by Vicki Grant
The food court was crowded. I stood in line at the Barbecue Pit. I’d just about decided on the half chicken with the spicy dipping sauce when I changed my mind. I didn’t want to get grease on my new suit. I could always buy another one of course. I would buy another one—but I still didn’t want to be walking around until then with a big stain down my front.
I needed something dry and neat. A sandwich would be fine.
I pushed my way out of the Barbecue Pit lineup and headed over to Bagel Schmagel. There were all sorts of people coming at me with trays full of greasy food. I had to swerve to avoid them. The glasses I was wearing were a little too strong for me, I guess. I had trouble judging how far away things were. I banged my hip against a guy’s table. Everything shook. I grabbed his coffee before it fell onto his plate of Chinese food.
I went, “Sorry,” and handed the coffee back to him. The guy looked up. It was Oxner. Just my luck. Him, of all people. What was he doing here? I couldn’t believe he ever even left the school.
I must have gone white. He looked right at me. I was just waiting for him to go, “Christopher Bent? Someone call the police!” But he didn’t. He just soaked up the coffee with his napkin and said, “That’s okay. No harm done.” He gave me this lame smile.
“Right,” I said and kept going.
I took a shortcut through the tables to the exit. Suddenly I felt surrounded by people I knew. People who knew me. I noticed Adriane Salah from my biology class talking with a bunch of girls by the Eatsa Pizza. A guy who looked kind of familiar was shoving down a burrito. A girl with big silver earrings was staring right at me.
I had to get out of there.
I didn’t run, but I wanted to.
Chapter Fourteen
I got into the first cab I could find.
“Where to?” the driver said.
I wanted to say, “Just get me out of here,” but that would look bad. He’d think something was up.
My mind went blank. I couldn’t think of anywhere to go.
I went, “Ah...” The driver tapped on the steering wheel for a while. Then he flicked on the meter.
I had to be cool.
I said, “Know any nice hotels near the airport?” That sounded good to me. Sort of natural. The type of thing a businessman would say. The driver would just think I was someone passing through. He wouldn’t take much notice of me. That’s the way I wanted it.
“Yeah, sure,” he said. “Sit back and relax. I’ll have you there in a jiffy.” He pulled out of the parking lot like he was driving a getaway car.
The highway gave me time to think. That thing in the food court was too close for comfort. How many people had seen me? How many people knew who I was? Maybe I was fooling myself. Maybe everyone could tell that blond guy was just Chris Bent in a suit and glasses.
I thought about Oxner. He had a weird look on his face. What was he thinking? Did he know it was me?
My heart went crazy for a while, and then it hit me. Oxner never missed a chance to get me in trouble. He’d probably spent that whole day plotting what he’d do when he finally got his hands on me. If he’d recognized me, he would have said something. I was sure of it.
But why the look on his face then?
Maybe Oxner just didn’t like having some stranger’s hand all over his coffee cup. It would sure gross me out—even if the guy was wearing a nice suit.
Then I remembered that skuzzy mug Oxner kept on his desk. If he could drink out of that, he could drink out of anything. There was no way he would have cared about my hand on his coffee cup.
I pictured him again in the food court, looking up at me. He didn’t look disgusted. His lip wasn’t curled up or anything. He seemed more embarrassed, like he didn’t want to have to talk to anyone, like he just wanted to go back to being by himself.
That was it.
Oxner was embarrassed! I knew why too. He was embarrassed by his sad little life. He got caught all alone, eating some plate of greasy sweet-and-sour pork in some pathetic food court. He gets to act like some big shot at school all day, but the truth is he’s nothing. You can tell just by those stupid polo shirts he wears. The guy probably lives in some stinking little basement apartment. He’s got no wife, no friends, no life. He goes to the mall to get away from it all. Then some young guy in an expensive suit bangs into his table and reminds him what a failure he is.
It made sense. That’s why he looked so weird. He was humiliated. Suddenly, I couldn’t have been happier.
I relaxed. I watched the trucks whiz by. I wasn’t so worried about those other people in the food court anymore either. Adriane Salah probably didn’t even see me. She was too busy laughing with her friends. The guy eating the burrito looked familiar but so what? Guys in their forties basically all look the same. The girl with the big earrings was staring at me all right, but I could explain that too. Girls look at guys. She was probably wondering who I was. I bet if I’d hung around a while longer she would have come up with some excuse to talk to me.
The driver pulled up in front of the Aerolux Inn. “That will be twenty-six dollars and twenty-five cents, sir.”
That kind of shocked me. I didn’t think it would be that much. I knew it didn’t matter. I had the money in my wallet. I had tons in my bank account, but still. It was going so fast. What if I couldn’t get to an ATM before I ran out of cash? What if Ashbury reported his card missing?
What if Oxner did recognize me after all?
I was getting nervous again.
The cabdriver didn’t look so pleasant anymore. I guess he didn’t like the way I wasn’t paying him.
I couldn’t spend any more money.
“Do you take Visa?” I said.
The guy wasn’t happy about it, but he took it. I gave him a ten-dollar tip and signed the slip. Four loops and a line.
The guy tore off a copy of the receipt and handed it back to me. “Thanks, Mr. Ashbury,” he said. “Enjoy your stay.”
Chapter Fifteen
I could feel sweat trickling down my back, my ribs, my stomach. I was going to ruin my suit. There’d be salt stains all over it.
I was such an idiot! Why did I go and use the Visa? Now the cabdriver knew my name! What if there was a thing in the paper about the missing wallet? What if the cabdriver called the police?
There was a guy in a uniform standing by the door of the hotel. “Are you all right, sir?” he said.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I said. “Just a little warm. Any place I could get a drink around here?”
“We have a very nice bar just beyond the front desk, sir,” he said. He held the door open for me. The blast of air-conditioning felt good. I went to the bar.
It was a classy place. Dark wood. Big armchairs. My grandmother would have liked the music they piped in. I sat at a table in the corner. The waitress came over pretty fast. I guess there wasn’t much else for her to do. The place was practically deserted.
She put a napkin and a little bowl of peanuts on the table. She was pretty. I bet she was only about twenty-one.
“What can I get you, sir?” she said.
I probably should have ordered a martini or a scotch in a place like that, but I’m not big on hard liquor. That stuff makes you crazy. I saw what it did to my stepdad. I ordered a beer. She didn’t even ask for id. That calmed me down a bit.
She brought the beer. I wanted it so bad, but I made myself pour it into the glass first.
“Will you be keeping a tab, sir?” she said. I nodded. I didn’t know if I’d want another beer or not, but I couldn’t pay right then. I was too freaked out. I couldn’t touch the wallet. I didn’t even like thinking about it. I needed time.
I downed half of the beer in one gulp. I waited for it to kick in. I ate some peanuts. I leaned back in the chair. I listened to the music. I was starting to feel better. I could think straight again.
Things weren’t that bad. The guy lost a wallet with seventy-five bucks in it. Big deal. He’s not going to be calling the polic
e about that! The cabdriver would have no reason to know the name Andrew Ashbury. He’d have no reason to remember me. He probably drove twenty people a day to the airport. A young guy in a suit. Why would he remember me?
I was being a wuss. I was getting hysterical, like some old lady. I didn’t need to worry—about that anyway.
I finished the beer. I called the waitress over. I ordered another. I asked her if there was an ATM around here.
“There’s one in the lobby, sir,” she said.
My plan was changing. I went to the bank machine. There were taxis waiting out front. I punched in a five hundred-dollar withdrawal. If the card was declined, I’d just jump in one of the cabs and take off. I hoped the waitress wouldn’t be stuck paying my tab. I’d probably just go to the bus station from there.
Turns out I didn’t have to worry. I got the five hundred dollars, no problem. I stuffed it in the side pocket of my wallet, away from the other money. It was my nest egg. I couldn’t touch it.
My beer was waiting for me when I got back. I called the waitress over again and ordered a steak. This would be my last good meal for a while. I figured I might as well enjoy it.
The steak was perfect—about two inches thick, with those black crisscross lines all over it like you see in the commercials. I could have cut it with a butter knife. It was a whole lot better than that crap Oxner was eating.
I kind of laughed when I thought about all that bright pink sauce on Oxner’s sweet-and-sour pork. I guess he wasn’t worried about staining his “windbreaker.”
Then I had another thought. It wasn’t just a coincidence that I bumped into Oxner in the mall. That was just too weird. I suddenly knew there was a reason for it.
I was being given a warning. A reminder to be careful. I didn’t know by who. God? The universe? Or maybe it was my grandmother, reaching out to me from, you know, “beyond the grave.”
You hear about that stuff all the time on television. A bird lands on someone’s shoulder at the exact second his brother dies a million miles away. A person sees a light in the woods and gets out of the car just before the engine explodes. A woman hears a piano playing in an empty house and finds a diamond ring hidden under the lid. Those can’t just be coincidences. Some dead person is communicating with them. Just because you can’t prove it doesn’t mean it’s not true.
Nan and I were close. She was always there for me. I figured this was her way of telling me to watch out. My luck wasn’t going to last forever.
And anyway, she’d be the first person to tell me not to depend on luck. She’d tell me I needed to do this myself. I needed to take charge of my life.
I took the last bite of steak. Nan was right.
My marks sucked, but I was smart. Smarter than Oxner, that’s for sure. I could do this. I didn’t need to take somebody else’s money. I just needed a loan until I could get myself started. Someday, I’d track Andrew Ashbury down. I’d invite him to a nice restaurant like this and tell him the whole story. I’d pay him back everything, plus interest. Just to make up for it, I’d invite him for a sail on my private yacht. We might even become friends.
For now, though, I needed to get out west where nobody knew me. That’s what Nan was trying to tell me. My cousin could be trusted. I had the suit to help me get a job. I had the money to help Brandon out with the rent until my first paycheck came through.
The waitress came over. “How was everything, sir?”
“Fine,” I said. “There was just one problem.”
She frowned. She was still pretty.
“What’s that, sir?”
“I don’t like you calling me sir,” I said. “I get enough of that all day.” I winked at her. She laughed.
I knew it wouldn’t be long before I could say that for real. Maybe, when I came back, I’d ask her out.
Chapter Sixteen
I couldn’t take a bus out west. I had to get away faster than that. And anyway, two days on a bus would ruin my suit. I’d have to fly.
I took the shuttle to the airport. It was a free service. I’d never been on a plane before. I’d never even been in an airport. I thought I’d be nervous, but I was okay. The place looked just like airports always do in the movies.
I went up to the ticket counter. I asked when the next flight to Edmonton was. The lady punched a bunch of things into the computer.
She said, “The seven-forty flight is full, but we have a couple of seats on the ten-thirty flight.”
That was fine with me. She typed in some other stuff. It took her forever. She asked for my ID. I didn’t even have time to panic. I just handed her my driver’s license. She didn’t bat an eye. She seemed more surprised that I didn’t have any luggage.
“Okay,” she said. “That will be $987. 46.”
I couldn’t help myself. I went, “What?! A thousand bucks?”
“Last-minute tickets are always more expensive, sir. If you’d prefer to fly stand-by I could get you a cheaper fare, but I can’t guarantee you’ll get on the flight.” She smiled. You could tell she couldn’t care less how much this was costing me.
I should have taken more money out. I didn’t want to go to an ATM now. I’d look like some hick who didn’t keep enough cash on him. I could ask if they’d take debit. But what if they didn’t? I’d look like someone who’d never flown before.
“Fine,” I said. “I better take it. I’ve got a meeting I can’t miss.”
I handed her the Visa card. She swiped it. I concentrated on breathing, looking relaxed. I tried not to think about all the cops I’d seen hanging around the airport in their bulletproof vests.
The machine buzzed. The receipt came out. She ripped it off. I signed it. She handed me my boarding pass and told me to be at Gate 23 by 9:50. She reminded me to have picture ID to show the flight attendants.
I went to the washroom. I thought I was going to puke. This was like playing Russian roulette. How many blanks could I fire before I got hit by a real bullet? I couldn’t stand it anymore. If I didn’t need ID to get on the plane, I would have thrown the wallet away right then.
I splashed cold water on my face and tried to calm down. I looked in the mirror. My haircut looked like crap. Ashbury would never have a bad haircut. He could afford a good one. It was going to look suspicious.
No, I couldn’t think that way. I was okay. No one was going to notice my haircut. The Visa went through, no problem. Ashbury obviously hadn’t reported anything missing yet.
But why? It had been three days since I found that wallet. Why wouldn’t he have reported it? He might not have cared about the seventy-five bucks, but no one wants their Visa floating around on the street. Someone could find it, rack up a whole bunch of charges.
I wondered if Ashbury was away somewhere and hadn’t noticed his wallet was gone. Or maybe he was sick in bed and didn’t need it.
Or maybe he was dead.
That gave me goose bumps. Looking in the mirror, seeing Ashbury’s face, thinking he was dead.
It dawned on me that maybe this was like reincarnation. Maybe Ashbury really was dead. Maybe I was meant to take over his identity. Maybe no one would ever know the difference. Chris Bent would just disappear and be replaced by a new Andrew Ashbury.
That was too weird to even think about. I got the creeps. I dried myself off and left the washroom.
I had three hours to kill. I decided to call Brandon and tell him I was coming. I found a phone, but then I realized I couldn’t call him collect. He’d never accept the call. I had some money but I didn’t want to spend it. I had to be careful. I didn’t know when I’d get more. I could have used the Visa, but that was starting to make me too nervous. I didn’t know what my limit was. From now on, I was only going to use it for emergencies.
I decided I’d just call Brandon when I got there. It would be a local call. It wouldn’t cost much. That was better anyway. If I called him from Edmonton, he couldn’t turn me away. He’d have to let me stay.
I was going to call my mother
and tell her I was leaving. Part of me didn’t want her to worry. Another part, though, thought it served her right.
In the end, I didn’t call. Ron might have picked up. I’d buy Mom and Mandy something nice as soon as I got a job. I’d mail it home with a letter. Someday I’d buy them tickets to come out and see me. Mom always wanted to visit Edmonton.
I wandered around the airport. There were lots of stores. I looked around for a while but then it got boring. Why go to a store if you can’t spend any money?
I started to feel tired. I just wanted to sleep, wake up somewhere else. I found a place to sit down. Some people were passed out on the benches. They looked like bums. There was no way I’d do that. It didn’t matter how tired I was.
I couldn’t get comfortable. I was worried my jacket was going to get wrinkled. I would have taken it off, but I could feel my shirt was still sweaty. That would have looked gross. I really wished I had something else to put on. I needed to save my suit for job interviews.
That made me think of something. I wasn’t sleepy anymore. That slip of paper Ashbury had in the wallet. Wasn’t it for luggage?
No one was looking. I opened the wallet and took it out.
I remembered right. It was a baggage claim for the airport. This airport. I read it. It didn’t say much. No: 3904. One duffel bag. To be held until May 23. ID must be shown to collect all articles of luggage. There was some other stuff about what you could leave there and what you couldn’t, but that didn’t mean much to me.
I folded the paper back up and put it in my pocket.
A duffel bag. Ashbury probably kept his casual clothes in it. Jeans, T-shirts, that kind of thing. Stuff he didn’t mind getting wrinkled. Stuff that would be comfortable to wear on a plane. That’s probably why he left it there.
There was a little key in the wallet too. I bet it was for the duffel bag. He didn’t want anyone stealing anything.
It was May 22. I knew that for sure because the dance was on the twenty-third. I thought of Alexa for a second. I realized I didn’t care who she went to the dance with. That had nothing to do with my life.