who wanted to walk the dog, and boy, they just made over him like he was special.”
I choke back a half-sob. “He was a special dog. I’m glad he finally found the right home, even if it took more than six degrees of separation.”
“Well, sometimes it takes more than that. Finding a home takes as long as it takes. Now we just have to work on finding one for Miss Goldy. She’s almost out of the cute puppy stage.”