Small as an Elephant - Jennifer Richard Jacobson [14]
First stop in the supermarket was the bottle-and-can machine, where he made one dollar and ninety cents. Next stop: freezer section. Jack had to get some relief for his hand. Behind a glass door, he found the frozen peas, his mom’s ice pack of choice, and plunged his hand deep inside mounds of crunchy bags. Fortunately, it was still fairly early, and most of the shoppers were more interested in coffee than frozen vegetables. He left his hand in as long as he could stand the cold and then pulled it out.
It helped, but he’d hardly made it to the frozen pizza before his pinky started throbbing again, so he slid it into another freezer case. This was how Jack moved up and down the aisles: clinging to frozen orange juice, wrapping his fingers around pints of ice cream. Even yogurt cups, which were not frozen but cool to the touch, provided relief.
He considered spending his money on a bag of ice, or even on some Advil, but knew that the ocean was close by and that he’d be able to give his finger a long soak if the pain didn’t go away soon. Instead, he chose trail mix and a bottle of water. The two items had taken all but twenty cents of his money. Sure, there was a water fountain in the store, but he was, once again, really thirsty. He figured he could keep the bottle and fill it up in restrooms, making this the very last time he would have to purchase a drink. As for the trail mix, he’d be careful this time, eating only small amounts as needed.
Easier said than done, he thought as he devoured his first handful, sitting on a sunny wooden bench he’d found sandwiched between the shopping carts and a bike rack, right around the corner from the entrance to the store. He looked out at the parking lot and made himself eat one peanut, one cranberry, and one sunflower seed at a time. Only when he’d chewed what he had in his mouth completely did he allow himself to put his hand back in the bag.
But his hunger was insatiable. And eating took his mind off his finger.
I’ll find more bottles and cans, he told himself as he tilted the bag and poured the last remaining seeds into his mouth. Or better yet, I’ll find Mom.
He hadn’t asked anyone in the supermarket if they’d seen his mom; the store was much bigger than he’d imagined, just like the island. Asking seemed silly — futile. Instead, he’d search for his mother the way he searched for information on anything at all back home: he’d find a computer, Google his mother’s name, and see what came up — an article mentioning an accident, say. He just needed to find a computer.
The library! he suddenly thought. He could go to the library he’d passed the night before. Infused with new energy, Jack backtracked in that direction, avoiding Roberts Avenue, where he’d stolen the cans and bottles.
Another thought struck him. He could leave a message for his mom online! He’d write it on her YouPage. Tell her that he was in Bar Harbor. Maybe he’d even set a time and place to meet! It was such an obvious solution to the no-cell-phone problem. Why hadn’t he thought of it before?
Sure, she was probably a little crazed at the moment and might not have access to a computer, but who knew? Once when she and Jack were coming home from the Intown Inn, his mom had stopped at the library and rushed to the computers, where she researched everything she could find about grapefruit. At the time, her obsession was kind of embarrassing: she’d kept yelling out little unknown facts: “Jackie, did you know that a grapefruit is a cross between an orange and a pummelo? Have you ever eaten a pummelo?” But today the memory was a happy one — a hope he could hold on to.
By now he was practically running, but the sight of the library up ahead took all the air out of him, like a sucker punch.
It was closed.
Of course. It was Labor Day. All libraries closed on Labor Day. How could he have been so stupid? Gotten his hopes up like that? He threw his backpack on the ground. Then picked