that Sam is gone.
“What about us?” I can’t help it. I’m so tired of running and hiding and being in charge. I think about curling myself into a semicircle and sleeping on this bench until the police come to take us back home. Surely that’s what will happen, even as I hear myself say, “We can’t go home.” My voice sounds flat, like a tire worn down to the rim.
“It’s funny,” Phil says, as if to himself. “I took this job because every time I walked by that bathroom in the harbor, I was afraid of what I might find. It was fine; I mean, it could have been way worse. If she hadn’t been alive I don’t know what I would have done. But it still made me nervous; I didn’t want any more surprises on the job.”
“At least we have our clothes on,” Jack says, which makes Phil laugh so deep and loud, I’m sure he’s going to wake up the entire ferry.
“You guys aren’t so bad,” he says, “but I wonder what it is with me and stray kids.”
I follow the creases on Phil’s face. Maybe the lines really are a map.
“You two need to decide what you want to do and then let me know how I can help, within the bounds of the law,” he says, wiping his eyes from laughing so hard.
Then he stands up again to go make his rounds, but before he leaves he lays down a brown paper towel with writing on it that I recognize as Jack’s.
In big, blocky letters it says: CAN YOU HELP US? WE NEED TO GET BACK TO FIND MY BROTHER. PLEASE DON’T TURN US IN. WE ARE DESPRATE.
Now it’s my turn to laugh, rocking back and forth until my gut hurts. Jack stares at me. But I can’t help it. When I’m finally able to catch my breath, I say, “We’re desprate? Jack, you really should have tried harder in spelling.”
—
Phil turns out to be an okay guy who doesn’t turn us in to the ship’s captain, which surprises me. In fact, I am more resigned now that Phil knows our secret, and I even let Jack choose the fake names we’ve decided to use. When he says I’ll be called Oscar and he’ll be Frank, I wonder if that was a mistake. Especially because every time he says “Oscar,” he starts humming the Oscar Mayer wiener song. Laughing was something I’d never thought I’d do again, not as Hank or Oscar or anyone, and I’m amazed how much it helps. Although without Sam, I know the darkness is always close by.
I don’t tell Jack that I’m grateful he turned us in, but I do feel about a thousand pounds lighter now that Phil is helping us. He says a friend of his knows a family in Fairbanks willing to take us in until I turn eighteen.
Phil warned me, though, that if I try to run off alone and we get caught again, we could get separated. The state might not care so much about me living on my own, but Jack’s still young enough to raise eyebrows.
“I hear you, Phil. I promise, no more running.”
It was enough to scare me into following the rules. Well, sort of. We still had to use fake names, because no way was I going to let Jack anywhere near Nathan Hodges again, either. I had a hunch that Phil knew those weren’t our real names anyway.
In Prince Rupert Phil introduces us to Isabelle, the Canadian version of social services. She’s wearing a plaid wool skirt and short little rain boots with dogwood and fireweed blooms painted on them, as if she’s determined to blend into the scenery. Phil walks us up the ramp and gives her a hug that looks a tiny bit more than just professional, if you ask me. She turns to us and shakes our hands, much more formally. I’ve never known a woman who wore lipstick before, and this one has so much on she looks clownish. I can tell Jack is fighting the urge to laugh.
“Hello, Frank and Oscar,” the bright-pink lips are saying. It takes me a minute to remember that we are Frank and Oscar. She opens the door of a rusty yellow Datsun that is supposed to make it all the way to Fairbanks. I’m a tad doubtful that this car will make the journey, but what choice do we have?
Just before we climb in, Phil puts his arms around