All That's Missing (7 page)

“No idea, Mac. Say, you mind if I use your bathroom?”

“Help yourself. It's down the hall on the right. I'll be peeling potatoes if you need me.”

“Sure thing.”

As soon as the driver disappeared down the hall, Arlo made a dash through the far end of the kitchen to the loading dock and onto the truck. There were still about ten boxes of food. He squeezed into the back corner behind two cartons of tomatoes.

Riding in back of a truck wasn't exactly comfortable. Every time they made a turn, Arlo braced himself in case one of the cartons toppled over on him. The truck slowed to a stop and then accelerated a short distance, picking up speed as it veered to the left.
Must be going onto the interstate,
Arlo figured. Sure enough, it kept a steady speed for a couple of minutes and then slowed again.
Taking the ramp to the boulevard,
Arlo thought. The driver made two turns and then stopped. Arlo crouched behind the box and waited. When the rear door opened, he peered through a space between the boxes.

There was the sign for the Fairfield Inn. Perfect. He was right across the street from the post office. He waited till the driver wheeled a dolly down the ramp.

Now was his chance. Arlo made a dash out of the truck and across the parking lot. The driver spotted him as he headed toward the boulevard.

“Hey! Where'd you come from? Come back here, kid.”

Arlo didn't stop. He kept running. The next stop was his house. All he needed was a couple of shirts and some underwear and — the most important thing — money for a bus ticket.

He had lawn-mowing money stashed in a box in his sock drawer. He'd been saving it for the school trip to Washington in the spring. But school trips were ancient history now. After an hour in a room with Purvis O'Dell, all Arlo could think about was survival.

Arlo wasn't crazy about going into an empty house before daylight. The house didn't look so good these days. Paint (what little paint remained) was peeling off the shutters, and the screen door hung by a single hinge. People might think the place was deserted if they didn't see any lights on. Still, it wasn't like he could afford to sit around and wait for the sun to come up. So he climbed the stairs to his room and slid the drawer open.

His money was supposed to be there. Second drawer. Left side. In the cigar box Mr. Fanucci had given him last winter. But when Arlo reached into the drawer and moved his hand side to side, he felt nothing. He jiggled the drawer and tried again.

Side to side.

Front to back.

Still, nothing.

He couldn't believe it. After mowing lawns and raking leaves and shoveling snow and even helping Mrs. Beakerbinder clean out her garage — he'd worked his rear end off for that money. He yanked the drawer out of the chest and dumped it over his bed.

Wait. There was something else.

Two wrinkled bills. A ten and a five.

Fifteen dollars. That's all he had? Out of the hundred and fifty dollars Arlo had saved over the past two years, all that remained was a measly fifteen bucks. The rest was gone.

Vamoosed. Vanished.

The worst part was, Arlo knew who had taken his money. There was only one person who could have done it. Heck, nobody else ever came in their house. It was just the two of them. Poppo and Arlo. OK, maybe Sam came over from time to time. But mostly they went to Sam's house, because Aunt Betty liked to know where Sam was all the time. And even if someone had come in their house, why would they rifle through Arlo's underwear drawer? Unless it was some pervert. And Arlo wasn't going to think about that.

No. It had to be Poppo.

Arlo knew Poppo didn't mean to steal. He didn't even realize he was doing it. It was part of the wonkiness of his brain, being confused and time traveling all the time. Like the way he forgot to pay for food at Fanucci's sometimes. Poppo would wander down the aisles all absentminded, and there would be a package of crackers and they would look pretty good to him, so he'd pluck the box off the shelf and open it up and start eating. And pretty soon after that, he'd spot a bag of pepperoni slices and he'd figure those would taste good with the crackers, so he'd take that bag and pop it open and start eating the pepperoni, too. And before you knew it, he'd be at the front door, and out he'd go, never even remembering he was supposed to pay.

Mr. Fanucci was nice. Sometimes he let Poppo go, and sometimes he called Arlo and asked him to bring money to the store.

“Your grandpa's hungry again,” Mr. Fanucci would say. And Arlo would know what that meant. He'd take money out of the underwear drawer and hustle down to the market.

With a wave of his arm, Arlo swept the socks and underwear off his bed. He flopped on his back and stared at the ceiling.
Now what?
The minutes were ticking past. No time to waste. Arlo climbed off the bed, then went downstairs and pulled the photo album out of the cabinet. He opened it to the page with the picture of his mother and father standing in front of the apple tree.

Arlo stared at his dad's face, at that slight irregularity in his left eyebrow. Maybe Ida Jones had a spot like that, too. He would find out as soon as he made it to Edgewater. When he saw his grandmother in the flesh for the first time in nine years, he would check to see if they shared that connection.

He looked at the small wood carving that dangled from the binding of the album. Funny how he'd never paid much attention to it before. It was a bird of some kind. An eagle? Hard to tell. Obviously handmade. Maybe his father had carved it. Arlo unhooked the silver chain that connected it to the album. He wrapped his hand around the wood, feeling how it had turned smooth and furry with age. He rubbed his finger across the grain. Maybe it would bring him luck. If he were living in a fairy tale, a genie would appear and offer to grant his wish. And what would that be?
Easy.
A bus ticket to Edgewater. Yeah. That would work. Arlo would close his eyes and tell the genie his wish, and when he opened them again, he would have a ticket in his hand.

Arlo put the album back in the cabinet. He slipped the wood carving into his pocket and climbed the stairs to his room. He packed two shirts, two pairs of underwear, a couple of pairs of socks, and a pair of shorts in his backpack. Then he headed down to Poppo's room.

Everything looked the same. Poppo's blanket was still bunched on the floor. A pair of dirty khakis, a belt, and two shirts lay in a heap under the window. Dust was heavy on the chest of drawers. There was the brass box where Poppo used to keep emergency cash. It had been empty since a few months after Poppo sold the doughnut shop, but it couldn't hurt to check. Who knows? Arlo might get lucky.

He lifted the lid and pushed the yellowed newspaper clippings aside. There was no money. But there was a piece of jewelry. Arlo held up the gold wedding band with the inscription that read,
To Amy, love forever, W.
His mother's wedding ring. Arlo hated the idea that sprang into his head, but he couldn't help it. He was desperate. And gold was worth money. Enough to buy a bus ticket, probably. And if his mother were around to ask, Arlo figured she would want him to do whatever it took to survive. Besides, a gold ring wasn't doing anybody any good sitting in a box.

All he needed to do was figure out where to sell it. You heard about people selling jewelry all the time. Hadn't Poppo sold his watch when he needed money to fix the roof? He'd taken it to Casey Rader's grandmother. The Raders ran a shop beside the dry cleaner.
RADER & SON — WE BUY ESTATE JEWELRY

Mrs. Rader was a nice lady. She and the lady from the dry cleaners had coffee every morning before the store opened. Arlo could see them through the window on his way to school. Mrs. Rader liked Poppo a lot. And she seemed to understand that Poppo wasn't doing so well these days.

“Afternoon, Albert,” she would say in an extra-loud voice when they saw her at the post office. “You doing all right today?”

Mrs. Rader was the type of person who liked helping others. She would buy that ring in a minute. She'd know Arlo wouldn't sell it unless he had to. All he needed to do was tell her how sick Poppo was and that they needed money for medicine. And that wasn't a
complete
lie, because Poppo
was
sick at the moment. And they
definitely
needed money.

Arlo tucked the ring in his pocket. Finally, he had a plan.

Wait a minute. There was one other thing. Why hadn't he thought of it?

He couldn't leave without letting Sam know where he was going and that he would be back as soon as he could.

On his way out the door, Arlo tapped the bottom of his pocket where the carving was safely tucked away.
Help me,
he thought, halfway believing in Poppo's angels and spirits, hoping and
not daring to hope
at the same time that whatever was out there —
some part of his father?
— could hear him.

There was a dim glow in the back of the shop where Mrs. Rader and the dry-cleaning lady sat drinking their morning coffee. Arlo knocked, and Mrs. Rader came to the door. He showed her the ring and explained that he needed money for medicine. “Let's have a look,” she said, leading him inside and over to the cash register.

It was easier than Arlo had expected. She paid him seventy-five dollars for the ring. She didn't even ask him many questions, other than, “What can I do to help?” and “Are you sure you've had breakfast?”

“Tell Albert I hope he feels better,” she said, ushering Arlo to the door. “And tell him I'm going to hold on to this ring for a couple of months.” She gave him a wink. “In case he wants it back. You just call us if you need anything. All right?”

Arlo felt terrible lying to her. She was such a sweet lady. It was a shame he couldn't tell her the truth, but he had to keep the water from crashing over his mud-and-stick dam. He had to get to Edgewater.

Arlo tucked the plastic bag with the cash in his pocket and walked out of the store.

There was one more stop he needed to make. He couldn't leave Marshboro without telling Poppo good-bye.

Arlo hid in one of the stalls in the men's room until he figured the coast was clear. He waited for an opening to slip past the nurses' station to Poppo's bed in the ICU.

Someone had combed Poppo's hair, so he looked better. But he was still frail. His skin looked so thin.

Arlo leaned down and whispered in his ear. “Hi, Poppo. It's me. You doing OK?”

Poppo seemed to choke for a second.

Arlo sighed. This was harder than he'd thought. “Listen, Poppo. I have to go away for a little while. I need to find us some help.”

Arlo watched Poppo's chest rise and fall. For some reason, he felt sure Poppo could hear him, though there were no outward signs.

“The nurses are taking good care of you. This is where you need to be right now. But if I don't leave, they'll take me away. You understand?”

“Erp.”

Arlo couldn't tell if Poppo was trying to speak or if he was just having difficulty swallowing.

“Don't worry,” Arlo said. “I'll be careful. There's this lady named Miss Hasslebarger. She thinks I need to be in the children's shelter while you're getting well.”

Arlo put his hand around Poppo's hand, the one that didn't have a needle sticking in it. He felt a slight pressure as Poppo's hand moved. One finger inched over the back of Arlo's hand. Or tried to. It didn't quite make it all the way. Still, Arlo was sure that Poppo was telling him it was all right. He understood why he needed to go.