Who I'm Not Read Free Page B

shelter, because the little rooms were too much like where I’d been held for so long. I wanted to meet in a park, with lots of people and open space around us, so I could be calm. And so I could run like hell. All I had to do was get everyone confused enough for me to get a head start.
    I pulled the little black brim on the toque back past my ear. I wondered how truly stupid it looked with Gap cargo shorts. I wondered if Josh was a fast runner. I flushed the toilet for show, then stepped into the hall, toeing out.
    Josh was waiting, waggling keys to the shelter’s van. He looked at me and grinned. “You know how hot it is out there, Danny?”
    â€œThis sucker is my look,” I said from behind the shades. I was already getting tired of saying sucker. “Let’s go.”
    The park was flat and open, cartoon green under sprinklers. I scoped an escape route around a fountain, through a playground and across the next parking lot. There were cars to dodge around and a sun-baked boulevard with a lot of traffic. Get across that, and then what? I guessed I’d find out.
    Josh backed the van into a space at the edge of the lot and we sat there, waiting. There were only a few cars. Apparently Tucsoners didn’t go to the park when it was a hundred degrees out. My legs started bouncing.
    â€œIt’s okay to be nervous,” Josh said.
    Tell me about it, I thought. I wondered again about him and running. The van doors were locked, and Josh had some kind of central control of them. I’d already tried mine when Josh was busy messing with the radio as we waited at a red light.
    â€œThere’ll be a Canadian government person with her. From the consulate in LA. No police.”
    The air conditioner was on, but sweat prickled under my hat. I promised myself I’d dump it first chance I got. I wedged my hands under my legs to keep from fiddling with the door. I tried to breathe slowly and quit the bouncing, but I was fried. I’d only had a few hours’ sleep, on top of everything that had happened. My brain was zapping around like a video game.
    Then a white Focus with a rental-company sticker pulled up a little ways off. Two women got out. The one on the driver’s side was small, with a frizz of blond hair above a beige jacket and skirt. She had flat shoes and a stylin’ leather briefcase that Harley would have liked. The woman on the passenger side was chunky, in a yellow-and-orange-striped sundress that didn’t make her look any smaller. She had tangled dark hair and a round, pale face behind oversized sunglasses. Her legs and feet were pale too, with red nail polish that matched her sandals. A white sweater was draped over a white shoulder bag.
    â€œHere we go,” Josh said. He popped the door locks. We climbed out. A chain-link fence ran along my side and behind us. There was nowhere to go but forward. I couldn’t even do that: the heat slapped me harder than my first foster mother.
    As I stood there, stunned, the women looked our way. The chunky one flinched. You could see her mouth, “Danny?” Then she screamed it. “DANNY!” and she skittered toward me, her sandals clacking on the pavement. Before I could move, she had grabbed me. I don’t like it when people touch me.
    â€œDanny.” Now she was sobbing. She was all over me, and I couldn’t move. It was awful. Finally, I lifted my hands on either side of her. It felt as if I was holding them out for the cuffs to be snapped on.
    â€œShan,” I said. She didn’t let go of me until the two of us were on a plane to Toronto.

FOUR
    It was almost too easy. Shan was a motormouth. I could hardly keep up. She had photos with her of how the family looked now. “Just so they don’t weird you out. Oh, Grampy looks frail, doesn’t he? And he limps now. He had a stroke last year.
    â€œRoy and the kids and I are in Port Hope now. I’m receptionist at the clinic and