Small as an Elephant - Jennifer Richard Jacobson [28]
What would he do?
He’d run. Certainly, he could outrun this couple. He’d be gone and hiding before the police arrived.
Before anyone else pulled into the lot, Jack jumped into the back of the truck, scurried under the tarp, and lay there facedown. He could flatten himself fairly well but realized his backpack must be bulging. He slowly and quietly pulled his backpack off and tucked it under him, hoping to compress it as best he could. He thought of pulling his sleeping bag out, but that would make running away, if he had to, harder.
Jack’s heart was beating so loudly, he was thankful the couple was hard of hearing. Certainly, anyone else could hear the bang, bang, bang coming from his chest, or his breathing, which sounded as if he’d just run a marathon.
Voices. There was some good-natured shouting and laughing; he was pretty sure it was the Massachusetts couple. He heard the cab open, the front seat snap as it lurched forward (presumably so they could put the lobsters in the back of the cab), and then the engine start up.
He had done it. He hadn’t been seen. He didn’t know if the couple had glanced in the back of the truck, but he did know that he was undiscovered. He’d be back in his own state in four hours. Of course, he wouldn’t be in Jamaica Plain, but he would sure be a whole lot closer.
His stomach rumbled, and he realized then that he’d left his bag of vegetables under the picnic table, but it didn’t matter. He’d be home, having a can of ravioli, before the night was over. He hadn’t found his mom, but this was the next-best thing.
Jack knew that the truck would travel for some time on smaller, busy roads and that then eventually they’d be on the Maine Turnpike. Speeding along on the highway at sixty-five miles per hour would be cold. At that point, Jack told himself, he could take his sleeping bag out and wrap himself up in it. It wasn’t likely they’d hear him then.
So he was surprised when the truck seemed to be driving on a very bumpy road. Maybe it just feels bumpier when you’re in the back, he thought. Or maybe they knew a shortcut, which would be cool.
The truck came to a stop.
Were they at a gas station? Were they picking up other supplies or souvenirs before heading back? He listened to both doors opening and shutting. Then he heard the slamming of a screen door — twice. He made himself stay still for a moment or two more. When he was certain the couple was out of sight, Jack slowly lifted his head and peeked out from under the tarp.
All he could see were trees.
He sat up farther.
Ahead of him was a cottage — clearly a summer home. Because the little house was shaded, and because sunset was not far off, lights snapped on. Jack could see the couple moving around in the kitchen, preparing to eat their lobsters.
No!
It couldn’t be.
He crawled out of the truck and looked around. There was nothing. No streetlights, no shops, no major roads — hardly any neighbors.
“We’ll take them back” had not meant “We’ll take them back to Massachusetts.” It had meant “We’ll take them back to our summer place, our place in the boondocks here in Maine.”
Jack felt like he might throw up. He crouched to keep his stomach from revolting. He was certainly way off track now. He figured they’d been driving for twenty minutes — that would take at least three hours to walk! He had no idea where he was, no idea how to get back. He doubted there was a library or an Internet connection for miles. He supposed he could just start walking, but he was tired and hungry — and he’d left the vegetables behind!
He sat down and ripped open a cereal bar, trying to think of what to do next. Tears ran down his cheeks. He couldn’t help it. He was trying so hard to be smart, to figure things out. He remembered something his mom had said on their way up to Maine: “I can’t do everything for you, Jack. I know you didn’t get the mother of your dreams. So what? That’s why you have to be smarter than most boys. More independent.”
They’d been arguing. She had gotten increasingly agitated.