It’s after midnight when the bus pulls into Cypress. It’s a tiny little town, not the type of place you could get lost in, that’s for sure.
Elliot is sound asleep. I should carry him, but I’m too tired. I wake him up as gently as I can. He’s sweaty and confused, but he doesn’t complain. He staggers off the bus like a little pint-sized drunk. Any other time in my life, I probably would have laughed, but nothing’s very funny at the moment.
What are we going to do now?
I look at the benches in the bus station and I’m tempted just to crash there, but that’s not going to work. Mom will have called the police by now. We’d be found in no time.
I’ve got about $10 left. We can’t get a hotel for that kind of money, and we’ll freeze if we stay outside.
Who cares? This is hopeless. Why did I even think I could get away with it? Those are the kind of thoughts going through my head. I sit down on a bench and put Elliot on my lap. We’ll just wait here until the police come and get us.
There’s a noise. I look up and see a man walk out a door marked Lost and Found.
Just like us, I think. Lost and found. Thinking that makes me feel smart, as if I was the only person in English class to identify the theme of the novel.
But then that Patterson part of me kicks in.
No. We aren’t lost, and we don’t want to be found.
We left on purpose. To make a better life for ourselves. This is what we want to do.
I jump up and run over to the door, dragging Elliot with me.
“Phew!” I say. “I’m so glad we weren’t too late to catch you.”
The guy locks the door. “Well, actually you are, dear. It’s twelve thirty and I’m going home.”
“Oh, please!” I say. “I left a bunch of stuff on the bus last week and I really, really need it!” The tears in my eyes aren’t just for show—but they work. The guy rubs his hand over his mouth, sighs and opens the door.
“What did you lose?” He says it as if I’m always asking him to help me.
“Um…a blanket, a hoodie, a sweater…” I’m trying to think of what else we might need.
The guy holds up a hand. “Whoa. Okay, let’s start there. What color blanket?”
“What color?” I say. I realize I’ve got to guess the right color or I’m not going to get the blanket. It’s like some cruel game show. “Ah…gray,” I say.
The guy puts his fist on his hip and sizes us up. Elliot, shivering in his little sweater, me in my skinny rumpled jacket. It sure doesn’t look like a $200 Club Monaco trench anymore.
“Right,” he says. “Wait here.”
He comes back with his arms full of stuff: a red polar fleece blanket, sweatpants and a U of T hoodie for me, a Superman tracksuit and parka for Elliot.
“Do these look like yours?” he says. He’s just playing along.
Elliot says, “A Superman suit! Can I have it?”
The guy has a sort of Santa Claus laugh. “Yup. As long as you catch some bad guys for me.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Thank you so much.”
The guy shrugs and locks up again. “No problem. You take care of yourself now.”
I make Elliot change in the women’s washroom with me. He’s got a lot more pep since he snagged the Superman suit. I stuff our old clothes into my purse, and we step out into the cold.
It’s a beautiful night. The stars are as sharp and white as led lights against the black sky. I don’t know what I was thinking. This isn’t the type of night to give up.