Bigger than a Bread Box (21 page)

He nodded, but it was in an apologetic way. “Here,” he said, taking out a notepad and scribbling something on it. “While you’re at it, you can leave this on the door for them in case they come back.” He tore off the piece of paper and handed it to me as I opened my door.

Walking up the steps, I started to get very, very scared. Where
was
everyone? Had something awful happened to Lew? Why wasn’t my mother’s phone on when I was missing? Didn’t she even care that I was gone?

I stood there, ringing the bell, which glowed like a little light. I peered through the glass door. For the first time since I could remember, I really wanted my mom. I wanted Gran too. I wanted to see Lew’s little face peek around the corner. But most of all, I needed my mother.

I left the note on the door.

Five minutes later, we were driving in silence, and
ten minutes after that, Officer Johnson was stopping at a Wendy’s for hamburgers. We ate our burgers without saying much. After a bit, Officer Johnson wiped his mouth with a napkin and said, “I’ve been wondering, why did you go to Mrs. Tompkins’s house in the first place, Rebecca?”

Sitting there in the overheated restaurant, a version of the story tumbled out of me. I told him that I’d found a spoon with an inscription, and I’d wanted to return it to Miss Adda. I told him that I’d turned up on Miss Adda’s doorstep, and she’d invited me in for tea, but when I’d shown her the spoon, she’d gotten upset and started crying and yelling because of her husband being dead and all, and because she thought—for
some
reason—I’d stolen the spoon.

I basically told him everything
except
the part about the bread box, and it was funny how the entire story held together without the magic, without the
how
. It was almost like the magic didn’t really matter to the story at all. The last thing I said was “And when Miss Adda started to get all crazy, I kind of backed away from her, and when I did that, I fell down the stairs.”

“Fell?”

“Yes,” I said. “I fell. I really did.” That wasn’t a lie. I
had
fallen. “She did lock the door behind me,” I admitted, “but I mean, she thought I had stolen from her, and she wanted to keep me there so that you could arrest me. She was
confused, and mostly she was really, well, upset. I don’t think she knew what she was doing.”

Officer Johnson wadded up his hamburger wrapper and took a sip of his Coke. “You know, Rebecca,” he said, “you’re really not supposed to go into strangers’ homes. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that?”

“I know that,” I said, “but she seemed so little.”

“Rebecca. You’re really not supposed to go
anywhere
with a stranger, even a
little
stranger. You got really lucky.”

“I know,” I said. “I
know
. I screwed up. You have no idea how bad I feel. Really. I’m sorry to trouble you, and my mom is going to kill me when she finds me, and I’m sorry for Miss Adda too.” Then I looked up at him. “Where is she now?”

“She’s on her way to being evaluated,” he said. “To see if she should be living alone. And they’ll try to track down her family, in case she needs someone to make decisions for her.” Then he leaned over and gave me a pat on the back. “Don’t worry. You’re doing her a favor. Trust me. She needs some help no matter what. That
house
! It happens when people get old and they’re all alone.”

I thought about that. I remembered the dead bird in the cage, the burned-out bulbs, the powdered milk. For my own sake, I wanted Officer Johnson to be right. If he was right, I’d actually helped her, maybe. Instead of just making her life worse by trying to make myself feel better. I hoped that was true.

We left Wendy’s and drove some more, and then we were pulling into a dark parking lot.

I didn’t want to get out of the car. “Can’t we try calling my mom?” I asked. “One more time?”

“I’m sorry, Rebecca,” Officer Johnson said. “But time’s up. I’ve been as nice as I can about this, and I’m sure you’ll work it all out in the morning. I know you don’t feel like you should be here, but for all intents and purposes, you’re a lost kid right now. We can’t locate your folks, and this is where we take lost kids when we can’t find their folks.” He looked tired.

I got out of the car and closed the door slowly behind me. I followed Officer Johnson across the parking lot, past a few cars and some shrubs. I didn’t want to go in; I didn’t belong here. I
had
a home. I did.

I stopped in front of the door. Officer Johnson put his hand on my back gently and said, “It’ll be fine, really. I promise. Whatever happens.” Then he opened the door and pushed me into the glaring light of an office. He motioned for me to sit down and then went to the desk. He said something I couldn’t hear to the woman who was sitting behind it.

As she leaned forward to say something to him, looking up at me as she spoke, the door swung open again behind us, fast, with a jangle of bells.

And in walked … my dad!

C
HAPTER 22

A
nd after.

After that.

After Dad ran over and picked me up from the chair and swung me around and held me, I cried and cried.

“
You’re
here!” I said. “You’re here. How are you here?”

“I am,” he said. “I just am. I’m sorry it took me so long. Your mom wasn’t ready for me to be here. I’m still not sure she is.…”

Then Mom ran in behind him, looking scared and frazzled, and I hugged her too. She hugged me back so hard I thought my ribs would break when she let me go.

After that I went to stand with Dad, holding his hand, while Mom talked and talked and talked too much and too loudly to Officer Johnson. I could tell she was nervous because she didn’t stop waving her hands in the air the whole time.

“We should have looked for her sooner,” I heard her say. “I know that. I
know
how this looks, but really, we’re good parents. Things have just been … complicated lately. I mean, that’s no excuse. I should have been worried when Rebecca wasn’t around when I got home from work, but she does that sometimes. Kids do, you know?” Mom took a deep breath.

Officer Johnson and the woman behind the desk looked like they were listening very carefully, and I hoped my mom wasn’t saying the wrong things. I had no idea what the right things were, but when nobody said anything in response, Mom just kept on talking.

“… and then I was missing my stupid phone charger and my phone was dead, and suddenly Jim called my mother’s phone out of the blue to say he had flown in and was at the airport and needed a ride. So we all went to go get him and then we got home and Rebecca
still
wasn’t there. But we found your note, so we came as fast as we could. We came … 
here
.” Mom stopped talking again and looked around the room. When she spoke again, her voice was almost a whisper. “I know it all sounds insane and disorganized, but … she doesn’t need to be
here
.”

“No,” said Officer Johnson in his warm, calm, strong voice. “I guess maybe she doesn’t.”

Then Mom stopped giving her manic speech and
turned to look at me instead, straight at me. “I’m so sorry, Rebecca,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I was angry. I was angrier than I had a right to be.”

It was funny when she said that. It was funny she was still thinking about it. With everything that had happened to me, I’d pretty much forgotten about the fight.

“It doesn’t matter now,” I said as I squeezed my dad’s hand. Mom tried to smile. She looked very alone, standing at the counter, staring at me and Dad, clutching her purse tightly. She turned back around to Officer Johnson and asked, “Now what?”

“Well,” he said, “Rebecca has quite a story to tell. She got herself locked in a basement today, but she says she doesn’t want to press charges. Is that okay with the two of you? No charge, no file …” He raised his eyebrows at my mom, and then at my dad. “Easier on you, if you want my opinion.”

“I guess so,” Mom said. “I mean, I want to hear more about this, but for now, can I just take her home?” She turned to my dad. “Jim?”

Dad nodded. “Sure, I guess. As long as she’s okay. We’ll talk to Rebecca and be in touch.”

Officer Johnson looked down at me. “She seems mostly okay,” he said. “She’s a good kid and she got lucky, but it isn’t every day that cases like this end so well. Who knows what will happen if she runs off again?”

“I won’t!” I blurted out.

“No, I don’t think you will,” he said, smiling.

I smiled back.

“You want my unsolicited advice?” he said to Mom. “Go home. Get some sleep. Work out your business. Talk to your kid. But for God’s sake, charge your phone, lady!”

Then he said “Good night, Kim” to the DFCS lady, who’d just been sitting there all that time. He walked past us, back out to the parking lot. I couldn’t help wondering if he always worked so late.

That left the three of us—Mom and Dad and me—to wave an awkward goodbye to Kim ourselves. We walked across the parking lot in the dark. We didn’t say anything, just got into our old green car, which felt funny. It had been a long time since just the three of us had been in the same place at the same time. I climbed into the backseat beside the empty car seat.

Up front, Mom and Dad sat in silence. Mom started the car and pulled out onto the road. Nobody said anything, not even Mom.

After everything that had happened, why couldn’t they talk? Why couldn’t they be happy to be together? Dad had flown all this way to be here, with us, and Mom couldn’t apologize for leaving? I realized that even though Dad was here now, they could still screw things up. They could have been through all this, been this miserable, and still …

I cleared my throat. “I have something to say.”

Dad turned around and smiled at me. Mom glanced quickly over her shoulder, then looked back at the road. “Yes?”

“I just want to say that I’m sorry I stole the jacket. Also I’m sorry I ran away. I’m sorry I’ve been so bad lately.”

“Jacket?” asked Dad. It was the first thing he’d said since we’d gotten into the car. “What jacket?”

“Oh, honey,” said Mom with relief. “Let’s just put this all behind us. Okay?”

“But,” I continued as if they hadn’t interrupted me, “
but
I need to go home.”

Mom didn’t respond.

Dad let out a huge breath.

“I
need
to go home,” I said. “Right away. I’m not picking sides, and I don’t care if you love each other. I’m not trying to force Mom to do anything, and if Dad wants to be silent and never get a job, I guess that’s fine too. You can both be however you want. But I am a person and I have a home, a real home, and I deserve to be there. No matter what happens, I’m going home with Dad. It doesn’t mean I love anyone more or less or anything. It only means I need to go home.”

Then I sat back.

Mom stared at the lights of the other cars on the road in front of her and said, “I know.”

She knew.

Then she talked, and this time I listened.

“I’m sorry, Rebecca,” she said, clutching the steering wheel and keeping her eyes on the road. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m afraid I was very wrong to bring you here, like this.” Her voice was even.

Dad was watching her intently, silently.

“It’s okay,” I said.

“No,” Mom said. “It’s not okay. It isn’t. The thing is, I knew this would be rough on everyone.” She paused. “I was ready for that. I thought that part out before I made my decision. I thought it out a little bit, anyway. Only I didn’t have any idea just how wrong it was. To leave. I knew I was leaving him”—she jerked her head toward Dad, who was still just sitting there—“without
me
. I meant to do that. I wanted him to see what it felt like to be without
me
. I felt taken for granted, and I wanted to see what it felt like to be by myself, to be alone. But it wasn’t fair to force
you
to be without
him
, and
him
to be without
you
. He’s a good dad. I’d forgotten how much kids need their fathers. You’d think I would have realized, considering my own …”

“I just miss him a lot,” I said with a sniffle. It was cold in the car.

“Well, tonight, when we didn’t know where you were, before we knew what had happened,
I
found out what it felt like … not being able to get to you. I remembered what it was like to be run away
from
.”

“I’m sorry I ran away,” I said, wondering what exactly my mother had to remember. Wondering again why nobody ever talked about my grandfather.

“He’s your dad, after all,” she said. “He
always
will be. No matter what I do.”

“Oh, Annie,” Dad said.

Nobody said anything else for a bit, and I stared at the road, at the back of my silent father. I wondered what he was thinking. Mom switched on the radio.

Then, because sometimes crazy things happen, because the world is big and small and full of magic, or coincidence, the song came on. Our little car filled with that familiar voice, full of gravel and ache.