Chasing the Skip Read online

  I exaggerated a sigh. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

  “Aw, come on. Don’t be like that.”

  Now I needed to choose my words carefully, so that Ian would believe me. “I thought maybe I’d come meet you, after I get away from my dad. If I knew where you were going.”

  Ian paused for a second. “You’d want to do that?”

  “Well, sure,” I said.

  “Why, exactly?”

  I thought for a second. And then the answer came to me, almost too easily. “I think my mom ran off to San Diego. Since you need to keep moving, maybe you could help me find her?” I was pretty proud of myself for coming up with that so quickly.

  “You want me to take you to California?”

  “Sure. You game?”

  “Yeah, okay,” Ian said. “But how are you going to get to me?”

  “I don’t know. Hitchhike?”

  “That’s pretty dangerous for a cute girl like you.”

  My cheeks flushed a little. I was doing this to help Dad, wasn’t I?

  “Look, how about this,” he said. “You tell your dad where I’m going, and he’ll bring you to me. Then we’ll take off. How’s that sound?”

  I paused. “You really want me to tell Dad where you’re going? Why would you do that?”

  “Do you know how fun your dad is to mess with?”

  I almost laughed. “So where are you going?” I asked.

  “I’m headed east. My sister lives in Des Moines, so I’ll be at her place. I bet your dad can find it if you tell him that much. Make him do some work. Think it’s his idea. That kind of thing.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Then what?”

  “Then you and me’ll meet up. Head to San Diego or wherever.”

  My heart beat faster. This was all sounding too doable. I couldn’t run off to San Diego with Ian, could I? That would be exactly the kind of ballsy thing Ian kept telling me to do.

  But I wouldn’t. I’d tell Dad it was a setup. That would be the smart thing.

  “I’ll see you in Des Moines,” I said.

  “See you there.”

  And then the dial tone buzzed in my ear.

  I kept the phone pressed against my cheek for a second longer. Had Ian told me the truth? Maybe he wasn’t even headed to Des Moines. If I was in his position, I’d have lied to keep my dad off my back.

  Even still, I had to tell Dad about the conversation. That was the only way to be sure I didn’t really intend to run off with Ian.

  But as I sat on the curb to wait, the doubt kept poking at me, like a kid who didn’t want to hear no. I couldn’t help wondering, if I did run off with Ian, how long would Dad keep tracking us? And if he found Ian first, which would be more important to him—finding me, or turning in his skip?

  North Platte, Nebraska.

  Days since Mom left: 31.

  Distance from San Diego, California: 1336.63 miles.

  12

  The sky was dark by the time Dad showed up. Yellow floodlights lit the parking lot, and patrons gave me worried looks as they left. I just sat there with my feet in the gutter.

  Dad parked a little blue sedan along the curb. I could see the outline of Stan in the dim back seat.

  I stood as Dad climbed out of the car. “Sorry it took so long,” he said. “I got a lead on Ian. He tried to use that credit card on I-80 toward Lincoln. He’s headed east. One of the addresses I have is for his sister out in Des Moines, so he might be going there.”

  “He is,” I said.

  Dad leaned against the car. “What makes you so sure?”

  “I called him.”

  “You called him.”

  “Right. I called your cell phone.”

  “You forgot he stole it?”

  “No. I was trying to help you out.”

  Dad lowered his chin, casting shadows across his face. “I said I’d give you more to do. But I didn’t tell you to start projects of your own.”

  “It wasn’t a project. I just called him.”

  “And he happened to tell you where he’s headed.”

  I had to be careful. He’d be pissed if he knew I’d suggested I might run away with Ian. “I think he wants you to chase him,” I said. “I think he’s having fun.”

  Dad rolled his eyes. “Great,” he said. “That’s just great.”

  I hugged my arms around my waist, balancing on the edge of the curb. “I was trying to help. At least now you know where to find him.”

  “First we’re taking Stan back to Denver,” Dad said. “Then we’ll deal with Ian.”

  That would mean we wouldn’t be getting up to Des Moines for at least a day. How long would Ian wait for us? “Shouldn’t we go after him now?”

  “You quit worrying,” Dad said. “We’ll talk more after I drop off Stan.”

  I walked around to the passenger door and pulled it open. “The trailer’s parked a couple of blocks from the hotel, just so you know.”

  Dad sighed, walking around to the driver’s side. “I don’t want to mess with it right now. I want to get this job done.”

  I climbed into the car. A pine air freshener hung from the rearview mirror, making the car smell like it’d been scrubbed in Pine-Sol. Whoever designed that scent had obviously never smelled a real pine tree.

  “We should at least stop by the trailer,” I said. “Grab some clothes and stuff.” Suddenly I felt like the adult, making sure we had everything we needed.

  Dad looked at me like he was surprised I’d actually had a good idea. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “Wouldn’t want it to get towed.”

  Stan leaned between our seats. I caught a whiff of him and was grateful for the pine freshener. “Find that boy of yours yet, Max?” he asked.

  “We’ve got some leads. But don’t worry. We’ll take you to Denver first.”

  “You don’t need to do that,” Stan said. “I’m happy to ride along.”

  Dad shook his head. “It’s getting late. Besides, I’m not taking any more chances. Better a bird in hand than two in the bush.”

  Stan laughed. “I suppose that makes me your turkey, huh, Max?”

  “Sure are.”

  Stan made a series of gobbling noises and then fell back in his seat, cracking up.

  Dad drove back by the Ramada and began circling the surrounding blocks, looking for the trailer.

  “Did you check your phone records, too?” I asked. “He might call ahead to his sister.”

  “I’ll do it in the morning.”

  “How’s that going to help?” Stan asked.

  Dad laughed. “Why? You taking notes?”

  “What’d I want to do that for? Hiding’s too much work for me. Besides, I never know when you’re coming till you show up.”

  “Too true,” Dad said.

  * * *

  The trailer was parked outside a drugstore, and the owners weren’t excited about us leaving it in their parking lot. Dad had thought to get a rental with a trailer hitch, so we ended up towing the trailer to an RV park and leaving it there. I said we should take it with us, but Dad didn’t want it getting stolen again. Considering Ian knew we were coming, that seemed like a pretty good call to me.

  What with getting the trailer settled and our bags packed, we didn’t reach Denver until after midnight. When we dropped Stan off at the jail, he turned around to grin at me and wave good-bye. I waved back. I wondered if he’d ever manage to get his life together. He seemed happy the way he was, but it was a tragic kind of happy—the kind that just wandered around, never arriving anywhere. I knew guys like that at school, who migrated about bumming cigarettes and breaking hearts and occasionally ambling into class. I’d thought that was something a person grew out of, but I guessed Stan hadn’t.

  When Dad got back to the car after dropping Stan off, he was scowling.

  “Do you think he’s going to be okay?” I asked.

  “Define ‘okay.’”

  “Do you think you’ll have to pick him up again?”

  “Probab
ly. They might throw him in jail for longer this time, though. He’s racked up quite a record.”

  Would Stan keep smiling in prison? I could imagine him leaning through the bars, begging the guards to bring him a drink.

  “Doesn’t it ever make you sad?”

  “What?”

  “All these people and their messed-up lives.”

  “Sure,” Dad said. “Stan especially. He’s a pleasant enough guy. But he’s also an alcoholic, and he lets his addiction run his life.”

  That was probably true. It seemed like he had a mom who cared about him, even if she did turn him in to the law.

  “At least he doesn’t have any kids,” I said.

  “He did,” Dad said.

  “What?”

  “He had a daughter, but she died, and his wife left him. He’ll get around to telling you the whole story if he sobers up enough. I’ve heard it twice.”

  “Is that why he drinks so much?”

  “I think that’s how it started. Now I think it’s just an addiction, and it’ll carry on until he gets some help.”

  “And that doesn’t make you feel bad?”

  Dad switched lanes, heading toward a motel. “Sure it makes me feel bad for him. But it doesn’t change the job.”

  “Have you ever thought about helping people, instead of hauling them off to jail?”

  Dad was quiet for a moment. “Stan’s more likely to get the support he needs by facing the consequences than he is bumming around bars. It’s a chance for him to realize he’s doing wrong.”

  “Then why isn’t he getting better?”

  “Because he’s choosing not to. He’s been sentenced to court-mandated rehab before. But he’s not ready to change, so he slips out the first chance he gets.”

  “Isn’t there anything else you can do for him?”

  “Look, prison isn’t just about cells anymore. There are counselors and probation officers—lots of people to help the skips figure out what’s wrong and fix it. But that’s not my job. My part ends when I take them in.”

  “Maybe that’s not enough. Maybe people need you to be more involved in their lives.” I wasn’t sure when I had switched from talking about skips to talking about me, but somewhere I had, and Dad hadn’t followed.

  “Nah. I’m pretty good at the part I do. As long as skips keep jumping bail, someone has to bring them in. Leave it to the pros to help them change.”

  I leaned my head back against my seat. We shouldn’t have been having this conversation right now. I was way too tired to make any sense.

  Dad got quiet then and let out a long, slow breath. He just sat there, staring straight ahead, putting on his blinker to pull in to the motel. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know how to say what I needed to say.

  * * *

  I expected Dad to chew me out about calling Ian after we got to the motel, but he took off almost immediately to go to one of his mysterious meetings. If it wasn’t a girlfriend, I just hoped it wasn’t hookers. If it was, I really didn’t want the details. Instead I turned on the TV and watched America’s Greatest Chef.

  I wished I had my notebook, but that was still in the truck. I snagged the notepad in the hotel, intending to write down the details of the motel room. Instead I started listing the things I remembered about our last apartment—the bar stools where Mom and I would sit to eat breakfast, the bathroom filled with Mom’s hair stuff, my own room with my photo collages all over the walls. Mom on a park bench with her friend Rachel. Jamie on the back of his cousin’s motorcycle, trying to look all tough. Me and Anna on the park swings in the middle of the night. Taking down the photos when we switched apartments was a pain, but I always put them right back up again. That’s what made my room look like mine.

  Now they were all in Grandma’s basement in a box. In Dad’s trailer I didn’t have a wall.

  Tears snuck into my eyes. I went into the bathroom and wiped them. Then I took a long, hot shower, enjoying being in a real bathtub rather than a plastic stall where I couldn’t shave my legs without my butt hitting the wall.

  When I came out, Dad was back, and he’d flipped the channel to some crime drama. I closed my eyes and thought about Ian grinning at me from the back seat. I was pretty sure he was better looking in my memory than he was in real life, but I smiled and snuggled down in the clean sheets, glad to have a real bed to sleep in.

  Dad woke me by calling my name. I glanced up at the clock, 5:00 a.m. I’d had less than four hours’ sleep.

  “Get up,” he said. “Time to go find our boy.”

  It took us about ten minutes to get on the road, since we had next to nothing to pack. I slept an extra two hours in the car. When I woke again, the sky was finally starting to get light.

  “I guess you can’t do homework,” Dad said. “Since Ian took it with him. Maybe you’ll get lucky and he’ll complete your assignments for you.”

  “Not likely.”

  “No kidding. Look, we need to talk anyway.”

  When Mom said that, she’d have meant that she wanted advice about a relationship, or that she wanted details about mine. She’d come into my room and sit on the end of my bed, flopping back and hugging a pillow. “Ricki,” she’d say, “we need to talk.”

  “About what?” I said, even though I already knew.

  “About you calling Ian.”

  “I told you before, I was trying to help you out.”

  Dad sighed and took a long time to respond, like he was trying to figure out what to do with me. “I said I’d give you more to do if you proved you could do what I say. But you haven’t managed to do that even once.”

  “It’s not my fault things keep going wrong. In case you haven’t noticed, your job isn’t exactly predictable.”

  Dad sighed. “That’s exactly why I didn’t want you involved in the first place.”

  This wasn’t going in a good direction. I softened my tone.

  “I know the job with Ian is going badly. But it’s not fair for you to blame it on me. I watched Stan yesterday, just like you asked. I kept track of him, even though it was hard ’cause he went into the bar. I know you were pissed that I left the truck, so I thought I could make it up to you by finding out where Ian was. That’s all.”

  That was mostly all, anyway. I didn’t hate the idea of seeing Ian again, but Dad didn’t need to hear about that.

  Dad’s eyes flicked to me for a second and then back to the road. He clicked on his blinker, merging onto the freeway.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right. I knew this job was too chaotic for a fifteen-year-old. I don’t know what got into my head, letting you help like that.”

  He wished I wasn’t here. That wasn’t what he was supposed to say. “Let me have another chance,” I said.

  Dad’s lips pressed together. “I can’t put you in danger like that again.”

  “I was talking on a phone. That’s not dangerous.”

  “Depends who’s on the other end. Ian isn’t just a guy. We talked about this. He’s a criminal.”

  “So he made some mistakes. That doesn’t make him different from us.”

  “He broke the law. That’s the difference.”

  “So because ignoring your daughter for fifteen years isn’t against the law, that makes it okay.” This had to be the lack of sleep talking. I never would have said that if I was in my right mind.

  Dad’s hands tightened on the wheel, and I scooted closer to the door. “I’m sorry I haven’t been a great father. But I didn’t ignore you. I sent cards. Paid child support. I picked you up from Grandma’s. I always fulfilled my legal obligations to your mother. You ask her.”

  “You saw me at Grandma’s a couple of times in my life. You even forgot my birthday half the time.”

  “I always remembered your birthday. I just didn’t always call. Look, I’d fix it if I could, but I can’t redo any of it.”

  That made me want to punch him in the face. “I think I know where Mom might be,” I said.
r />   Dad’s face shifted, but I couldn’t quite tell what he was feeling. I couldn’t read him the way I could read Mom.

  “How’s that?” Dad asked.

  “I got into her e-mail. But I need you to help me finish tracking her down.”

  Dad shook his head.

  “I need her back, you know.”

  “She left you,” Dad said. “I never thought she’d do that. Thought she’d be a better mother to you than she was a wife to me. So I paid your support and stayed out of her way.”

  I rested my arm on the cracked leather armrest, tapping my index finger over and over. I wanted to defend Mom, tell him she was a good mother. But she wasn’t here now.

  “It would have been easier to come live with you if I’d seen you more often,” I said. “Wouldn’t have killed you to drop by.”

  “Wasn’t that I didn’t want to see you,” Dad said. “I kept your picture right here.” He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, revealing an old, yellowed picture of me—my second-grade school photo. One of my front teeth was missing, and you could see my tongue poking through the hole.

  “I’m seven in that picture,” I said. “That’s not me.”

  “It’s still you,” Dad said. “That’s the way I remember you.”

  “Well, I’m different now. If you’d been around, you would have noticed.”

  Dad sighed. “I’m sorry, Ricki. I’ve been trying, over the last year. I know it seems way too late, but I’m trying.”

  “What changed?” I asked. “Why suddenly start calling when I’m fifteen years old?”

  Dad was silent for a long moment, but something in his face told me not to interrupt this silence. I held my breath, waiting. I needed an answer. Any answer, except that he didn’t want me.

  “I got sober,” Dad said finally. “That’s what changed.”

  That stopped me. “You what?”

  Dad reached into the ashtray of his truck and pulled out a large coin. He flipped it at me, and I caught it.

  “That’s my eighteen-month chip,” Dad said. “It means I haven’t had a drink in a year and a half.”

  “And before that?”

  “Before that, I drank.”

  I stared down at the coin. It had a triangle on it, and the words “Unity,” “Service,” and “Recovery” that explained his mysterious meetings.