The Smell of Other People's Hou - Bonnie-Sue Hitchcock Page 0,19
God, is he going to be this frustrating the whole time?
But his voice tugs at something inside of me, that long-abandoned belief that my father might really come back. For Sam, Dad and the whales are one and the same. I’m a tiny bit envious that he still gets to have that. “All right, we’ll bring you some food. Stay right here, Sam. I mean it.”
So Jack and I steer ourselves past the purser’s station, looking for all the world like any other normal, paying passengers. Except maybe puffier, because of our extra coats. I hear a twang, twang, twang behind me and turn to see Jack playing with something in his hand. “What is that?”
He holds a skanky red rubber band in my face. It smells like shit.
“Where did you get that?” I cover my nose.
“One of those hens was pecking at it inside the cage. I was able to grab it through the wires.”
“You’ll get a disease from that thing,” I say.
“I think it’s a good-luck charm.” His face is all lit up with possibility. Remember when I said I was the most level-headed one in my family? If we survive this journey, it will be nothing short of a miracle, thanks to my brothers, who are starting to make me very nervous.
“I’ll go give it to Sam,” Jack says. “It might help bring in the whales.”
In spite of myself, I smile watching Jack run back to where Sam is still rooted to the deck. There’s Sam, still hoping Dad will come back, and Jack, trying to help find ways to make it so. What I feel is a mix of crazy love and jealousy—for both of them. And even after everything Jack’s been through, he still believes in good-luck charms. Did I stop believing in everything all at once, or was it so gradual I just didn’t notice?
“You are absolutely washing those hands before we get food, even leftover food,” I tell him when he gets back. He smiles one of those break-your-heart-every-day kind of smiles, like he feels sorry for me because I have no imagination, but heads into the men’s room.
The dining hall looks just like it did when we were here before. The long line at the buffet counter, the man flipping burgers at the grill in the little blue boater hat, and the sound of popping grease in the fryer. The smell is enough to make me waste money on our very first day. I realize we haven’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours, since we sneaked out around midnight and dinner was our last meal. Dinner, as in bowls of cereal before going to bed fully dressed. Mom and Nathan came home from the bar and I thought they’d never stop fighting. I could see the whites of Jack’s eyes staring up at the ceiling. I realized then that Jack rarely slept at night. It’s why I used to find him curled up in the oddest places in the middle of the day, sound asleep. We should have left a long time ago.
I can tell Jack doesn’t like my plan. He’s staring at the plates left on the tables, a disgusted look on his face. This is the same kid who just ten minutes ago was holding a rubber band covered in chicken shit and telling me it was lucky.
“I have money, Hank, I’ll buy us food,” he says as I inspect a whole banana, more brown than yellow but still in its peel. I put it in the plastic bag I brought along just for this reason. My planning skills are minimal, but I did think of a few things. I toss in half a bag of chips and a chicken leg that looks totally untouched. I leave the gross, soggy hamburger drowning in ketchup.
“You don’t have money, Jack. Where would you have gotten money?”
Just then the cashier eyes us suspiciously and I pull Jack along by his coat toward the other end of the cafeteria. If we just keep our heads down, hopefully it’ll take a while before we stand out, maybe forever—we look almost normal compared to some of the rough-looking passengers. We steer clear of a guy with a skullcap dressed all in black leather. The girl he’s with has a raven tattooed on her cheek, and she appears to be wearing a sleeping bag. Her bare feet are sticking out of the side zipper, making her look like a puffy mermaid.