The Smell of Other People's Hou - Bonnie-Sue Hitchcock Page 0,18
cart open and a wave of yellow sunlight bounces off my shoelaces. I hold my breath as someone pushes a cage in nearly on top of my foot. Inside it four mustard-brown hens squawk loudly. You have got to be kidding me.
“They’ll be so lonely. Are you sure I can’t take them above deck with me?” a woman’s voice says.
Sam’s mouth crinkles around the edges and I’m afraid he’s going to laugh. Jack stretches and yawns loudly, but the chickens are squawking so much, nobody is going to hear anything over that racket. I relax a little as the ferryman leads the woman away. We can still hear her high, protesting voice, and apparently so can her chickens, which call out to her in a chorus of mad clucks that luckily drown out Sam’s laughter.
“Hush, Sam—” The cart is starting to move down the ramp.
The car deck is a sensory overload of diesel, mold, and exhaust from all the vehicles. Jack wakes and tries to stretch, then looks around, disoriented. I press a finger to my lips and he stops moving. Jack nods and stays quiet. He is so easy. Unlike Sam, who is already giving me a can-we-please-get-off-this-thing-now kind of look. I’d really like to get as far away from town as possible before we show ourselves to the general public. That way there will be less of a chance of getting sent back if we get caught. If we could at least make it to Ketchikan or Prince Rupert, in Canada, that would be okay. All I found in my mom’s peanut butter jar was sixteen dollars, and I’m no idiot. That’s almost like having no money at all. I just want to be somewhere else before I worry about every single detail. We got this far, didn’t we?
A million tiny needles dance under my skin all the way down to my toes, and I realize Sam is shaking my leg, which is fast asleep.
“I’m getting a headache from this diesel smell,” he whispers. “And there’s going to be a car deck call soon. People are going to come get their bags. We have to get out of here anyway.”
He’s right. We’ve done this trip enough to know the basics, even if it was a long time ago. Our parents brought tents and we camped up on the solarium. Jack was probably two or three; I doubt he remembers. It’s weird to think about how much stuff we brought along back then. Dad had to go back and forth to the car to get the cooler, the sleeping bags, the tent, and shopping bags full of food. This time all we’ve got is the sixteen dollars and two coats apiece, which we’re wearing in layers on our backs. At least it’s summer, but we can probably sleep inside in the forward lounge anyway, where it’s warmer.
Sam squeezes my arm and I nod in agreement. Time to make a move.
We slip out the back of the cart and slink behind the parked cars with blocks shoved under their front wheels to keep them from moving. We lurch from side to side, trying to find some kind of rhythm with the sway of the boat. Sea legs take a while, and ours are still asleep.
The chicken lady sits hunched in the stairwell, her head in her hands. She’s waiting for the announcement saying it’s okay to go below deck. The way her frizzy gray hair hangs over her face makes her look like a mossy spruce tree, bent with age.
“Your chickens are fine,” Jack says without thinking. She looks straight through him like he’s not even there.
We go up to the bow and sit facing the wind, gladly trading diesel fumes for salt air, even if it does take our breath away. Sam scans the horizon for whales.
“I’m hungry,” says Jack.
“I know.” I’ve been dreading this moment.
“Let’s wait a little longer. We can get some leftovers once people leave their trays.”
Jack wrinkles his nose.
“We have to save our money,” I tell him. “You’ll see. People just leave perfectly good things. Sometimes they don’t even touch it if they’re seasick or whatever. It’ll be fine.”
“I want to stay and look for whales. You guys go ahead,” says Sam, staring out at the ocean.
“We have to always stick together, Sam,” I say. “And if possible, we need to look like we’re with parents. Just sit close to people so it doesn’t look like we’re all alone.”