“Mom isn’t going to change.”
“That’s not what I mean,” she said, though she didn’t argue. “I mean, you can’t go anywhere. She’ll freak out if you don’t come home. She’ll call the cops.”
“You actually think that? I don’t think she’d even notice for a while.”
Dixie laughed. “I know she’s not perfect, but she’d notice if you weren’t there, Gem.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely.” She slid the bus window open a couple of inches and put her face near where the air came in.
“Can you text her for me?” I asked. “Tell her I’m staying with a friend tonight?”
“What friend?”
“Say Helena. Say whatever. She won’t know who I’m talking about anyway.”
Dixie was already reaching for her phone.
“And tell her you’re staying at Lia’s tonight or something,” I added.
This made her pause. It was a little more insurance, I told myself, keeping her with me, knowing whether or not she was talking to Mom or Dad and what she was telling them.
“What am I doing tonight?” Dixie asked.
The bus got deeper into downtown, the touristy part, the convention center and the piers. If I’d been alone, I would have kept getting on buses all day and all night, until I was in another state. But I couldn’t take Dixie that far away from home, not if she didn’t want to go.
“I’m not sure,” I said, honest. “We’ll get off at the next stop for now.”
Dixie tapped her fingers on the side of her phone, then typed out a message and sent it. “Okay. I told her.”
We landed on the pavement of a busy street, everyone moving with purpose and confidence. I spun in a slow circle on the corner while Dixie waited for me to tell us what we were doing. “Come on,” I said, and led her down toward the water. We could sit and watch the boats and ferries and gulls.
“I’m starving,” Dixie said.
“There’s food down there.”
I found her a coffee shop where she could get a toasted, buttered poppy seed bagel the way she liked. I used to make that for her for an after-school snack, and for lunch in the summers when we were at home together while Mom worked.
We walked a little, then sat on a bench near the ferry dock. “Did Mom reply?” I asked.
Dixie shook her head and unwrapped enough of her bagel that she could take a bite.
A ferry, slow and huge, like a floating office building, was coming in from one of the islands. “Remember when we used to play runaway?”
She chewed, her eyes fixed on the water. “Yeah, I remember,” she said. “Not like I’d forget.”
“Pretend this is like that. Only we’re not trapped in the apartment. We can do anything we want.” I knew how naive it sounded, how naive it was, but I needed a little more time to work out exactly what I was doing. Also, the ten-year-old in me really wanted it to be like that, even for a little while.
Dixie’s phone went off. She passed it to me after reading.
just woke up. that shit knocked me out
“At least she’s not pretending she was ‘tired’ or something,” I said.
“It’s not such a big deal. Everybody takes pills.”
“No they don’t.”
I was holding the phone when Mom’s next message buzzed through.
my back is still killing me and I wonder if you can get me a little more? maybe drop it by before you go to lia’s
I handed Dixie the phone and watched the ferry move into its berth. Mom and Dad were both making this easy for me. Dixie put her bagel down on the bench and stood. “I’m calling her.”
“Dixie—”
“I’m not going to tell her anything.” In a second she was talking to Mom. “You should probably just try to get to the doctor, Mom,” she said. “No one has anything.”
Pause.
“I know. But there’s—”
She glanced at me and moved a few feet away.
“It’s not that easy!”
She hugged herself with one arm and stared at the ground, listening.
“I’m sorry— Yes, I am! . . . Then go to the doctor. . . . Did you even ask? . . . Sorry. I’ll try. Sorry.”
She didn’t come back to the bench. Instead she moved closer to the water and leaned on the railing there. I picked up what was left of her bagel and went to her. “Here.”
“You can have it.”
I tore off a chunk and threw it at a cluster of gulls in the water. They flapped and dived, then looked to me for more. I threw piece after piece at them until it was gone.
“I want to go home,” Dixie said suddenly.
“Why? No.”
“Yeah, this is dumb.”
“You shouldn’t have called,” I said. “She makes you feel guilty for stuff she does.”
She shoved her hands in her jacket pockets and crossed the street, away from me, back toward where we’d come from. I followed, walking fast, my backpack bouncing a little on my shoulders.
“Can’t you see how messed up that is?” I asked.
“She just needs . . .” Dixie couldn’t finish the sentence. Then she walked on as if she was trying to get away from me.
We were on a steep hill now with our backs to the water. I let myself fall farther behind. Maybe I should let her go, I thought. Everything would be easier without her anyway. If we were going to abandon each other, this was as good a time as any.
The practical part of me argued no, this was not as good a time as any, because now I wouldn’t have my head start if she chose to tell Dad or Mom. But it wasn’t only that making me chase after her.
“Dixie!”
She slowed.
At least I could see what was so wrong with our family. Dixie didn’t have that yet. Glimpses, but not the whole picture. Maybe that was one last thing I could give her, one last way I could take care of her. Playing the runaway game one more time.
“One night,” I said when I’d caught up to her.
She finally turned. We were both breathing heavily from the climb. I found myself smiling.
“Let’s have this one night,” I said. “We’ll go to a fancy hotel. We’ll order room service. You’re right. My idea about leaving is dumb. I’m . . . I’m probably overreacting like I always do, but let’s have a night and tomorrow we can go home and put the money back exactly like it was. Let’s at least get something out of it.” I don’t like that I manipulated her that way. Maybe that made me no better than Dad. “And Dad will come whenever, and if he figures out there’s a little missing, what can he say?”
She folded her arms. “He’ll be pissed.”
“We just keep pretending we don’t know anything about it. Anyway, so what. Come on, Dixie.”
I told myself I was doing it for her, even while thinking: Choose me. Choose me over them. Let’s go to the forest, let’s go to space.
“He owes it to us,” I said, knowing I almost had her. “They both do.”
She glanced down the street toward where we would get a bus if we were going home. “I just want things to be like they were.”
“Like they were when?” I asked.