Runaway Twin

by Peg Kehret

  “Thank you,” I told the woman. “I’ll return it if I can find something else to use.”

  “Meanwhile, I hope my pants stay up,” she said, and we both laughed.

  I led Snickers back to the shelter building and this time I took him inside. I asked the woman at the table if she had tweezers, and she helped me get the splinter out from under my fingernail.

  Then I picked up a blanket and pillow, claimed a cot, and lay down. Snickers did not want to lie on the floor beside me; he hopped up on the cot. Although it was crowded that way, I decided to let him stay. Once I fell asleep, my grasp on the belt would loosen and I wouldn’t know if Snickers wandered off. If he was lying next to me, I would know if he moved. With me under the blanket and Snickers on top of it, I closed my eyes. Even with the low murmur of strangers talking, I fell asleep right away.

  When I woke up, the room was crowded. Every cot was occupied, and so were the chairs. Some people sat on the floor. I took Snickers outside and walked him for a while, then returned and got in the food line, which now snaked around the corner of the building. When I got to the window, I was given a tuna sandwich, an apple, and a bottle of water. “Could I please have an extra sandwich?” I asked. The man inside handed it to me.

  Most people took their food inside and sat on their cots to eat, but I walked to the edge of the yard and sat in the grass. I didn’t want to take a chance that some fussbudget would complain about me giving a sandwich to a dog. Tuna is not my favorite, but I ate it. Snickers gobbled his sandwich, including the lettuce. All of his months of scrounging for scraps had apparently made him an unfussy eater.

  Back inside, I noticed that the walls were now covered with papers, photos, and other items that were attached with masking tape. People were walking around the room looking at them, as if they were in an art gallery.

  Leading Snickers with the belt/leash, I circled the room, too. There was a graduation photo of a pretty young woman in a red cap and gown, with a gold tasseled cord draped around her neck. There were pictures of a black cat. A loop of bright blue beads hung from a pushpin that had been jammed into the wall. A page from a calendar, with notations on the dates, hung between a lace doily and a packet of pumpkin seeds. Most of the papers and photos were torn and dirty, and I realized these were things people had found and brought here, hoping the people they belonged to would reclaim them.

  I remembered the drawing I had found. I took it out of my pocket, smoothed it open, pricked it with a pushpin, and stuck it on the wall. Maybe Suzy’s parents were here; maybe they would be happy to find her drawing.

  Two women walked around the room ahead of me. “I wouldn’t mind losing my house so much,” one of them said, “if I could still have the pictures of my grandparents, and of my kids when they were little.”

  A few minutes later the same woman said, “Oh! Here’s Grandma and Grandpa!” She was standing in front of a long table that was piled with items that had been picked up. I saw her hug a small framed photo to her chest.

  The table also contained a tattered blue baby blanket, a leather-bound Bible, and a teddy bear. Curious, I went closer.

  When I reached the table, I stopped and stared in disbelief. A pink diaper bag sat at the edge of the table and there, partly hidden behind it, was my backpack! While I had slept, someone had brought my backpack to the shelter and left it on the table. With trembling hands, I opened it.

  I took out my UCLA sweatshirt, my underwear, the bag of cashews, Snickers’s bowl and biscuits, and, yes, my money. All of it. I clasped the backpack, holding it tightly as a wave of gratitude swept over me. Whoever had found my backpack could have removed the money before they brought it here. No one would ever have known. But they didn’t take my money. They brought the backpack here and left it with the contents intact, hoping the owner would find it. And I did.

  I took Snickers’s leash out of my backpack and snapped it on his collar. Then I removed the belt and took it back to the woman in the food van.

  “Thanks for the loan,” I told her.

  She smiled. “Anytime.”

  The backpack gave me fresh hope and determination. Nothing could stop me now. I had survived a tornado!

  13

  The next morning, as Snickers and I ate scrambled eggs and toast, with orange juice for me and dog biscuits for him, I saw Zooman and Hunker waiting in line for food. I wondered what they would do if they saw me. Probably they’d complain that Snickers was a vicious dog who had tried to attack them.

  I turned my back to them and positioned myself between them and Snickers so they wouldn’t notice him. He’s definitely a one-of-a-kind dog; if they saw him, they’d recognize him.

  A white van with green lettering on the side pulled in to the parking area, and a man with a large video camera got out. I heard him introduce himself as the reporter for a TV station. “We’re doing a feature story on heroes of the tornado,” he said.

  Remembering what Jake had told me about the media wanting to find the girl who had helped Randy, I decided it was time to move on. Keeping my face turned away from Zooman and Hunker, I led Snickers inside and went back to our cot.

  Many of the people who had slept at the shelter had already gone. Some had been picked up by friends or relatives; others had left on foot or had hitched a ride with a volunteer. Everyone was eager to return to their homes to survey the damage.

  Although the food was tasty, and the cot comfortable enough, I knew I needed to leave before any questions were asked about where I lived, and before Zooman and Hunker caused trouble.

  I folded my blanket and put my pillow on top of it. We had all been instructed to sign out when we left permanently so that anyone searching for us would know we weren’t coming back to the shelter. I didn’t need to do that. No one would come here looking for Kaitlyn Smith, or for Sunny Skyland.

  I waited until the woman at the entry table was engaged in a conversation with someone else, then I added my blanket and pillow to a stack that was already started, and walked out the door. Zooman and Hunker were at the food station, receiving their breakfasts. I quickly went around to the back of the building, passed a chugging generator, and headed into town.

  Snickers seemed to have recovered from his blow to the head. The lump was barely noticeable. Although he still walked as if his joints needed oiling, he apparently felt okay. I decided it wouldn’t be necessary to find a veterinarian, after all. What I needed to find was transportation to Washington State.

  An hour later I saw restaurants, motels, and other businesses ahead. As I neared the edge of town, lights suddenly came on in all the buildings.

  While I waited at a traffic light, a taxi idled in the street beside me, giving me a new idea.

  I waved for the cab to pull over. The driver, a man about Rita’s age, looked as if he should do more walking and less driving. His cheeks were chubby and his ample stomach barely fit behind the steering wheel. His face had laugh lines, and he smiled as he said, “Where to, Miss?”

  “How much would you charge to drive me to Washington?” I asked.

  The smile turned to a scowl. “Don’t play games, kid,” he said as he looked over his left shoulder, preparing to pull away.

  “Wait!” I cried. “I’m serious!”

  Looking skeptical, he stayed at the curb. “Where do you want to go?” he asked.

  “Enumclaw, Washington.”

  “Washington State?”

  “Yes.” I fished my map out of my backpack and offered it to him, but he didn’t take it.

  “I can’t do that,” he said. “I only work an eight-hour day. My back kills me if I drive longer than that.”

  “How much would it be if you drove me west for four hours, and then returned alone?”

  “I’d have to charge you for both directions. I can’t drive an empty cab for four hours.”

  That seemed reasonable. “How much?” I asked.

  “How are you going to pay me?”

  “Cash.”

  �
�Where did you get the money?”

  “I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re wondering, and I didn’t sell drugs or do anything else illegal. I found the money and I advertised for the owner and nobody claimed it. It’s mine, fair and square.”

  He thought for a few seconds. “Four hundred dollars,” he said.

  For eight hours, that came to fifty dollars an hour. I doubted he averaged fifty dollars an hour. If he did, lots more people would want to be cab drivers.

  “How much do you make in a normal eight-hour day?” I asked. The taxi said CHARLEY’S CAB on the side, so I was pretty sure he owned the vehicle and didn’t have to share what he got with a boss.

  “Four hundred dollars,” he said.

  I didn’t believe him. “I don’t have that much,” I said, figuring if he could lie, so could I. “I’ll give you one hundred-fifty dollars.”

  “Two-fifty, paid in advance.”

  “Two hundred, half now and half in four hours.”

  I could tell he was tempted, so I added, “And I’ll buy lunch.”

  He laughed. “You drive a hard bargain,” he said. “Hop in.”

  As Snickers and I climbed into the backseat of Charley’s cab, I looked at my watch. It was eleven o’clock. I wondered where we’d be in four hours.

  “You’re lucky I just started today,” he said. “Otherwise I couldn’t do this.”

  “Are you Charley?” I asked.

  “At your service. And you are . . . ?”

  “Brenda.” I have no idea where that name came from since I’ve never known anyone named Brenda. It just jumped out of my mouth. So far on this trip, I’d been Sunny, Kaitlyn, and now Brenda. At least Snickers stayed the same.

  Charley did not drive off. He seemed to be waiting for something. Finally I realized what it was. I opened my backpack, took out five of the twenty-dollar bills, and handed them to Charley. “Here’s your down payment,” I said.

  One at a time he held each bill up to the light, checking to be sure it was not counterfeit.

  “Thanks,” he said, and pulled out into traffic.

  I had never spent that much money at one time before. I hoped we’d go many, many miles in the four hours.

  “Nice dog,” Charley said. “What is he?”

  “A mutt.”

  “Mutts are the best kind,” Charley said.

  “His name is Snickers.” I almost added that we were taking a cab because the bus driver wouldn’t let him on the bus, but I caught myself. I needed to be careful about how much information I divulged. I didn’t know whether or not Rita had honored my request not to report me missing. Cops all over the country might be searching for me.

  It dawned on me that even if Rita had reported me missing, nobody would be looking for a girl with a dog. Snickers was now part of my disguise.

  “Good dog,” I said as I patted his head. “Good Snickers.”

  Snickers put his head on my knee, heaved a sigh, and closed his eyes. I leaned my head on the back of the seat and closed my eyes, too. I’m coming, Starr, I thought. I’m getting closer by the minute.

  A short time later I felt the cab stop. Looking out, I saw a sign that said WELCOME TO WYOMING. “You need to walk across the state line,” Charley said. “You’re a minor. I’m not certain, but I think I could get in trouble for driving you into a different state, even if you’ve asked me to do it.”

  I got out and walked past the sign while Charley pulled the cab ahead, into Wyoming. Then I climbed back in, we drove on, and I soon fell asleep.

  I jerked awake when the cab stopped. We were parked at a highway rest area.

  “Sorry to wake you,” Charley said, “but this is the last rest area for a while.”

  I looked at my watch. Twelve-thirty. I had slept for more than an hour! “That’s okay,” I said. “I need to stretch.”

  While Charley was in the restroom, I snapped the leash on Snickers and led him to the dog-walk area. Then Charley held the leash while I took my turn in the restroom.

  “I used to have a dog,” Charley said as we pulled back onto the road. “A mutt named Freddie. He was a good dog.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He lives with my ex-wife. She got him when we divorced. We didn’t have any kids, so we had a custody battle over the dog. She won.”

  “Do you ever see him?”

  “No. She took him along when she moved back to Iowa, where she was from. I miss him a lot. More than I miss my ex-wife.”

  “Why don’t you get another dog?” I asked.

  “I will, someday. Right now I’m still missing Freddie.”

  I understood. A Hiss caseworker had once asked me why I was sad, and I told her I missed my friend Jessie. I’d left Jessie behind when I moved to a new foster home and I missed playing with her.

  Using her cheerful kindergarten-teacher voice, Ms. Hiss had said, “You can make a new friend. Then you won’t miss Jessie.”

  I had glared at her. A new friend would be nice, and I might make one, but that person wouldn’t stop me from missing Jessie. The new friend would not know the secret code that Jessie and I had made up. She wouldn’t call me Sunnysideup, or let me sleep with her stuffed elephant when I stayed at her house overnight. I felt like saying, “People are not interchangeable. If you lose one friend, you can’t just substitute somebody else. It doesn’t work that way.”

  I didn’t say anything, though. If Ms. Hiss had to be told how friendship works, she wouldn’t have understood what I was talking about.

  The taxi approached a small town, and Charley asked if I was hungry. “There’s a deli ahead,” he said. “Might be a good time for some sandwiches.”

  We left Snickers in the cab while we went in, but we got our food to go so we could eat with him. Even with the windows rolled partway down, it was too warm to leave him in the vehicle. As promised, I paid for lunch.

  I ordered a plain ham and cheese, no mayo, no oil and vinegar, for Snickers.

  “Do you always feed your dog people food?” Charley asked.

  “Only when we’re traveling. It’s easier than trying to carry dog food along.”

  Charley moved the cab to a shady spot, and we opened the doors while we ate.

  I had just finished my sandwich when Charley asked, “Are you running away?”

  “No,” I said.

  “I don’t believe you,” he said. “I’m not going to turn you in, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “Then why do you care?”

  Charley shrugged. “I like you. You seem like a good kid, and you’re nice to Snickers. People who are kind to animals can usually be trusted. I don’t want to see you making a mistake.”

  “I’m going to see my sister,” I said, then instantly regretted saying it.

  “She lives in Enumclaw?”

  “Look, Charley, I like you, too. It’s real nice of you to take Snickers as a passenger and to drive so far knowing you’ll just have to turn around and drive back by yourself. It’s nice of you to worry about me, too, but I really don’t want to get into a discussion about where I’m going. Okay?”

  “Okay.” He turned on the radio then and we listened to country western music and commercials while we drove on.

  As it got close to three o’clock, when the four hours would be up, I watched out the window for a town. All I saw were acres and acres of empty fields, stretching as far as I could see. We were in the middle of ranch country, with no town in sight. It looked as if Snickers and I were going to walk a while today whether we wanted to or not. I was glad I’d bought a fresh bottle of water at the deli.

  By 2:55, I began to get uneasy. It was isolated out here. What if some sleazebag came along and tried to get me to go with him? Would Snickers protect me again, or would he wag his tail as I was forced into Sleazebag’s car? What if there was another tornado? Stop it, I told myself. Instead of imagining the worst possible scenario, try to think positive. Maybe Snickers and I could find a nice barn to sleep in overnight.r />
  When the dashboard clock said 3:00, Charley pulled the cab onto the shoulder of the road and looked back at me. “Four hours are up,” he said.

  “Right.”

  Fences crowded the road on both sides. I didn’t see a barn, or a farmer on a tractor, or even a silo or water tower in the distance.

  I wanted to beg Charley to drive farther, but a deal’s a deal and he had kept his end of the bargain. I snapped the leash on Snickers.

  “Wait,” Charley said. “I can’t dump you off here, in the middle of nowhere. I’ll drive you to the next town.”

  “What about your sore back?” I asked.

  “I’ll survive. I want to be sure you do, too.”

  “Thanks, Charley.”

  It was another fifteen minutes before we saw buildings. Calling it a town would be a stretch. There was a grain elevator by the railroad tracks, a ramshackle gas station, and a cluster of houses.

  “Where do you want me to drop you?”

  I didn’t have much hope that a different bus driver would let me take Snickers along, but I didn’t know what else to try. “The bus probably stops at the gas station,” I said.

  Charley pulled up to the gas pump and filled the tank. While he did that, I went inside. The gas station attendant, who wore bib overalls and no shirt, seemed surprised when I opened the door. I don’t think he got a lot of customers.

  “Does a bus stop here?” I asked. “Going west?”

  He removed the toothpick from his mouth and said, “Yep.”

  “When does it come?”

  He looked up at a big clock on the wall. “Usually goes through a little after six,” he said.

  “Goes through? It does stop here, doesn’t it?”

  “Yep. So long as you flag it down. Stand out there by the gas pump and when you see the bus coming, you wave your hands over your head so the driver knows to stop. Otherwise he don’t bother.”