All That's Missing (9 page)

Riding a bus was like being on top of the world. Compact cars looked like bugs. Bernice got out her cross-stitch and threaded a fresh needle. Arlo glanced at the words spelled out in her work.
The truth will make you free.
His toes itched. He wished he could reach inside his shoes.

Meanwhile Bernice stitched away. “I'm making this for one of my grandbabies,” she said. “My son and his wife named her after me. I told Tyrone if they named that baby Bernice, they'd better not go calling her by any nicknames. I had an uncle who used to call me Bernie. I hated that. Speaking of names, I don't believe you told me yours, did you?”

Arlo stared at the magazine in his lap with the glossy photo of the former president who used to be in the movies, way back in the old days.

“Ronald,” he said in a quiet voice.

“Is that right? I have a son named Ronald. He lives in Michigan. Don't get to see him as often as I'd like.”

She was so nice. It was terrible lying to her, but the less she knew, the better it was for both of them. Arlo decided to change the subject before she asked any really difficult questions.

“How many children do you have?”

“Six living. I lost two. Olive when she was a baby and Lonnie when he was twelve.”

Arlo's heart skipped. “I'm sorry,” he said. He thought about Poppo and Frankie and the way Poppo was always traveling back to the days when Frankie was still alive.

“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” Bernice said. “You got to take the bad with the good, like they tell you in church. Life is full of sweet and sad.”

“My dad died.” Arlo had no idea what made him say that. Usually he didn't talk about his parents in front of strangers.

Bernice put down her needlework. She stared at the seatback in front of her, though her eyes seemed miles away. “It's hard to see the reason in a thing like that,” she said. “A boy needs a father. How old were you when you lost him, if you don't mind my asking?”

“Two,” Arlo said. “I don't really remember him.”
Or my mom, either,
he wanted to add. But it was too late to say anything about his mother, not after telling Bernice that story he'd concocted about his mom being called back to work.

“You got a lot of grit, Ronald. I can see that. I'll bet your daddy's looking down right now and feeling proud.”

If Wake Jones happened to be looking down right now, Arlo was sure he wasn't feeling proud. He hoped his dad could understand why Arlo needed to lie.
I promise,
he whispered in his head.
I'll do better from here on out.
He felt a little spark coming back at him.

“You're welcome to read any of those books in my bag,” Bernice told him.

Arlo leaned his head against the window. “Thanks, but I'm a little sleepy,” he said.

“Best way to make the trip go faster. Have yourself a nap. The rest will do you good.”

Through cracked eyelids, Arlo watched Bernice go back to her cross-stitch. He must have fallen asleep after that, because the next thing he remembered was the driver's voice coming on the intercom to announce the next stop.

“Wytheville,” he said. “Transfers here.”

Wytheville was higher in the mountains, which meant the weather would turn cold earlier than in Marshboro. In a few weeks, these woods would look like bowls of hard candy, all yellow and red with the green of the pine trees mixed in.

When they pulled into the station, Arlo checked the clock. In a few hours, he would be in Edgewater. As long as his dam held the water back a few more hours, everything would be fine.

After Wytheville, they stopped at Roanoke. Traffic was heavy from there to the Lynchburg station, where one passenger got off and three got on. The fog lifted on the way into Charlottesville. The bus was nearly full by the time they pulled out of that station.

“Next stop Richmond,” the driver announced as he levered the doors shut.

Bernice reached into one of her shopping bags and pulled out little triangles of cheese wrapped in foil. She rooted around until she found a box of crackers in the other bag.

“Hungry?” she asked.

“A little,” Arlo admitted.

“Here. Have yourself something to drink, too.” She handed him a can of orange pop and some crackers and cheese.

Where did she get all this stuff? No wonder those bags were so heavy. Next thing you know, she'd be pulling out her own refrigerator.

“Thank you,” Arlo said.

“Won't be long now.” Bernice handed him another packet of cheese. “Is your grandma meeting you at the station?”

“Mmpf.”
A lump of cracker lodged in Arlo's throat.

“Mercy.” Bernice pounded Arlo on the back. “You all right?”

“Yes, ma'am. Must have swallowed the wrong way.”

“That's OK. Just drink that pop slowly. I'd like to meet your grandma, if she's not in too big a hurry.”

Arlo choked again.

“Good heavens, son. Put your arms over your head and count to ten.”

Arlo raised his arms. He hawked up a chunk of cheese.

“Must be the excitement of getting to see your grandma,” Bernice said.

“Yes, ma'am. I'm sure that's what it is.”

Bernice closed the cracker box and stuffed it in her bag. “Does she know what time your bus arrives?”

Arlo started coughing again.

“Son?”

He shook his head.

“You got her number so you can call her, though, don't you?”

Arlo's cheeks burned. He slid lower in his seat and let his face sink into his shirt collar.

“Ronald? I asked you a question. You have your grandma's phone number, don't you?”

“Not exactly,” Arlo mumbled.

“You got some other family coming to meet you? Is that it?”

Arlo tried to find some way not to look at Bernice, but it was hard because she was glaring straight at him.

“Ronald? Did you hear me?”

“Yes, ma'am. I heard.”

“Now, I know you got some money left in that fancy wallet of yours, but it's surely not enough to pay a taxi. How
exactly
do you plan to get to your grandma's?”

Arlo shrugged.

“Is there something you haven't told me?” A little edge crept into Bernice's voice.

Arlo shrugged again.

“Oh, Lordy. I know what that shoulder shuffle means. I've seen that business plenty of times. It means,
Well, Bernice, maybe this story I been telling you isn't exactly the truth.
Isn't that right, Ronald?”

Arlo looked at the floor. Back home he was Frankie. Here he was Ronald. When could he just be himself?

“You better look at me now. We're into some serious business here.”

Arlo's heart beat so hard, his throat ached.

“After I helped you get on this bus so you could see your grandma, don't you think you owe it to me to tell the truth?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“What about the grandmother part of your story? Is that true?”

“Mostly.”

“Mmm-mmmm.” Bernice looked up at the ceiling of the bus and shook her head. “Mostly, you say. S'pose you tell me which part of your story
is
true. Maybe that's where we need to start.”

Arlo swallowed. He sat up in his seat and turned halfway around to face her. “I
am
going to see my grandmother,” he said. “That part's the truth.”

“For some reason, I feel a
but
coming on.”

Arlo took in a slow breath and let it out again. “The thing is, she doesn't exactly
know
I'm coming. That part's a surprise.”

“Go on.”

“And she doesn't exactly live in Richmond, either.”

Bernice pursed her lips. “And just
where
exactly
does
she live?”

“Edgewater.” Arlo's shoulders felt like hollowed-out pastries, those crème-filled éclairs, only without the filling inside. “I don't think it's that far,” he said.

Bernice had the saddest look on her face. It made Arlo feel awful.

“We got us a problem here, don't we?” she said.

“Yes, ma'am. I guess we do.”

“Lord, have mercy, what are we going to do now? You have any suggestions?”

“I could try getting her number from Information.”

“You think I'm gonna leave you standing in a bus station all by yourself?”

“I don't want to be any trouble.”

“It's a little late to be worrying about that now.” Bernice fanned herself with one of the magazines from the pocket on the seat. “My son Tyrone's picking me up in Richmond. We could give you a ride to Edgewater.”

“I don't want to take you out of your way.”

“It's a little late to worry about that, too. I'm not leaving till I see you're with family. You understand?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Arlo worked hard to breathe. It felt like someone had tied a rope around his chest. “I'm sorry,” he said.

Bernice sighed. “I know you are. But let's us deal with the situation we got. Something tells me there's a big part of this story you haven't told me. That's all right. Maybe it's none of my business. Besides, it's too late to do anything about it today, other than getting you where you're supposed to be, safe and sound. If you and I work real hard on this together, we might just manage that. All right?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“But you got to tell me the truth.”

Arlo felt another choking fit coming on. He took a deep breath to squelch it down.

“We'll try Information when we get to Richmond. You're going to have to promise to help. All right, son?”

Arlo's stomach churned. The words didn't want to form in his mouth. It was awful to promise something he wasn't going to do.

“Yes, ma'am,” he said, swallowing extra hard to keep the cheese and crackers from coming back up.

At the station in Richmond, a tall man wearing khaki pants and a blue shirt waved from the sidewalk. Bernice put down her bags and opened her arms.

“Tyrone!”

The man walked over and gave her a hug.

“What's in the bags, Mama?”

Bernice grinned at him. “You know I don't like to come empty-handed.”

The man bent down to lift one of the bags and grunted when he felt how heavy it was.

“What in the world have you got in here? Bricks? You know you don't need to bring us anything. We're just happy to see you.”

The man kept a steady eye on Arlo, as if he was trying to figure out why a white boy would be traveling with his mother.

“You didn't tell me you'd be bringing a friend.”

“This is Ronald,” Bernice said. “We met at the bus station.” She gave Arlo a wink. “Didn't we, Ronald?”

Arlo nodded.

“Ronald is going to see his grandma in Edgewater. You think we could give him a ride?”

Tyrone glanced sideways at his mother.

“It's all right,” Bernice said. “He just needs a ride to her house. Isn't that right, Ronald?”

“That's right,” Arlo said. He looked at Tyrone and smiled.

Tyrone did not smile back. “The car's out front,” he said, giving Arlo a look that made it clear he had his doubts about Arlo's story.

“Ronald needs to make a phone call first, though, don't you, son?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Arlo said.

“And he needs to borrow your phone.”

Tyrone frowned. He put down Bernice's bags and cocked his head toward Arlo.

“My battery ran out,” Arlo explained.

Tyrone ran a hand back and forth across his chin, as if he were thinking hard before deciding what to do next. Finally, he reached into his pocket and handed Arlo his phone.

“Thank you,” Arlo said.

“It's all right,” Tyrone said.

Bernice patted Arlo on the shoulder. “You go on and call Information, now.”

“Information?” Tyrone put the bags down again. “You mean, he doesn't have his grandmother's number?”

“Ronald says he left the number at home.”

“Sorry,” Arlo said to Tyrone. He lifted one shoulder and let it drop.

Tyrone shifted his weight from one foot to the other, leaning closer to Arlo. “Where'd you say you met my mother?”

“At the bus station.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Tyrone narrowed his eyes. “I reckon you'd better hurry up and make that call. Mama doesn't do so well standing on her feet a long time.”

Arlo looked at the keypad.

“Dial 411,” Bernice said.

Arlo felt Tyrone watching as he punched in the numbers. An operator came on the line.

“City and state, please?”

“Edgewater, Virginia,” Arlo said. That was the easy part.

“What listing?” she asked.

Here goes,
Arlo thought. Better not use a real name. Once Bernice and Tyrone dropped him off, Arlo didn't want anyone to be able to trace him. Better think of a phony name. And better do it fast. Before Tyrone grew any more suspicious than he already was. John Smith was too obvious.
Oh, just say whatever name comes to mind,
Arlo thought.
Sam.
There you go. That was a good first name. Sam
what
?
Gretzky.
That was it. Sam Gretzky. It sounded real enough.