Runaway Storm

by Dawne Knobbe

  “Nathan Andrew Johnson,” she read off the screen. “How about that? The computer found your little brother. First time it’s cooperated in a week.” Nate doubted that the computer was at fault. Still, he breathed easier.

  The woman continued with her one-finger typing, but her questions weren’t anything David couldn’t handle. “Is your family’s address still 6555 Adera Street?” she asked.

  “Uh-huh,” David said, eyes darting to Nate before settling back on the woman.

  “Phone number hasn’t changed?”

  “Nope.”

  “Date of birth hasn’t changed either, I presume?” She grinned, but David didn’t even crack a smile. At least she hadn’t realized it was today’s date, Nate thought. She’d be gushing all over Joey if she had figured it out.

  David responded with another serious “No.”

  She arched a wrinkled eyebrow at him and tapped her lower lip with a pen. “Kind of the serious type, aren’t you?”

  David sat picking at the hangnails on his thumb. “I guess,” he said. He stuck the tip of his left thumb into his mouth to gnaw at a particularly long hangnail.

  The lady gently pulled David’s hand away and examined it. “I’ll give you some cream to heal these up,” she said. She dug in her desk and at last pulled out a tube, unscrewed the lid, and rubbed the ointment into the sores on David’s thumbs. “You know, it’s not your fault your brother fell out of a tree,” she said as she smoothed the ointment over his rough skin.

  Nate wasn’t quite sure, but for a second he thought David’s lower lip quivered before he seized it tight between his teeth.

  “All right, sonny, I think that about does it.” She dropped his hand.

  “Are we finished?” David asked. He sounded both panicked and relieved.

  She leaned over and squinted at the computer screen suspiciously. “Yep,” she said. “Seems to have digested your information. Give me an old-fashioned typewriter any day. Just you wait and see what new-fan-dangled things they have when you’re my age.” She turned toward the hall. “I’ll check and see if the doctor’s finished. Then you can go in and see your brother.”

  Nate tapped his foot against the linoleum floor. The clinic stunk like bleach, and he was restless and hungry now that the emergency was over. Beagle was squirming uncomfortably in his waiting room chair too.

  “Why don’t I take Beagle to the gas station and convenience store while you look in on Joey? We’ll grab the gas can and fill it.”

  David nodded but didn’t offer money.

  Nate stepped outside with Beagle in tow. He thrust his hand into his pocket and felt his cell. He pulled it out and flipped it open. No sense in putting it off any longer, he thought, hitting the power button before he had a chance to chicken out. The phone beeped to life and scrolled through its usual startup screens before stopping to pulse on the New Message icon.

  “Just a second, Beagle,” he said. “I need to check my messages.” Beagle was watching kids climb on a jungle gym at the back of the medical center. “Go check it out,” Nate said, glad for the chance for some privacy. Beagle was a little old for monkey bars, but then again, he probably hadn’t had much of a childhood. Nate headed toward a picnic bench as he listened.

  “You have five new messages,” said the robotic voice. “To listen to your messages, please press One.” He pressed One then rubbed at his suddenly throbbing forehead.

  His father’s voice echoed through the phone. “Hi Nate, it’s Dad calling. Just wanted to check in. Looks like I might get done here earlier than expected, so, if you want an early escape, I should be home by the tenth. Let me know, and I’ll change your ticket. I don’t have Aunt Martha’s phone number, so I hope you get this message . . .”

  The message ended with a beep and went on to announce the next one. When his dad’s voice filled Nate’s ear again, it sounded strained.

  “Nate, it’s Dad. Look, buddy, I’m home, and I know something’s up. I talked to Mr. Briggs, and he said you and Mike were here two weeks ago. I know you were upset about our change in plans, but geez, Nate, this isn’t like you.” His father sighed loudly. “Call me, son. I’m worried, and I haven’t been able to reach your mother.”

  Nate wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the third message, but he did nothing to stop it.

  “Hey, Natey, Sam here. What, you forgotten your long-suffering friend? I just got the third degree from my mom. Your gig’s up buddy; you’re busted.”

  The phone signaled the fourth message, and Nate heard his dad’s voice again.

  “Nate. Your mother is hysterical, of course, but at least we know where you are. Sam told his mother you were on ‘some’ island, and after serious prodding, your friend Mike and his brother backed that up. Mike said you’re on Galiano but that he hasn’t heard from you. He’s worried too, Nate. We’re all sick with worry. Tomorrow’s your birthday. If I don’t reach you by the end of the day, I’ll have to call the police—that is, if your mother hasn’t called them already.” The phone clicked, and the final message began to play.

  “Sam here. Happy birthday, you old fart. Hey, did I mention the California sky looks an awful lot like the big blue dumpster out back of our building? Sand’s a little gritty lapping against the back stairs too. Ha! Get what I’m telling you, buddy? Let’s just say I was born in New Jersey and haven’t ever made it past the Jersey shore. Nothin’ wrong with dreamin’, though, right? Decided I better ’fess up. Don’t be pissed. You wouldn’t a gone two feet if I hadn’t egged you on.”

  Nate clicked the End button and dropped his head into his hands. He couldn’t think straight. He should have known Sam was a fraud. Shit. He wouldn’t be surprised if the cops pulled up right now. Of course, his medical number had just been entered into a nationwide computer system. The phone in Nate’s hand rang shrilly, and his stomach lurched. Any minute now, he was going to be the one throwing up all over the island.

  He froze, his body poised to run. The phone rang again. He reached a pulsating finger out and struck the Talk button as if it might bite him.

  “Nate?”

  He could hear hope echo through the phone before he had even brought it to his ear. He hesitated a moment. “Yeah, Dad, it’s me.”

  “Where are you, son? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, Dad.” They both fell silent.

  “Happy birthday, buddy,” his father said awkwardly.

  “Thanks.” The space between them grew silent again and then they both started talking at once.

  “Look, Dad . . .”

  “Son, I . . .” They laughed, and the awkwardness melted.

  “Go ahead, buddy.”

  “I am on Galiano, and I’m fine. Sorry I took the kayak. I just needed some time to myself. And,” he barreled forward, “I was feeling sorry for myself. I felt like you and Mom were too busy to care about our plans being spoiled.”

  “Nate, I’m not always very good with words,” his father said, then gruffly cleared his throat. “Maybe that was a part of the problem between your mother and me. She said too much, and I never said enough.”

  “I never heard you say anything, Dad. You guys never even told me you were splitting up.”

  His father sighed. “We never really told each other, either.”

  “Well, she’s the one who up and moved to New York.”

  “I was pretty unhappy about that.”

  “Why don’t you ever fight for anything? Why didn’t you fight for me?”

  “I wanted to.”

  “But you didn’t. I don’t want to be like you, Dad. I don’t want to get pushed into stuff. I want to make things happen, not let them happen.”

  “I don’t want to be pushed into things either, Nate. You and I need to sit down and have a long talk, but now’s not the time. I’m glad you’re safe. Where are you camping?”

  Nate hesitated for a split second then lied. “Down at the campground at Montague Harbor. Camping with some boys I met.”

  “Tell you what. H
ow about I meet you there tomorrow morning? I’ll catch the first ferry, and we’ll carry on from there?”

  “That would be great, Dad,” Nate said, surprised at his dad’s offer and surprised that he really did think it sounded great.

  “Only one thing,” his father said. “You have to talk to your mother. I’ve barely kept her from calling out the cops, the army, and whoever else she could think of with a badge.”

  Nate was silent.

  “Why don’t we make it a three-way call?” his father said. “I can dial her up right now, and we’ll get it over with.”

  “Okay,” Nate said. He slumped, feeling his excitement ebb away.

  The phone clicked as his father dialed through, then he heard his mother’s nasally voice spill across the line.

  “Hello?”

  “Nancy, George here. I have Nate on the line.”

  “Nate, are you there, honey?” Her voice almost quivered. It didn’t sound like her at all.

  “Yeah, Mom, I’m here.”

  “Oh, thank God. You’re all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Where are you? Where have you been? We’ve been so worried.”

  Now she was starting to sound like herself, and Nate figured she was standing by the phone tucking stray hairs behind her ears. She always did that when she was nervous.

  “I’m fine, Mom,” he said again. “I’m on Galiano.”

  “How did you get there?” He could hear her tone change from relief to anger. Now her arms would be crossed, the phone clenched between her chin and shoulder.

  “What the hell were you thinking? Your father told me you took the kayak. Nate. I never would have expected this from you.”

  Nate scuffed at the ground under the picnic table. “I needed time to myself, Mom. You and Dad had other plans. I just thought I’d do a little kayaking, get my head together.”

  “At fourteen you’re a little young to be off trekking by yourself, young man.”

  “Fifteen. I’m fifteen.”

  “Only by minutes. Believe me, I know; I was there. I want you on the next ferry to Vancouver. Your dad will meet you at the dock. Do you understand?”

  “Dad’s gonna meet up with me here tomorrow.”

  “That’s not a good idea, George. Do you think that’s smart? No, Nate, you’re to head right back into town. We’ll figure out what to do with you from there. I’m thinking your father should put you on a plane back to New York.”

  “Maybe your mother’s right, son. Maybe you should hop a ferry. We’ll sort things out here.”

  Nate was silent. He couldn’t believe his father was backing down again already.

  “Nate, are you listening?” his mother asked. “You’ve lied to us both, and we’ve been worried sick. You want to be so grown-up; well, there’ll be consequences for your actions.”

  Nate felt the phone shake against his ear then realized it was his hand making it do that. But this time it wasn’t fear traveling up his fingers and engulfing his body. It was rage.

  “Let me ask you something, Mom,” Nate said, his body now taut as an iron spike. “Do you have any intention of moving back to Vancouver?”

  She hesitated before answering. “We’ll discuss that when you get back.”

  “No, Mom, I want to know now. I’m sure Dad does too.”

  Her voice faltered again. “Well, I . . . your father and I haven’t even discussed this . . . I’ve been asked to stay on another year.”

  “Did you say yes?” Nate asked.

  “I want to stay, yes. I like it here.”

  “Well, I hate it there, and I want to live in Vancouver. You lied to me, Mom. When were you going to tell me?”

  “I . . . I haven’t made a final decision.”

  “Sam said you told his mother we were staying.”

  His father finally interjected. “Is that true, Nancy?”

  “Yes,” she said curtly, “but I don’t think we should discuss this now with Nate on the line.”

  “You guys never discuss anything,” Nate said. “Whether I’m around or not.”

  “Young man, all of this is irrelevant. I want you on that ferry and headed to Vancouver now.”

  Nate drew in a deep breath. “I’m not getting on the ferry, Mom.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “I said I’m not coming back.”

  “So help me, Nate, I’ll call the police. We should have done that the moment we discovered you’d run away!”

  Nate’s voice turned cold and hard. “You do what you have to do, Mom, and I’ll do what I have to do.”

  “Nate,” his father said, “let me come and meet you like we planned.”

  “No, Dad, I don’t think so,” Nate said. He pushed the End Call button.

  Nate tried to stand but couldn’t seem to bend his legs. He turned his head from side to side, trying to relieve his neck muscles. They would have the cops searching the island in no time. He jumped at the sound of his name.

  “Nate, you okay?” Beagle asked, eyeing him curiously. “You look kinda weird. Who were you shouting at?”

  “No one important,” Nate answered, more tersely than he meant to. Nate realized he sounded like David, and that wasn’t a good thing. “Come on,” he added, “we need supplies.” He stomped off, Beagle trailing after him.

  Nate cursed when he read the large sign posted on the gas station door. “No Credit Cards, Please.” He’d forgotten how small and backward things could be in the islands. He dropped the gas can and pulled out his wallet. He had no choice.

  He left Beagle filling the gas can and entered the store. He needed to buy food, but he also needed enough cash for ferry fare and emergencies. Maybe he could use his credit card at another store. Salt Spring Island was bigger. Maybe he would head there. He’d blend in easier where there were more people. He picked up a basket and selected two loaves of bread, a package of bacon, and a dozen eggs. He saw a pile of bags filled with rice. They were only two bucks each, so he picked up two. He eyed the steaks in the freezer and then grabbed a two-pound package of hamburger meat instead; it was a lot cheaper than the steaks but still twice the price it should have been. He added hamburger buns, a pound of cheese, and packages of dried soup and then placed the full basket on the counter. Beagle walked into the store and stopped in front of the row of candy, eyeing the chocolate bars.

  “How much is the gas?” Nate asked.

  “Huh?” Beagle said. His tongue darted across his teeth. He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his shorts as if to stop from stealing the candy. Nate thought Beagle could probably gobble down a dozen chocolate bars without taking a breath.

  “The gas?” he asked again. “How much is it?”

  “Oh, fifteen bucks,” Beagle said, his eyes never leaving the row of neatly stacked treats.

  “Shit, that’s a lot,” Nate said. Well, what difference would another couple of dollars make? “Choose one,” he said, grinning at the younger boy, whose eyes lit up.

  “What about Joey and David?”

  “Okay,” Nate said as he chose one for himself. What the hell, he thought, tossing a party-size bag of chips onto the counter too. It was his birthday, after all.

  The man behind the counter added up their purchases: two-fifty for each loaf of bread, almost a dollar for each of the chocolate bars. Nate tapped his foot nervously against the counter.

  “Forty-eight dollars,” the man said.

  Nate pulled out his money and peeled off the correct amount of bills. That left nineteen measly dollars, barely enough for the ferry. He’d be eating a lot of fish, he thought—if he were lucky enough to catch any without David.

  Nate picked up the gas can and left the plastic bags for Beagle to carry. By the time they reached the boat, sweat was trickling off Nate’s upper lip and into his mouth. His lips were dry, and the salty taste made him thirstier, reminding him that he’d have to refill his water bottles at the rusty pump in the camp before he took off.

  Nat
e stored the container of gas in the boat and tucked the plastic bags on the side shaded by an overhanging tree. Satisfied that everything was in securely, he wiped the sweat off his face with the bottom of his T-shirt.

  Beagle was sitting against the trunk of an arbutus tree, absentmindedly picking his nose and watching Nate.

  “What?” Nate asked.

  “Who phoned you?”

  “My dad. Why?”

  “You look upset.”

  “I’m not upset.”

  “Are too.”

  Nate plunked himself down beside Beagle, pulled him into a headlock, and fake-pounded him on the head. “You should mind your own business,” he said.

  “Are you still gonna leave?” Beagle asked.

  “Have to.”

  “Why?”

  Nate let go of Beagle and leaned back against the tree with a sigh. “They know where I am, and I’m not ready to go home.”

  “Think they’ll come after you?”

  “Oh, yeah, I’m sure my mother’s on the phone to the Galiano police right now.”

  “There’s only one, you know.”

  “Only one what?”

  “One cop on the island. Could take him a long time to find you. If you stay with us, he might not find you at all.”

  “But what if he did? I can’t risk that.”

  He didn’t want to tell Beagle that it hadn’t been his decision to leave. “Come on,” Nate said, standing. “Let’s go see if Joey’s well enough to travel.”

  As they turned back toward the road, the phone in Nate’s pocket rang loudly. He dug it out and, without a thought, threw it over his shoulder. He and Beagle watched it hit the water. For a moment it looked as though the damn thing might float, but then it disappeared without so much as a bubble.

  “You’re one crazy guy,” Beagle said, shaking his head. “You don’t know what I’d give to have a phone like that. I’d give my left leg to have a dad at the other end too!”