Runaway

by Dandi Daley Mackall

  “Dakota?” Neil says. “You still there?”

  “Neil, you have to come get me.”

  In the background, I hear somebody yell.

  “Was that DJ?” I ask.

  “Yeah. And he’s not going to want to drive all the way out to get you. That costs money, Dakota. Gas prices are killing us already.”

  “Well, what am I supposed to do?” I can’t stop my voice from cracking. I’m on the verge of an all-out cry.

  “Let me think,” Neil says. His sigh travels through the phone.

  I wait. “Please, Neil.”

  “Do you have any money? Maybe if I told DJ you could pay your own way . . .”

  “I only have $10,” I admit.

  “There’s got to be money around there somewhere, Dakota.”

  “You want me to steal?” I’ve never stolen anything, not even when kids copped gum from the supermarket.

  “Borrow, then,” Neil says. “Anyway, they owe us. Fosters, I mean. They’re getting money for you. From the state. And they’ve probably got you doing farmwork without pay too, right?”

  “I don’t know, Neil.” And I don’t. I don’t know what to think or believe or do.

  “Get the money, kid,” Neil says. “I’ll talk to DJ. You better overnight the cash, though. I think if he sees a hundred bucks, he’ll do it.”

  “But I haven’t said I’d—”

  “Mail it to me here. Fast. We need to get it by Friday.”

  My head hurts. I just want to go to sleep and not wake up. I can’t handle any of this.

  “Dakota?” Neil’s voice is wide awake now. He sounds as sure and confident as I am unsure and confused. “Listen to me. You don’t belong there. We’ll get jobs in LA. DJ’s got us covered. Just get the money and send it to me. You hear me, Dakota?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I’ll see you on the Fourth. Everything will be all right.” Neil hangs up.

  I’m shaking when I hang up the phone. My breathing is jagged, like a bunch of spikes are cutting up my insides with every breath. I stand and walk to the kitchen. I open the cupboard under the sink. The pet bowl’s there, loaded with cash.

  But I can’t do it. I can’t take that money.

  I slam the cupboard and race back upstairs. I have to get out of here. But there has got to be another way. I storm into the bathroom before I realize someone’s already there.

  “Oops. Sorry, Kat. I didn’t—”

  Kat is standing over the sink, staring at herself in the mirror. Or rather, staring at me staring at her. Kat is bald. There’s not a hair—not a red, black, or blonde hair—on that pale, shiny head.

  “One day,” Kat begins, as if she’s starting a fairy tale, “I looked in this mirror, and I only had three hairs. So I said, ‘Hmm. I think I’ll braid my hair today.’ And I did. The next day I looked in this mirror, and I only had two hairs. So I said, ‘Hmm, I think I’ll part my hair down the middle today.’ The next day I looked in the mirror, and there was only one hair on my head. So I decided on a ponytail. The next day I looked in this mirror, and there wasn’t a single hair on my head.” She turns to me and smiles. “Know what I said?”

  I shake my head.

  “‘Finally! No more bad hair days.’”

  I don’t laugh. I can’t. No more than I can stop staring at her head, the way the veins curl close to the skin.

  “It’s okay, Dakota. It really is.”

  “It’s not okay.” Tears are flooding my eyes and overflowing onto my cheeks. “Why? What happened to you? What’s . . . ?” I don’t even know what to ask her.

  “I have cancer. If I didn’t, I never would have met Mom. My biological mother couldn’t handle it when I got sick.”

  “You can’t have cancer, Kat.”

  “Don’t look so scared, Dakota. Everything will be all right.”

  I back away from her. How can she say everything will be all right? That’s what Neil said on the phone. I replay Neil’s voice in my head and hear his words: “Everything will be all right.”

  Then, before the sound of his voice can fade back into Kat’s, I run downstairs, go to the pet bowl, and take out all the 20s, seven of them: $140.

  The money feels warm in my fingers. I’ll pay them back. I’m borrowing, not stealing. Dakota Brown is not a thief. “Everything will be all right.”

  Frantically, I search through the computer desk until I find a drawer full of envelopes and stamps. There’s an overnight express mailer, but I have no idea how much it costs to send it. So I stick stamps all across the top, making a mental note to pay Popeye back for this, too. I scribble the return address on the envelope. Neil can find me from that.

  Then, before I change my mind, I run outside, barefoot, all the way to the mailbox, stick in my package, and put up the red flag.

  I run back to my room and stay upstairs until I’m sure Annie’s gone. When I come down, Popeye’s whistling one of the songs they sang in church.

  If he only knew.

  Knowing about Kat somehow makes me angrier at Annie. The famous Dr. Annie Coolidge should have cured her. They should have told me about Kat.

  Popeye turns as if he’s just noticed me. “You just missed Miami! How’s the knee?”

  I’ve been so upset that I’ve forgotten about my bruised knee. It hurts, but it’s nothing compared to what I feel inside. “Fine.”

  “I knew it,” Popeye says, pouring me a glass of juice when I sit at the table. “Miami is the best doctor in the world. She is never wrong.”

  “She’s not perfect, Popeye.” It comes out louder than I meant it to.

  Kat’s coming down the stairs, holding on to her kitten. She’s wearing the red hair she wore the first day I got here.

  “No,” Popeye admits, “I suppose she’s not perfect.”

  He and Kat exchange good-morning hugs, and then Kat moves to the TV and turns on some stupid cartoon show.

  Popeye goes back to whistling as he mixes dough in a bread machine. He is so out of touch. His own wife is making a fool of him, and he’s baking her fresh bread.

  “Annie can’t even cook, can she?” I point out.

  He shakes his head and grins at Kat. “Now, that’s a fact. And you’re very lucky she quit trying.”

  “She’s always gone too,” I add. “You do everything around here. She leaves her stuff all over the house, and you clean up after her.”

  With each fault I bring up, Popeye’s grin becomes bigger, deeper. He gets this dreamy look in his eyes. “I do love that woman’s faults. Maybe most of all.”

  He is so clueless. “Popeye! How can you?”

  “It’s those faults that got me Miami. Without them, she’d have gotten a much better husband than me. I’m a one-woman man, Dakota.”

  It’s no use. I can’t even imagine what it will do to him when he finds out about George. But it’s not my problem.

  Kat comes over and sits in the computer chair. “Dad, tell Dakota how you’re a gecko.”

  “A gecko?” I repeat.

  “But not just any gecko,” Popeye says. “Most geckos have harems. But I’m like the Madagascar day gecko. He mates for life. If his wife dies, the poor fellow wanders around for the rest of his life, a dejected widower.”

  None of this is my problem. None of it. I get up and go outside without a word, and I don’t come in until it’s time for supper.

  Annie arrives home late, and Popeye keeps dinner waiting for her. She monopolizes the dinner conversation, talking about how great she is with her patients.

  After dinner, she smiles at me before I can get away. “How’s the knee?”

  I turn away without answering her.

  “Something wrong, Dakota?” Annie asks. “You were awfully quiet at dinner.”

  “Well, by george, what could possibly be wrong in this loving household?” I ask sarcastically. I leave before I say anything else.

  Seventeen

  Popeye suggests a trip into town for ice cream, and everybody but me races
for the new van. I pull out my headache excuse, then have to convince Kat to go without me.

  They’ve been gone about a half hour when the phone rings. It rings and rings since they don’t have voice mail or an answering machine like normal people. There’s a chance it could be Neil.

  I dash out of my room and grab the upstairs phone. “Hello?”

  “H-hello?” It’s a man, but it’s not Neil. “Uh . . . is Annie around? I need to talk to her about a meeting.”

  Right. Just like in the e-mail. This has got to be George. I picture him—tall, handsome, not bald.

  “Excuse me? Would you please get Annie Coolidge for me,” he says, as if he has a right to talk to her, to do whatever he wants, no matter who gets hurt.

  “Annie doesn’t live here anymore.” And with that, I hang up on him. Hard.

  * * *

  I have to wait until Friday before I hear from Neil. He got the money. He and DJ will be at the farm at five o’clock the next day. The rest is up to me.

  I spend the whole day with Blackfire, grooming and riding, saying secret good-byes in my heart. Hank tries to talk to me a couple of times, but he gets the hint and keeps his distance.

  At dusk I’m walking back to the house when Annie drives up. She honks, but I ignore it.

  As soon as we’re all sitting down for dinner, Annie asks, “Did anyone take a phone call for me Wednesday night?”

  I stare at my plate.

  “What do you mean?” Kat asks.

  “My boss, Dr. Ramsey, said he called the house and somebody told him I don’t live here any longer.”

  I knew George was a doctor.

  “Maybe he got a wrong number,” Hank suggests.

  Nobody talks much the rest of the meal.

  I’ve worked out every detail of my escape except for one, and I keep turning over this last problem in my head. Neil and DJ are coming straight to the farm. That’s good because all the Coolidges will be in Nice. The problem is, how am I going to get them to leave me on the farm alone? I could fake a headache, but somebody might insist on staying with me. Or they might cancel the celebration altogether.

  “What time’s the parade tomorrow?” Kat asks.

  “Not until four,” Popeye answers. “I need to go into town early, though. Promised to drop off some equipment at the firehouse.”

  “We’ll have to go in two cars, then,” Annie says. “I need to see old Mrs. Elmer in the morning.” Then, as if she just remembered they no longer have two cars, she adds, “Maybe your mother could come by and pick you up.”

  I’ve been tuning Annie out all night, but now I’m all ears.

  “We could meet at the parade,” Popeye suggests. “Or the Made-Rite afterward, if we miss each other. We want to get to the park in time to get good seats for the fireworks.”

  “Can I go with you to the station, Dad?” Hank asks.

  “Sure,” he answers.

  “Me too?” Wes asks.

  “Works for me. I’ll call Mother and make sure she can swing by and get us.”

  “I’ll go with you, Mom,” Kat volunteers. “It’ll be a pretty long day if I go with Dad.” She turns to me. “Will you come with us? Just us girls?”

  I start to say, “No way!” but then it hits me. This is my way out. “Okay.”

  And the last detail of the plan has just slipped into place.

  * * *

  I spend the rest of the night packing. It seems like a year since I unpacked these same bags.

  Outside, there’s a loud Pop! Pop! Pop! I’ve never understood the fuss about fireworks. I used to hear the same sound some nights when I lived behind the Yards in the south side of Chicago.

  With nearly everything packed, I sit on my bed and pull out my list-book. Then I start a new list:

  Top 10 Things I Won’t Miss about Starlight Animal Rescue

  1. Annie’s lies

  2.

  Ten minutes later, that’s all I have.

  There’s a knock at my door. I shove my suitcases into the closet and go see who it is.

  Kat’s standing there, her face pale and her mouth a straight line of worry. “Did Kitten come up here?”

  I shake my head. “Why?”

  “She got scared. Wes set off a firecracker, and Kitten took off running.”

  “She’ll turn up, Kat.”

  Kat nods. “Yeah. I guess.” But her forehead is as wrinkled as an old woman’s. She walks down the hall, calling, “Here, Kitten, Kitten.”

  * * *

  In the morning, July 4, I wake up with a sick feeling in my stomach. I try to convince myself I’m just excited about leaving, excited about seeing Neil and starting a new life in California.

  Everybody except Kat is eating breakfast when I come downstairs. They shout, “Happy birthday!” to me and call me “birthday girl” an embarrassing number of times. Then they all go back to making plans for the big celebration.

  “Mother said she’d come by for us—Hank, Wes, and me—about noon,” Popeye explains. “Then hopefully, we’ll see you at the parade. But if we miss you, we’ll meet at the Made-Rite at five.”

  “Works for me,” Annie says. She gets up when I sit down. “Dakota, I’ll be back no later than two o’clock. Three at the latest. Tell Kat to be ready, okay?” She dumps her dishes in the sink and looks around for her purse.

  “Where is Kat?” Now that I know she’s so sick, I worry every time she’s not where she’s supposed to be.

  “Still looking for her kitten,” Hank answers.

  Wes reaches down and pets his dog. “I didn’t do it on purpose.” He gets up from the table and goes outside. Rex follows him.

  “Sure hope that kitten comes back soon,” Popeye says. “That cat means the world to her.”

  I don’t want to sit with them any longer and pretend I don’t know what’s wrong with Kat. And I don’t want to talk to them about it either. “I’m not hungry.”

  I find Kat in the barn, peering behind hay bales. “Kat?”

  “Where would Kitten hide? Where would she want to make a new home?” She swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand, and I know she’s been crying.

  “Come on,” I say. “There are some great places to hide in this barn.”

  Together, we search every corner of the hayloft and every stall. We find 11 barn cats but no trace of Kitten.

  We move to the pasture behind the barn and conduct a row-by-row search for the rest of the morning. We’re at the far end of the pasture when a horn honks.

  Kat glances at her watch. “That’s probably Gram for Wes and Hank and Daddy.”

  “And me.” I can’t look her in the eyes, so I gaze toward the honking car. “I decided to go with them.”

  “Why?” Kat sounds so disappointed.

  But I can’t stop now. “There are some people your dad wants me to meet. At the firehouse, I guess.”

  “That’s nice,” she says.

  “You keep looking, Kat. Tell your mom I went with your dad, okay?” I take off running toward the house. But when I’m sure Kat’s not watching, I circle back to the barn and duck in.

  That’s where I stay until I hear the car drive off. And that’s where I stay for the next three hours, until Annie returns.

  I keep out of sight until I hear Annie and Kat come out of the house, get in the van, and drive off, leaving me alone.

  It was almost too easy.

  When I’m sure they’re really gone, I venture out and take another look around the barn for Kitten. I don’t want Kat to come home and find her kitten still missing. The kid’s going through enough. I check the tack room and stalls again, but the cat’s nowhere.

  Blackfire stamps the floor of his stall. He nickers, and I take him a handful of oats. He eats out of my open palm, and his muzzle is softer than silk.

  “I’m sorry I’m leaving you, Blackfire. But you’re going to be fine. Hank will find you a great home. Whoever gets you will be the luckiest person in the world.”

  Finished with t
he oats, Blackfire lifts his head to nuzzle my nose. He exhales his warm breath into my face. I love this horse. My throat burns with the tears I’m swallowing. I press my cheek against his and inhale, memorizing his horsey scent.

  I want to remember everything we’ve done together. Even the rough times, like when he ran away with me clinging to his mane, not sure if I loved it or hated it. We’re so much alike. Fight or flight. That about sums up my life.

  Something nags at me when I think about the phrase. Fight or flight.

  “Blackfire, that’s it! Why didn’t I think of this before? Kitten chose flight!” She’s not in the barn. She’s not hiding. She was scared, and she ran. If anybody understands runaways, it’s me. Kitten didn’t run to anything. She ran away.

  Eighteen

  In two minutes, I’ve bridled Blackfire. Mounting him is a bigger problem. I manage to lead him close enough to the fence for me to climb up on him. He doesn’t move until I’m square on his back.

  “Come on, boy.” I lean forward and grip with my thighs. In less than an hour, Neil will be here. I have to find Kitten and bring her back first.

  We walk out of the barn. The wind kicks up, and I grab a lock of Blackfire’s mane. “Let’s find Kitten,” I murmur. Sensing he understands, I lay the reins across his neck, turning him west, toward the quarry.

  As I squeeze in with my thighs, Blackfire breaks into a canter that turns to a gallop. I lean forward, almost on his neck. His mane whips me in the face, tickling my cheeks. I let him go, just like the day he ran away with me. Only this time we’re both running to something. We have to find Kitten. Kat deserves that much from me, at least.

  Hooves pound the hard ground, and my heart beats in rhythm to the thud thump, thud thump. A woodpecker knocks somewhere above us. The eerie cry of a mourning dove lingers in the breeze. It’s music I can feel in my soul, like Popeye said the day I arrived and heard my first woodpecker. God’s knocking at the soul.

  I don’t know if I’ve ever felt love before, but I feel it now. Blackfire’s love. And maybe something more. Much more.

  We gallop across the road. I imagine Kitten running like this, scared, running away. This is how she’d run. I know it. Run like crazy, not looking back.