All That's Missing (8 page)

“You can hear me, can't you?” Arlo gave his grandfather a hug. “Get well, OK? That's all you need to do. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

A sound came from his grandfather's lips, barely audible, but at least it was
something.
OK, maybe it sounded like he was choking on spit. But still, Arlo could have sworn Poppo was trying to say the word
love.

He pulled the blanket around Poppo's shoulders. “I'll be back,” he whispered. “I promise.”

This time Arlo thought he saw Poppo's hand move, as if he were telling him,
Go on. Hurry.

He kissed his grandfather on the cheek and slipped silently out of the room.

It was just past eight in the morning. Visiting time was beginning, so there were people milling about. No one noticed Arlo, though his heart thumped wildly as he made his way across the lounge, toward the door beside the restrooms, and then quickly down the stairs.

If Miss Hasslebarger caught him, there would be no escape. Arlo needed to make a clean break
now.

He burst through the door to the parking lot, only to discover a security guard headed straight toward him.

“Morning, son.” The guard gave Arlo a nod.

“Morning.” Arlo nearly choked on the word, fearing the guard would stop him.

But he didn't. So Arlo kept moving.

He walked all the way through the parking lot and across the street. Then he started running again. The bus station was less than a quarter mile away.

From a block away, the bus station looked like a crazy spaceship, with its Plexiglas awning and steel girders. Inside, the air was hazy with dust that sparkled when the light hit it, like mica in granite. Arlo took a deep breath and walked straight to the ticket counter. The ticket agent was a skinny man with horn-rimmed glasses that magnified his eyes.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“I need a ticket to Edgewater, please.”

The man lifted his glasses, kneading the red spots where the frames rested on his nose. “What state's that in?”

“Virginia,” Arlo said.

“Round-trip or one-way?”

“Round-trip, please.”

The man looked at him for a minute. Arlo held his breath. Why was he hesitating? Finally, the man punched some buttons on his computer. Arlo relaxed a bit.

“The nearest station is Richmond,” he said. “There's a bus at eight fifty. Gets you there at six twelve. You change at Wytheville.”

“How much?” Arlo asked.

The man checked his screen. “A hundred and twenty dollars,” he said.

Arlo's stomach tightened. “How much for one-way?”

“Eighty-five,” the man said.

Arlo pulled out the plastic bag with the money from Mrs. Rader and what was left of his lawn-mowing cash.

The man put up his hand. “Just a minute,” he said. “You have to get the adult who's traveling with you to buy the ticket. You know that, right?”

“Right,” Arlo said, struggling to maintain his composure.

“You
do
have an adult traveling with you, don't you?” The man leaned over the counter, glancing around the waiting area.

“Sure. Right over there.” Arlo jerked his head toward the orange seats where the passengers were waiting for their buses to be called. There were a couple of ladies who looked about the right age to be his mom.

The ticket agent studied Arlo's face. He checked the passengers in the orange seats. Arlo held his breath, waiting for the man to speak.

“Tell her the bus leaves in twenty minutes,” he said at last. “She'll need to come up here and purchase the tickets. It's number seventy-three.”

“Thanks.”

“You'll have to move out of the way now. There are people behind you.”

“Sorry.”
What a grump.

Arlo was careful to choose a seat beside one of the age-appropriate ladies. The seat on his other side was empty, but Arlo held his backpack in his lap. No sense giving somebody a chance to steal it. He watched the minute hand inch closer to departure time. Now what was he supposed to do?

An old lady hobbled across the tile floor toward the orange chairs. She was lugging overstuffed shopping bags in each hand. The bags were so heavy, they made her shoulders sag. She was headed straight for the chair beside Arlo.
No. Please.
He didn't want to talk to anybody. The best strategy was to keep to himself and avoid being noticed. But the lady had her eyes on that seat.

“Excuse me. Is this one taken?”

“No, ma'am.”

“Thank goodness. I wasn't sure I could make it all the way to the back row with these bags.” She eased herself into the chair. “Hot in here, don't you think?” She fanned herself with a bus schedule. “Maybe it's just me. I don't know. Seems like they ought to open up one of these doors, maybe get a fan going. A little air circulation would help.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Arlo said.

Passengers were lining up at the gate now.

“You're not traveling alone, are you?”

“No, ma'am. That is, I wasn't supposed to be, but the thing is . . .”
The thing is . . . what?
Arlo wondered. Another lie.
Quickly.
He didn't have time to waste.

“Yes?” she asked.

“The thing is . . . my mom got called back to work. We were on our way out the door and they had some kind of emergency. She dropped me off and told me to go ahead without her. She said she'd catch up as soon as she could.”

Whew. The story was more complicated than he'd like, but the lady seemed to believe him, thank goodness. Her breathing scared him. It was raspy and slow, as if she needed to work hard to get air in her lungs. Each time she bent over to rearrange one of her bags, she had to stop afterward and catch her breath.
Bend . . . rest. Bend . . . rest.

“Where is it you're headed?” she asked.

“My grandmother's,” Arlo said.

“Is it a special occasion?”

Arlo thought fast. “It's her birthday,” he said.

“Isn't that nice?” She smiled at him. “I'm a grandmother myself. Seeing those grandbabies is what keeps a body going at my age.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Arlo sneaked a look at the ticket agent to make sure he wasn't watching.

“In fact, that's where I'm headed today,” the lady said.

“Excuse me?”

“To see my grandbabies.” The lady squinted toward the loading platform. “Can you read the number on that bus? My eyes aren't so good.”

Arlo looked in the direction she was pointing. “Seventy-three,” he said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

Meanwhile, the voice on the intercom called out destinations. “Wytheville, Richmond.”

“Mercy, that's me.” The lady rolled forward, gathering up her bags and working her way to her feet. She grimaced when the weight came down on her right side. “What time's your bus?” she asked.

Arlo didn't say anything.

“Son?”

Arlo raised his head.

“What's the matter?” she asked.

Arlo had story-spinning adrenaline gushing through his brain so fast, he couldn't think of an answer. All the ideas were garbled together. He needed a story that would get him on that bus. Finally, the idea came — just in the nick of time. Arlo blurted it out.

“My mom left money for me to buy my ticket, but that ticket agent wouldn't sell it to me.” He nodded in the direction of the man with the horn-rimmed glasses.

In ten minutes the bus would be pulling out of the station. And probably two minutes after that, a policeman would show up, looking for “some kid named Arlo whose grandfather is in the hospital.”

“You have a phone with you?” the lady asked. “Maybe you could give your mom a call.”

“My battery died,” Arlo lied.

“You could borrow mine.”

Oh, geez. Now what?
“She said she was going to be in a meeting,” Arlo said, digging deeper into his brain for another lie. “They wouldn't let her take any calls.”

“Mmm-mmm,” the lady said. “You're in a pickle, aren't you?”

“Yes, ma'am.” It was amazing. She actually believed him. He watched her glare at the man behind the ticket counter.

“Can't say I'm surprised you ran into trouble,” she said. “That sorry so-and-so needs a lot of friendly added to his diet, if you ask me.” She thought for a moment. “You got your money for that ticket?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Arlo offered up the plastic bag with his money.

The lady laughed. “Oh, me. I've seen some fancy wallets in my day, but that one takes the cake. Where is it you're headed?”

“Richmond.”

“The same as me.” The lady frowned. “You need to hurry, son.”

“Yes, ma'am, I know.”

She looked at him. Then she slid back in her seat and stared up at ceiling for a minute. “I'd like to help,” she said.

“You would?”

She rolled forward again. “You seem like a nice young man, and you and your mama are trying to do a good thing for your grandmother.”

Arlo nodded. He tapped the wood carving. Maybe it was helping after all.

“You trust me with that fancy wallet of yours long enough to buy your ticket?”

“Yes, ma'am.”
Arlo handed over the bag.

“It's a shame about your mama not being able to go. I hope she can catch up with you later on.”

“I hope so, too,” Arlo said. “She promised she would.”

The lady looked closely at Arlo's face. Could she tell he was lying? His cheeks turned red sometimes when he was under stress.

“I'll tell you what,” she said. “You wait right here and I'll be back in a minute.”

“OK.”

If a kindly stranger appeared at just the right moment and offered to help you when it looked like everything was lost, that must be a sign you were doing the right thing. After all, what were the odds that somebody like this lady would show up when Arlo needed help? He pulled the wood carving out of his pocket and looked at it. He could almost see the bird blink. In fact, he would have sworn he saw that eye close and then open again.
Slowly.
Like it was winking at him. If it kept bringing him luck, Arlo ought to be sitting in Ida Jones's living room before the sun went down.

Two minutes later, the lady hobbled back across the floor waving a ticket above her head.

“We've got to shake a leg, son,” she said. “Come on.”

Arlo tossed his backpack over his shoulder. “Want me to carry one of your bags?”

“Bless your heart.” The lady handed him the smaller of the two bags. “Be careful you don't hurt yourself. It's a little heavy.”

The bag weighed a ton.

“Books for my grandbabies,” she said. “They were selling them cheap at the library. Guess I got carried away.”

Arlo followed her to the boarding platform. She favored her right side when she walked, as if her hip didn't work so well, or maybe it was just that she was off balance on account of Arlo carrying one of her bags. The driver waited for them. He pulled the door shut as soon as they stepped on board.

“You go on ahead,” the lady said when they got to the top of the steps. “I can't move that quick.”

“I'll save you a seat,” Arlo said.

The lady smiled. “That's nice.” She pointed toward two seats in the middle of the bus. “Why don't you take the one by the window?” she said.

When she sat down, her skirt billowed up, exposing ankles so swollen that they looked like balloons. The skin was purple and splotchy, as if it was stretched too tight. No wonder she walked the way she did.

Arlo stowed her shopping bags under the seat. He had to rearrange the books so they would fit.

“Thank you, son. Don't believe I could've managed that without your help.” The lady patted him on the arm. “You stick with me, and I'll get you to your grandmother's in time to help her blow out the candles on her cake.”

“Thank you,” Arlo said.

“My name's Bernice, by the way.” She left space at the end of the sentence for Arlo to fill in his name. But he'd just as soon she not know anything about him, in case the police came looking later on. Wasn't he in enough trouble as it was? No sense making it easier to find him.

Air whooshed through the hoses on the bus as the engine turned over. Gears ground into place. Arlo glanced out the window. The security guard was talking to some lady on the sidewalk. She raised an arm and pointed toward Arlo, but he ducked before the security guard spotted him. Burrowing deeper in his seat, Arlo pulled a magazine out of the pocket on the seat in front of him. He shoved it in front of his face. All the way to the interstate, his heart raced, waiting for someone to stop the bus and order him off.

But nothing happened. Bernice started humming as she watched the buildings buzz by.

“We're on our way now,” she said, giving him a nod.

“Yes, ma'am,” Arlo said. And, for the first time in two days, the tightness in his shoulders began to ease.