Small as an Elephant - Jennifer Richard Jacobson [25]
Jack wondered if he should try to sneak out another way. Was there another way? Or maybe he should move back into the book stacks until the woman left.
“I’m so tired of the restaurant business,” said the woman.
Restaurant? Jack got up the courage to look at the woman and let out a long breath. She wasn’t the woman from Sherman’s. She was the waitress from Geddy’s. Laurie.
So it wasn’t so close a call after all. But he knew one thing. He’d go crazy if he stayed in Bar Harbor.
He searched for directions from Bar Harbor to Jamaica Plain and pulled down the arrow to walking time. According to the site, it would take him three days and thirteen hours to walk home. Of course, he’d have to stop and sleep. But still, he could probably be home in a week. He had his sleeping bag. Who knew — maybe he would even get brave enough to hitchhike.
But wait! The Island Explorer! The free bus didn’t just go around the island. It went over to the mainland, too. Jack typed in island explorer, and sure enough, there was a bus leaving the village green for Trenton every half hour. Trenton was the town just on the other side of the bridge, but it was a start. He’d bring Mrs. Olson her milk, collect his things, and be on the mainland by tonight.
He searched for food pantry bar harbor, and a link popped right up. It was in the basement of the YWCA — and it was only two doors down! He remembered passing the sign.
He thanked the librarian, grabbed the vegetables, and went next door. To access the food pantry, he had to go around to the back of the brick YWCA building. There were discarded screens and a Dumpster back there, but there was also a little parking lot, making it easier, Jack figured, for people to pick up food without feeling like everyone in the whole world knew they needed it.
According to the website, Tuesday morning was one of the few days that the pantry was open, and there were lots of older people and mothers with little children waiting to sign in. When it was Jack’s turn, he explained that the vegetables were from Mrs. Olson and that she needed powdered milk.
“She’ll need lots more than that,” said the man, pulling out the vegetables and placing them in plastic bins, “now that the growing season is over. Come on,” he said. “We’ll refill her bag.”
Jack followed the man around as he filled the bag with pancake mix and syrup, spaghetti, toilet paper, and canned tuna, turkey, and salmon.
“We won’t need to give her canned vegetables; she’ll have her own. But we’ll throw in some of this fruit cocktail.”
Jack knew he’d be tempted to take a can of something from Mrs. Olson’s bag on his walk back to her farm, but he wouldn’t let himself do that. The pantry was counting on her having this food. And who knew how long this food had to last her? He was beginning to see the spiderweb that his mother was talking about: Mrs. Olson used her garden to connect to the food pantry, and now he was one of the strands that helped make that web stronger.
He wished there was a way he could ask for food for himself. But even food pantries had their rules. He’d watched people fill out forms or sign in. The pantry staff would have to know something about him. He couldn’t give them facts, and he didn’t think he was clever enough to lie — not to fool these people. An eleven-year-old kid coming in for food? That was just the sort of thing that would put them on his trail.
But maybe he could suggest something extra. Something they wouldn’t have put in the bag otherwise. Something for him.
“There,” said the guy, putting the dried milk on top.
“Hey,” said Jack, the words practically catching in his throat. “Do you think she would like some cereal bars?”
The man smiled. “Well,” he said, “I wouldn’t have thought . . . but who knows?”
Jack began to reach for his favorite strawberry brand.
“But let’s choose those over there. They’re more nutritious.”
The day had grown hot — or at least it seemed so to Jack, who was carrying an incredibly heavy bag back to Mrs. Olson’s farm. The cans were forever