Small as an Elephant (19 page)

Jack shivered uncontrollably, his muscles exhausted from holding still so long.

He could still hear voices above him, but he could no longer hear what was being said. He figured his best bet would be to do exactly what he’d done at L.L. Bean: stay put until the store closed and hope that by that time, the police would have assumed he was long gone.

He straightened his legs, trying not to think of the bazillion spiders that must be all around him.

The basement smelled like a combination of mold and cat litter. He tried to distract himself with his elephant, but it was too dark to see it. He could only hold it, taking comfort from the familiar shape of it.

Jack wondered if this was what it would feel like to live alone in his apartment, waiting for his mother to return — or for someone to catch onto him. First, someone would turn off the electricity, then the phone. Those companies didn’t fool around — Jack knew. Once, during a spinning time, his mom had forgotten to pay the bills, and little by little everything stopped working. She had forgotten to pay the rent, too, but their landlady had given them an extra month before coming to collect. It probably helped that Jack had been the one to speak to her.

Man, he hated thinking about those things! And he hated sitting here, waiting to be caught. Because he knew the likelihood of everyone assuming he’d slipped out of the store unnoticed was slim to none. If he had to be caught, he’d rather be caught running than just sitting here waiting.

From the sounds of the infrequent footsteps above, the drugstore was not very busy. And he could no longer hear the police officer and the pharmacist talking. He hoped that the cop had gone back out to his cruiser and that the pharmacist had gone back to his counter.

He decided he’d try to find the fire escape. It was probably on the second floor. He crept back up the stairs. Each time a stair creaked, he stopped and waited, holding his breath.

But no one came.

When Jack got back to the landing, he took time to check things out. The door straight ahead of him would lead him back into the store. He looked to the right. Ah, there was the office. The door was slightly ajar. Two boots, crossed at the ankles, were resting on the desktop.

The police officer was right there.

The officer’s voice came from the office. “I’ve called for reinforcements. Officers are searching the area, but I think he’s still in the store. I’m going to wait it out, see if he shows himself when he gets hungry enough.”

Dang. That meant there were likely police cars parked outside the front door. He wondered what the odds were of there not being any by the fire escape — if he could even find the fire escape.

To the left of the office was another flight of stairs. What was up there? More offices? Storage? The fire escape? What if the cop heard his footsteps? What if there were no places to hide?

Maybe it would be smarter to go back down into the basement, where at least it was dark. But how long would it be before the officer became frustrated and headed back down to search again?

If he went up, he just might find that fire escape.

But would someone be waiting at the bottom for him?

He wished he had his cell phone, wished he could call Nina and ask her what he should do.

The thought startled him. Why would he want to call the very person who’d exposed him in the first place? But he had to admit: it was
her
voice he wanted to hear at the end of the telephone line right now.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the little elephant.
What should I do?
The elephant didn’t say a word, but its mouth seemed to be smiling beneath its raised trunk. He remembered his teacher’s words: “A trunk pointing up means good luck.”
Good luck,
thought Jack. He’d follow that trunk and go up!

He set one foot on the first stair and gradually rested his weight on it, ready to jump back if there was a squeak. Nothing. He tested the next step. There was a bit of a groan from the wood, but not one loud enough to alert the policeman, who was still talking. Up he went in this way, testing a step, waiting. Testing a step, waiting.

On the second floor was a hallway with only a single door to the left. There was a little whiteboard on the door where someone had written,
I came by. Where were you?
A pair of flip-flops and an umbrella stand holding a green umbrella were in the corner. He guessed there was an apartment behind that door. He crept past the door and climbed to the third floor.

The third floor was a wide-open space with mirrors on one wall and a line of chairs on the opposite.
A dance studio,
Jack thought. He tiptoed across the floor to see what was behind an open door. Just then, he saw movement from the corner of his eye — he wasn’t alone!

He spun around, and the figure spun around, too. It was only his reflection in the mirrors. He waited till the panic stopped ringing in his ears and then completed the slow trek across the floor.

A bathroom. There was a small bathroom behind the door. Where was the fire escape? He crept over to the large windows, standing off to the side so that he wouldn’t be seen. There was a police car parked in front of the store, just as he’d suspected. But only one. Maybe that was what counted as backup around here.

Perhaps they hadn’t even bothered guarding the rear exit.

He padded over to the windows on the side of the building. It was hard to see what was below without moving right up to the glass. Yes! There was a wrought-iron fire escape off this window, and no police car below — or any other cars or people, really, except for one red pickup truck, parked on a hill below.

Jack carefully opened the window and tried to yank off the screen. At first, the springs wouldn’t budge; then one gave loose. The other followed suddenly, causing the screen to fly out of his hands and clatter against the metal fire escape.

Dang it! So much for a quiet getaway!

Jack climbed out the window and scrambled down the metal steps, no longer caring how much noise he made. He was thinking only about going fast enough to escape yet slowly enough to not careen off the side and smash his skull on the street below.
Left, right, left, right
— by concentrating on the steps this way, he’d reach the bottom safely.

He could see that the stairs didn’t go all the way to the ground and that at some point, he’d have to jump. He reminded himself to keep his injured finger out of the way this time and to roll with the force if he needed to.

He hit the final step and leaped off, hoping that the landing would be soft and that he could keep right on moving, racing far away from here.

Jack’s feet hit the grass and his knees buckled, but he managed to keep himself upright. He had just pushed off again when he was grabbed from behind and jerked back.

He tried to thrash his arms, but two much larger arms had pinned them down. So he kicked, kicked hard. He had to get free, had to keep going . . . !

The arms held tight. And Jack knew it was useless. He’d been caught. It was over.

He couldn’t believe it! After all he’d been through, trying so hard to keep his mother’s disappearance a secret. To keep her from getting in trouble. And he’d been so close to his goal, to doing the one thing that would tell her it was all OK. That he still loved her, no matter what.

With a heartbroken sob, Jack gave up. He stopped kicking. He stopped struggling. He just went limp.

“So, how’s the finger, kid?”

He knew that voice!

It wasn’t a cop! It was Big Jack!

Big Jack must have sensed the change in Jack. He loosened his hold, and Jack whipped around and hugged him round the middle.

“What are you doing here?” Jack blurted.

“Looking for you, that’s what. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when I got a call telling me they’d found you.”

Jack backed up. Big Jack was working with the police? He should have known he was just one more adult trying to trap him! To keep him from doing the one thing in the world he needed to do right now!

Jack glanced down the hill. Big Jack was, well,
big.
If he took off now, he could probably outrun him.

“Hey, talk to me. I’m not a bad guy. I can help,” Big Jack said in a real calm voice, like the kind you use with trapped animals.

“You’re not going to help,” said Jack, inching backward. “You’re just trying to turn me over to DSS like everyone else.”

“I’m just trying to do what’s best for you,” said Big Jack.

“What
you
think is best for me,” Jack countered. “No one cares about what
I
want.”

“Well, for starters,” said Big Jack, “I think you want to talk to your mom.”

Jack stared at the ground. “But nobody even knows where she is,” he mumbled. “Except somewhere between here and the Bahamas.”

“Actually, we do. Officer Kline tracked her down this morning. She’s eager to talk to you.”

Jack’s ears began to ring again. They’d found his mom! She was OK!

All this time he’d spent wondering if she was all right, if he would ever get to talk to her again. And now he knew. He should be happy. So why did he feel like screaming?

“Jack?” Big Jack said.

Jack turned away and burst into tears. Sobbing, heaving, snot-dripping tears. He picked up a stone and threw it at a tree. Then another one. And another. “Why? Dang it! Why!” he sobbed.

Big Jack grabbed him and pulled him back into a hug.

Everything was flooding over Jack right now. Waking up at the campsite, all alone. The unanswered message he’d left on her cell phone. The days on the road, sleeping in the backs of trucks and in stores and churches. All the times he’d lied and stolen. All the people who’d been looking for him, worrying about him.

He was so ashamed.

Ashamed of it all, of everything that he’d done. But most of all, ashamed because . . .

Because she’d left him.

There.

In between sobs, he thought it.

My mother . . .

My mother left me.

She

left

me.

Big Jack ushered him into his truck just moments before a police car passed by.

“It’s not that I want to harbor a fugitive,” said Big Jack. “But I want to give you a moment to catch your breath.”

“And then what?” Jack mumbled, not really caring about the answer.

“Let’s talk about it.” Big Jack started his truck and pulled out.

Jack pulled his Searsport cap over his eyes.

“So, home is Boston, huh? Seems like you were pretty determined to get there on your own.”

Jack shook his head.

“No?” asked Big Jack.

“No. Not really. . . . I was —” Jack sat up.

“Yeah?” said Big Jack. He drove slowly up and down the side streets of the little town, buying time.

“I was trying to get to the York wild-animal park,” Jack blurted.

“Interesting. And why’s that?”

“There’s an elephant there,” said Jack.

“Lydia?”

“You know her?”

“Sure, I grew up in southern Maine. But she’s not there now. Her owners take her back to Florida after Labor Day.”

“Labor Day?” Jack squeaked, his breath squeezed from his body.

It just wasn’t possible, not after all his trying! It couldn’t all have been for nothing!

“How would seeing an elephant help you, anyway?” Big Jack asked.

Jack tried to talk but had to stop himself a couple of times, knowing if he kept going, he was just going to cry again. Finally, he gulped air and said, “I can’t explain it. But I just knew that if I made it there, if I saw Lydia, somehow everything would be all right.”

“Hmmm.” Big Jack was quiet for a moment. “You know, it isn’t
that
long after Labor Day,” he said. “Less than a week.”

Hope fluttered in Jack’s chest. He looked over at Big Jack. “Do you really think . . . ?”

Big Jack shrugged, but he was smiling. “Hand me my phone.”

Big Jack called the wild-animal park and talked to someone in an office on speakerphone.

“Lydia? Oh, yeah, she’s still here,” the woman said.

Jack let out a whoop. He couldn’t believe it!

“At least, she was here this morning. She’s due to head south today, though. The truck might have left already.”

“Is there some way you could find out for us?” Big Jack asked. The woman put them on hold while she called someone else. Jack held his breath till she came back on the line.

“I’m sorry, sir. No one’s picking up.”

Big Jack thanked her and hung up. “What do you think, kid? Is it worth a shot?”

“Yes!” Jack shouted. No
way
was he going to give up now, not while there was even the slightest hope of seeing Lydia.

Big Jack chuckled. “You remind me of me, kid. We’ll try. But as soon as we get close to that park, I’m going to have to call someone. Both our butts are on the line now.”

Big Jack stepped on the gas, and they raced onto the highway.

There was nothing but trees on both sides of the road, but that didn’t keep Jack from staring out the window, watching them fly by.

“Tell me about your grandmother,” said Big Jack after some time had passed. “Why didn’t you call her?”