Escape From Fear (2 page)

“H
e's gone now,” Steven sighed. “Obviously, he was lying to us on the plane. Forrest's traveling by himself, which is a very dangerous thing for a child to do.”

“You don't know that he's alone, Steven,” Olivia replied. “Maybe his cousins' plans changed suddenly.”

Steven shook his head. “There's something going on with that kid—I can feel it. I just wish I knew what it was.” He stared at the colorful crowd before adding, “Well, there's nothing we can do for him now. Jack, give me a hand with the bags. We've got to find a taxi to take us to the dock.”

Jack didn't want to admit how relieved he felt that Forrest was gone from their lives, so he kept his eyes on the bags as he wheeled them to the front doors. The taxi turned out to be a big van that seated ten people and their mound of luggage. Since he got to sit up front next to the driver, he had the best view of the streets of St. Thomas. Lights shone from houses perched upon the surrounding hills. Narrow roads switchbacked in breathtaking turns. More than once, Jack had to close his eyes as the driver careened around sharp corners; when he looked back, he noticed his mother gripping the edge of her seat.

“Are we going to die?” Ashley whispered.

“I'm sure the driver is in complete control,” Olivia answered, trying to convince herself as much as Ashley.

Finally, the taxi screeched to a halt and everyone spilled out onto the dock. Boys not much older than Jack leaped forward to carry the luggage to the white, two-tiered ferryboat that bobbed on gentle waves.

“Can we sit up on the top deck?” Ashley begged.

“Absolutely,” Steven told her. “Go on and lead the way.” Since the upper deck was uncrowded, each of the Landons got a bench, one behind the other. They hung their arms over the rail so they could peer into the ebony water 20 feet below. On impulse, Jack got up from his bench and went to sit next to his father.

“It's pretty spectacular, isn't it,” Steven said, smiling. “See those lights? Seems like someone's having a party.”

Jack looked at what he guessed was a restaurant. The wooden building had been decorated with white lights that reflected against the water in ropes of stars.

“You know, I saw a lot of young people going in that direction. I wonder if Forrest will end up there?”

Shrugging in reply, Jack hoped his irritation didn't show. He must have failed at hiding it because a moment later his father asked, “Is something wrong, son?”

“No.”

“Then why do you have that look on your face?”

“What look?”

“The one where your forehead wrinkles up and you scowl. The one you've got right now.”

Jack made a real effort to smooth his expression. “It's—I guess I don't know why you're so worried about Forrest all of a sudden. I mean, why do you even care?” His words came out in a rush. “It's just—I don't want an extra kid with us, Dad. We always take foster kids along on our trips, but this time it's just our family, and I want to keep it that way. It's not like the social workers assigned him to us or anything. We're not responsible. If he's run away or he's off on his own, I don't see why that's any of our business. Is it?”

Just then the ferry got underway, stirring a breeze that quickly turned into a rush of wind. Ashley's hair blew out in dark ribbons while Jack's jacket ballooned around his chest. Air that had felt so warm moments before now chilled him. He watched as his mother pulled her collar close around her neck.

As far back as Jack could remember, his mother had taken care of animals or anything that was hurt, and that extended to neighbors and friends and stray children. He was glad she hadn't heard what he'd just said to his father; she would probably tell him he was acting selfish. Well, for once he didn't care. Why couldn't some other family step in for a change? He'd almost decided his father wasn't going to answer his question when Steven said, “Jack, I told you about the time I ran away, didn't I?”

“Yeah, when you headed off to Idaho. You were in a bad foster home, right? I forget how old you were—”

“Twelve. Hardly big enough to lick a stamp and there I was, hitching a ride west with the aim of trying my hand at farmwork.” He looked off into the distance. “It was a stupid thing to do—a risky thing. I don't know what would have happened if Carlos hadn't taken me under his wing and talked me into going back. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

Jack wasn't sure, but he said, “I guess so.”

“Things could have been very different if that migrant worker hadn't stepped in and helped me out. There was nothing in it for Carlos, nothing but the good that comes from helping a fellow human being. Carlos taught me a lot—things I don't want to forget.”

Jack couldn't help thinking that the situation with Forrest was completely different from his dad's, but he decided to drop the conversation, and his father didn't press. Minutes passed in silence as the prow of the ferry cut through the water. Jack knew there were other islands nearby, but all he could see were the little white-capped waves and all he could hear were the engine sounds that lulled him. When his eyes closed—just for a minute—pictures of his father flashed through his mind: His dad hitching a ride in a red pickup, Steven walking through a potato field, and, oddly, his dad as a kid talking to Forrest about a storm that was coming in from the west, a bad storm that could kill them all. Jack could feel his head rock on his shoulders as he fought the heaviness of sleep, and then he felt his father's arm, warm and strong, encircle him before he gave in to his dream.

“We're here. Wake up, Jack.”

Jack's eyes flew open as he realized they must have arrived at St. John. His mother stood over him, gently shaking his shoulder. Ashley was already leaning over the railing, her hair wind-whipped to three times its normal size, chattering to Steven as they watched people from the lower deck stream onto the dock.

“Hey, are you finally awake?” Ashley asked when he stumbled over to where she stood. “You sure were out of it. You were drooling like a St. Bernard.”

“Yeah, well, you look like you've got a tumbleweed stuck on your head,” Jack replied, yawning. He stretched hard, pushing the blood back into his limbs.

With both hands, Ashley tried to mash down her wild hair. She was about to say something more when her eyes widened. Pointing to where the last of the lower deck passengers stepped off the gangplank, she cried, “Look—oh my gosh—it's Forrest! He must have been on the bottom deck of the ferry the whole time. We didn't even see him! Mom, Dad, there he is!”

With cool confidence Forrest walked to where the luggage had been piled and picked up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. Again there was no one to meet him, and he obviously was not looking for anyone. He'd come to St. John all by himself.

“He's still alone,” Olivia said, her voice grim. “Steven, what should we do?”

“What do you think, Jack?”

Jack shifted uncomfortably under his father's gaze, which seemed to pin him right into the wooden deck. He knew what he should say, so he made himself say it. “I guess we'd better go talk to him.”

Ashley cried, “He's leaving!”

“OK, everyone, move fast,” Steven ordered.

The four of them clambered down the steps onto the wooden dock. Again young boys crowded forward, offering to carry their luggage, this time to waiting taxis that looked like ice-cream trucks with colored canopies, but the Landons rushed past. Steven reached Forrest first, clapping his hand onto the boy's shoulder while the rest of the Landons hurried to catch up. When Forrest whipped around, he seemed visibly dismayed.

“Oh…hello…Mr. Landon,” he stammered.

Steven sounded pleasant enough, but Jack could tell he was on edge. “I'm surprised to see you in St. John. I thought you said you were going to St. Thomas.”

“I…changed my mind.”

“Where are your cousins?”

“They're around here, somewhere,” Forrest said, shaking his shoulder free. He crossed his arms, as if daring Steven to ask him more questions.

“I'd like to meet them.”

“No! I mean, thank you for your concern.” Jack noticed a bead of perspiration roll down the edge of Forrest's face. He must be wilting in the moist evening heat. Or maybe he was more nervous than he was letting on. “Look, Mr. Landon, I don't want to be rude, but what I do really isn't any of your business.”

“I'm afraid it is,” Steven answered quietly. “I was just talking to Jack about that. You're only 13 years old, you're thousands of miles from home, and you're here all alone. That makes it my business.”

“And mine,” Olivia agreed, edging closer to Steven.

Jack could tell that Forrest was going to bolt. His arms, his whole body tensed, and in one quick motion he tried to escape, but Steven grabbed him and hung on. “Whoa, take it easy. We're only trying to help you.”

“I don't want your help. I don't
need
it! Let me go!” Forrest demanded. He pulled furiously, but it was useless. Steven had him tight.

“Just tell me—have you run away?”

“None of your business!” Forrest spat.

“OK, then at least tell me where you plan to stay. You can share that much, can't you?” Steven's voice had regained its steady calm. “If you tell me what your plans are, then I'm sure it will all work out.”

Raising his head proudly, Forrest declared, “I have money. I'll get a hotel room with my platinum card.”

“For heaven's sake, is that what you were planning to do? You can't get a room at the spur of the moment on St. John, not this time of year,” Olivia retorted. “There are no hotel rooms.” When he looked at her blankly, she said, “It's spring break, Forrest. The island is overflowing with vacationing college students right now. You can't even rent a closet.”

This seemed to startle him, and the last bit of smugness faded from his face. Olivia shot a glance toward Steven. After his nod of approval, she said, “You're going to need a place to stay tonight, and you can't stay on the beach. You'd better come with us.”

Forrest's chin jutted out again. “What if I say no?”

“We're not going to leave you on your own. We'll take you to the police and let them deal with you,” Steven answered. “Is that how you want to play this?”

Most of the other people from the ferry had already driven away on the ice-cream truck taxies, but one lone truck drove up to where Jack and his family were standing. “Lady, you want taxi?” a man in a striped linen shirt asked. His face was a shining tan, and his hat looked as though it had been planted on the back of his head. “I help wid dis luggage,” he said. “Where do I take you?”

“Well,” Olivia asked Forrest, “what's it going to be?”

“Just come with us. Please?” Ashley pleaded.

Jack said nothing. He watched Forrest sag, just a little, before he finally gave in. “All right. I accept. Thank you. Please…please, don't ask me why I've done what I've done. I have my reasons. That's all I want to say.”

“There'll be plenty of time to sort out the ‘why's' in the morning,” Steven told him. “That much can wait. But we will be calling your parents as soon as we get to our motel. They must be worried sick.”

Forrest did not reply. Woodenly, he got into the cab and pushed himself into the farthest corner. Ashley followed, then Jack, and then his parents, crammed in so close their knees touched.

“Here we go,” the man called out as his truck-cab rumbled to life. Though almost eleven at night, the streets were full of partying students from the U.S. mainland, mingling with island natives as they danced to music blaring from open-fronted, neon-lit restaurants. On the sidewalks, shorts-clad senior citizens walked hand in hand while neon lights reflected on their faces. Ashley tried to coax Forrest to speak, but he kept his head down as the taxi bumped along the uneven streets.

Their cab driver beeped his horn to warn people out of the way. The air felt warm and sweet with the scent of flowers they could barely see in the darkness; the crowds seemed happy and full of high spirits. St. John appeared to have no intention of quieting down for the night. Jack would have been feeling pretty high himself, except for the knot in his stomach. They were stuck with an extra kid, exactly the way he knew it would happen. Well, they couldn't keep Forrest too long. They'd probably turn him over to some authority in the morning. He tried to remember what his father had said about Carlos. So far, it wasn't working.

In minutes, the taxi stopped in front of a cast-iron gate that guarded a courtyard in the center of several darkened buildings. “You guys get the luggage while I find someone to check us in,” Olivia told them. “Forrest, as soon as we find our rooms, Steven and I will call your parents.”

Forrest nodded.

They'd booked two rooms, which would work out okay since it seemed that Forrest would be spending the night with them. He and Jack could stay in one room while Ashley slept on a cot in her parents' room. They often divided up motel rooms that way, if the foster child happened to be a boy. Jack knew the drill.

They bumped the suitcases up a flight of narrow concrete stairs, waiting for Olivia to arrive with the room keys. She opened one door, then the one next to it. That's when Jack saw where he'd be staying.

A ten-foot-square room with sagging twin beds greeted him. One small Formica end table held one lamp with a moth batting against the bulb. The cinder block walls had been painted a lifeless tan. The floor's pattern had been walked off long ago.

Looking surprised and a bit grim, Steven surveyed the room, but all he said was, “Well, it's not paradise, but it's all we could get. Where's the telephone?”

“I don't know,” Jack answered. “First let me get some air going, Dad. It's like an oven in here.” Jack turned on the window fan, but it only stirred a small, hot breeze. After he jumped up to pull a chain dangling from a ceiling fan, the overhead fan blades started to rotate slowly, pushing hot waves around the room. What a dump, Jack thought.