“Should have stayed in the Loud Lounge while I was on the phone,” says Wood gruffly.
“No, it was me,” wails Catalpa. “I should have seen Oak crawling out of my room. I just turned my back for a minute to show Aspen a crochet website….”
“One of us big people should have been there too,” says MaxiMum. “Iain’s eyesight is pretty good, but chasing games can be dangerous.”
So nobody’s thought to tell them about the blindfold. This would be the moment for Sumac to do that. She opens her mouth to speak —
Nothing comes out.
PopCorn hands Sumac a fragrant, oozing slice on a plate.
Sometimes love is a pie. There just isn’t enough to go around. Or OK, maybe there is enough love, but not enough time and attention, so you have to grab your piece, and then the pie smashes and you’re fighting for crumbs….
What if Sumac had a tiny family? Maybe two parents, one sibling. Or what if she was an only, like Isabella. Something neat and simple.
She closes her eyes. Wishes she could drift away to the ancient land of Sumer.
And then Sic comes galloping back into the Mess, gasping, “He’s gone.”
*
They check all thirty-two of Camelottery’s rooms to find where Grumps might have hidden himself. All the bikes are still in the cage out front. The Wild, the Tree Fort … No sign of him. Wood takes Diamond off to search the Ravine.
Sumac’s looking in all the closets and spaces big enough for a person to curl up in. When she throws open the linen cupboard, startling Quartz, they both let out a yowl of fright before the cat shoots down from her bed of towels and out the door.
In the Grumpery, the animal heads on the wall stare down at Sumac.
She can hear MaxiMum in the Hall of Mirrors making two search parties of teens and adults to go off down the street in each direction, asking at doors.
The old man’s handful of droopy clothes is hanging up in his closet. Ashtray empty. Nothing looks any different.
Maybe Grumps has gone to jump off a bridge, because that would be better than living here.
Pink flowers on the August page. When a monarch butterfly needs a milkweed bush, that’s what she heads for, because no other plant will do.
“The airport!” Sumac shrieks. She runs out into the Hall of Mirrors and bumps right into PopCorn. “He’s going to fly back to Faro.”
He stares at her. Then turns and shouts, “The airport!”
Confusion, consultation, calling a taxi. PopCorn’s going because he’s his son. And MaxiMum, because Grumps seems to dislike her the least. Sic and Catalpa, long-legged teens for running around the terminal. “I’ve got super-long legs too,” says Aspen, waving one and then the other.
“I can run faster than Catalpa any day,” says Wood.
“I’m going too,” insists Sumac, surprising herself.
“There won’t be room,” PapaDum tells her.
“I don’t take up much.”
“I can’t stay here, not knowing,” says CardaMom, Oak bouncing in her arms.
“Oh, let’s all go,” says PapaDum, grabbing PopCorn’s phone and hitting redial. “Hi, we just booked a cab…. Could you make that two vans?”
Sumac piles into the taxi with the moms (after a brief tussle with Brian, who wants to keep her fire truck on, especially as this is an emergency). They peer out the windows, in case Grumps didn’t have enough cash for his own fare and got dropped off a few blocks away. (Or in case I’m wrong, Sumac thinks wildly: What if I’m leading us all in the totally opposite direction from the bridge he’s jumping off?)
Once they’re on the highway, there are no pedestrians, but Sumac stares at the verges anyway, looking for a tall bearded man stomping along in his work boots. The ride to the airport takes less than half an hour by the clock in the dashboard, but it seems to last forever.
Terminal 1 is an elegant glass eye. The cab slows, passing the Inuksuit stone giants on guard outside Departures. The Lotterys spill out and thump up the escalator.
Under the curved ceiling of Level 3, the checkin hall is vast, full of people. Even if Sumac’s right, how will they ever find their grandfather?
“OK,” says MaxiMum, pressing Sumac, Aspen, and Wood into a tight cluster, “you’re base camp. I’ll ask at the ticket counters, and CardaMom will check the washrooms and café.”
“You’re not allowed in the men’s,” Wood reminds CardaMom, and races off.
Aspen leaps up and down on the spot.
“Could you stop making a baboon of yourself for one minute?” asks Sumac.
“I’m trying to spot Grumps over the crowd,” Aspen tells her.
Racing toddlers, mothers and grandmothers in saris, Orthodox Jewish men with their hats and dangly ringlets, Mennonites in prayer caps and long dresses…. Sumac stands staring in all directions, feeling utterly useless. No, worse than that.
“Do you think there’s like a Lost Person area?” wonders Aspen.
“He’s not lost,” snaps Sumac. “He just wants to go home.”