Something She's Not Telling Us - Darcey Bell Page 0,86
somewhere important to be.
“Two hours, I promise. No more.”
It’s the most interesting offer he’s had in a while.
“I’m in,” he says.
That’s when the whole plan locks in. I don’t know exactly how, but it does. That’s when I really decide—today will be the day.
I’d much rather have Daisy than confront her mother about my passport.
The next thing I know, I’m on the subway with creepy Drew. Going to pick up Daisy. My heart is beating so hard I’m afraid even Drew can hear it over the roar of the train.
Helicopter Charlotte would never allow it. But I can be creative. I can think for myself. I don’t need anyone’s permission.
I can pick Daisy up from school and take her to Hoboken to meet Grandpa Frank and Granny Edith. They would love meeting Daisy. And Daisy will always remember the funny old people in their time-travel house.
I’m nervous, picking up Daisy. What if some nosy teacher insists on calling Charlotte? But all my anxiety disappears when Daisy is so obviously happy to see me. That settles it. I’m not doing anything wrong. We’ll just have a little fun, and then I’ll return her, unharmed.
“Auntie Ruth!” she cries, running toward me across the gym, proving our closeness and my trustworthiness, credentials even better than my name on the pickup list, where it’s been since Rocco and I took her to the circus. I’d taken a risk, since Charlotte could have crossed off my name. But she must have forgotten. She must have been too busy with her fabulous life.
Daisy’s delighted to see me. Drew not so much.
She shrinks away from him when he tries to pat her head.
The after-school teachers can’t help noticing, but I smile at them and put my finger to my lips, as if that will keep Drew from hearing me whisper, “My cousin.” And I give them a little eye roll, meaning: Not quite right in the head.
Not that it matters. I’m on the list.
The kindly women who oversee the after-school program ask for my ID, and one of them writes down my name. But they never doubt that Daisy’s mom approved this. I’m doing the family a favor. I sign Daisy out with a casual flourish. I write: Ruth Seagram. Why not?
Daisy doesn’t seem surprised. She doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t ask if something’s wrong, doesn’t ask why I’m there and not Mommy.
I kneel and zip up Daisy’s cute bright purple quilted jacket. That’s the hard part—so far. The zipper sticks, and I have to try not to seem impatient or afraid that I will never be able to do it. Finally, success! After that, we’re coasting. We find her backpack, and as we head out, I locate her inhaler.
Daisy watches me flip the switch that disables the tracking device.
She asks, “Why are you doing that?”
“We don’t want the batteries running low.” A reasonable, grown-up answer. Everyone has a right to privacy—even a child and her favorite aunt.
Daisy and I will be free. That’s why I left my phone at home. Even if I turn it off, someone can tell where I am, and probably listen to what I’m saying. Now we can spend an afternoon having fun without Electronic Mom tracking our every move. If Daisy has an asthma attack, which she won’t, I won’t need an app to find her inhaler. Which is more than you can say for her parents.
I was just going to confront Charlotte about my passport. But intuition is a funny thing. Somehow I must have known that, by the end of the day, my plans would include Daisy.
Otherwise why would I have left my phone at home?
In that moment I’m conscious of a possible mistake. I should have wiped my contacts list. If Rocco finds my phone . . .
There’s no time to worry about that. Whatever happens, happens. For the moment I’m happy. We’re free.
Hand in hand, Daisy and I exit the gym.
I hardly notice Drew tagging after us.
He says, “I thought you said you was her nanny. But I just heard you say that you’re her aunt.”
“In fact I’m a little of both. Thanks for everything.” I grab Daisy’s hand, and we ditch Drew the moment we get outside.
“What happened to that guy?” Daisy asks. “Isn’t he that bad guy downstairs in our building who smokes?”
“Nothing happened to him,” I say. “He left. He didn’t want to play with us. He went home.”
Another mistake. Maybe.
“Should we go home?” Daisy asks.
“Later. Let’s go. Ready? We’re going to have fun.”