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A Place To Call Home

  Adrien Leduc

  (Leduc, Adrien 1987- )

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  SYNOPSIS

  After a harrowing escape from a bad foster home, Ron and Sarah find themselves on the streets of Toronto. Alone, and with nowhere to go, they seek refuge at a charitable shelter. Yet when the truth catches up to them, their luck runs out and the foster siblings find themselves back where they started. Will Ron and Sarah ever find a place to call home?

  DEDICATION

  For JM3, my beautiful, brown-eyed Irish girl who has never stopped believing in me and whose smile always brightens my day and;

  For everyone searching for a place to call home

  - 1 -

  MIDNIGHT ESCAPE

  On a cool October night in Pickering's Liverpool neighbourhood, two figures could be seen hurrying down the walkway of 212 Primrose Crescent. A dog in the front window had his paws on the glass and was howling loudly after them.

  "Hurry Ron!" hissed Sarah, the older one of the two.

  "I'm trying!" replied Ron angrily, wincing every time he took a step with his left foot.

  Sarah doubled back and wrapped an arm around her foster brother's shoulders.

  "There, now just put your arm around my neck."

  Ron did what she told him so that half his weight now rested on her.

  "And just hop with your good foot."

  Ron dutifully began to hop using his right foot. They made it to the end of the block, but that was it. Ron stopped, out of breath, and feeling as though he might vomit. He bent in half and touched his head to his knees.

  "This is too tiring, Sair," he panted. He gripped his ankle and inhaled sharply. "I can't do this all the way to the store. My ankle..."

  "Ohhhh," Sarah moaned, looking back at the Smolinski house. It was still dark - but it wouldn't be for long - not with Bowser barking up such a storm."Try to take smaller hops. Just take your time."

  Ron grimaced painfully as he stood upright. "Okay...but I still can't make it all the way to the store. That's too far."

  Sarah pursed her lips. "Okay. We'll skip the store..." she said, her mind searching for a solution. "We'll skip the store and...we'll hide at Mrs. Whittaker's! In the tree house! Yes! And then we'll wait until it's safe and we'll take a taxi to the train station."

  The boy let out a heavy sigh. "Okay. I think I can make it to Mrs. Whittaker's."

  Happy now that they had a plan, Sarah dragged her foster brother, hopping and hobbling along, until they reached the end of Primrose Crescent.

  Bowser's barking had grown fainter, though it was still audible. Hank and Gloria would surely be awake by now - as would half the neighbourhood. It would only be a matter of time before Hank came after them. And if he brought Bowser...

  Sarah shuddered as she thought of the Smolinski's ugly Rottweiler. If he wasn't snarling at them, he was chewing on their shoes or slobbering on their clothes. Whenever they were home, he would lock an eye on them and follow them everywhere. Always suspicious. If Ron or Sarah ever dared to shoo him away, he would bark until Hank came and inspected. Worse still, when it came to tracking, Bowser was like a Bloodhound.

  Sarah flexed the arm wrapped around Ron's shoulders and shrugged off the burning feeling in her bicep. "It's just a bit further, little brother. You can do it."

  They turned onto Dixie Road and pressed on. Twice Ron had to stop to catch his breath, but Sarah was patient with him.

  "Does your ankle hurt worse than before?"

  The young boy winced. "Yeah..."

  Mrs. Cornelia - or "Cora" for short - Whittaker lived at the corner of Dixie Road and Meadowbrook Lane and it was there that Ron and Sarah had spent most of the summer with her grandchildren, Tom and Julia. Tom and Julia spent every summer with their grandmother and the kids had met at the neighbourhood park. The four quickly became friends and before long, there were sleepovers and trips to the local outdoor pool.

  With the help of Tom and Julia's uncle, Charles ("Chuck"), Ron and Sarah had helped their new friends construct an impressive tree house in Mrs. Whittaker's backyard. For Ron and Sarah, that tree house had become a veritable sanctuary, a place of comfort and security far removed from the disorder and dysfunction of the Smolinski residence.

  "Faster, Ron," Sarah pleaded, glancing over her shoulder, as Bowser's barking grew louder.

  Was Hank coming to look for them? Was Bowser already hot on their trail?

  "I'm trying," answered Ron breathlessly, tightening his grip around her shoulders.

  They were nearly there. Meadowbrook Lane. The sign. She could see it. Mrs. Whittaker's.

  Sarah strained as hard as she could, willing the muscles in her arms and neck to cooperate. It felt to her like Ron had gotten heavier in the last five minutes. Would they make it?

  She fixed her eyes on Mrs. Whittaker's pink bungalow. It seemed to be calling them. A light shone dimly in the living room window and Sarah wondered if she might still be awake.

  Should they knock on the door? Should she tell Mrs. Whittaker how awful their lives were at the Smolinski's?

  Sarah quickly dismissed the idea.

  She would never believe them. No one ever did.

  The foster siblings hopped along in the darkness, their feet pounding against the pavement. There weren't many street lights in Pickering and Sarah was always nervous walking home, in the black of night, after making a delivery for Hank. On this night however, that darkness was their protection, and Sarah was grateful for it.

  The pain caused by Ron's bony forearm pressing against the back of her neck, stirred Sarah from her thoughts.

  If only they'd left sooner. Before Hank had a chance to hurt Ron this bad.

  She shrugged off the pain and focused on the path ahead.

  Just one more block.

  Sarah could practically see inside the mouth of the yawning lawn gnome that stood at the edge of Mrs. Whittaker's front yard.

  Surely by now Hank had discovered they had gone. How long until he came after them?

  As though answering her thoughts, she suddenly heard his voice in the distance. Bowser's barking had ceased.

  "Ronald! Sarah!"

  Faint as it was, there was no mistaking Hank's voice. Especially when it sounded so angry - as it usually did.

  He called their names again. Louder this time.

  "RONALD! SARAH!"

  "Quick Sarah! If - he - catches - us!"

  Sarah realized that in her fear, she had slowed down, almost stopping completely.

  "Let's go, Sair!"

  The urgency in Ron's voice sparked a fire in her and she pushed forwards, clutching her foster brother even more tightly than before. Her brow scrunched firmly in concentration, she shook off the burning sensation in her arms and legs and concentrated on her breathing.

  One. Two. Three.

  Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.

  Come on, Sarah. You can do this. You can make it to Mrs. Whittaker's. You have to.

  Behind them a dog barked, the sound piercing the relative silence.

  Bowser.

  There were now just fifty metres separating them from the tree house. Sarah could see its silhouette rising above the hedges that flanked Mrs. Whittaker's backyard.

  They could make it.

  Though her throat was bone dry, she managed to find her voice.

>   "Come on, Ron! We're almost there!"

  Thirty metres.

  "RONALD! SARAH!"

  Hank's voice was getting louder - and closer. Sarah felt a jolt of adrenaline rush through her and with a strength that belied her skinny frame, threw Ron over her shoulder and sprinted the final distance. At the hedges she lowered Ron to the ground and pushed him through the narrow gap that they and Tom and Julia often used when they were too lazy to go around to the gate at the front.

  Dropping to her hands and knees, Sarah followed him through. The branches scratched her face and poked her eyes, but after a minute she was on the other side and sucking in great lungfuls of air as she collapsed onto the grass beside Ron. A short distance to their left, the towering elm tree loomed over them.

  "Quick - Ron! We - have - to - get - into - the - treehouse," she panted. "Up!"

  Bowser's barking had grown much louder and it was almost deafening by the time they made it to the narrow rope ladder that hung at the foot of the tree. Sarah helped Ron secure his foot onto the first rung and together they ascended to the tree house.

  "RONALD! SARAH!"

  Hank's voice was certainly closer than it had been a minute ago. Had he seen them?

  She didn't want to think about what would happen if they were caught.

  Inside the tree house the foster siblings fell onto the wide straw bales that served as benches, practically convulsing as they struggled to regain their breath.

  "Did - he - see - us?" asked Ron, his face sweating and pale.

  "I - don't - know...I - hope - not."

  While Ron lay on his back slowly recovering, Sarah positioned herself so that she could peek through a hole in the wood plank wall. Her mouth was dry and her lungs hurt. But they were safe.

  Phew.

  From her vantage point she had a perfect view of Mrs. Whittaker's backyard. It was quiet. Calm. Dark.

  "Anything?" Ron whispered, still lying on the straw bale that sat against the opposite wall.

  Sarah shook her head.

  But then, suddenly, she saw the thing she dreaded most. Hank's head. Bobbing just above the hedges.

  She froze.

  He was holding a leash and looking at the ground in front of him. She couldn't see Bowser, but she knew he was there. They were standing right where she and Ron had come through the hedges a few minutes earlier.

  "There's a good boy," said Hank.

  The tone of his voice sounded both wicked and delighted and brought goose bumps to her arms.

  "You find them boy, you find them. Find Ron and Sarah for daddy."

  In the next instant, everything happened at once. Bowser, barking and dragging his leash, burst through the hedges and shot towards the rope ladder. Next, Hank, swearing and cursing loudly, broke his way through the branches and fell onto the grass. A second later, a light came on, casting a bright, yellow glow throughout the yard.

  "What's happening?" Ron mouthed, his eyes wide and fearful.

  Sarah put a finger to her lips, motioning for him to be silent.

  The back door connecting the porch to the house squeaked open loudly and Sarah saw Tom and Julia's grandmother emerge, as tall and stern-looking as ever.

  "Mrs. Whittaker!"

  Hank's tone was one of surprise and Sarah could tell by the expression on his face that he was not pleased to see her.

  Bowser, meanwhile, had begun to bark loudly at the base of the tree.

  "Hank Smolinski," the old woman answered as she strode out to the edge of her balcony.

  Enshrouded in the yellow glow of the porch light, she looked to Sarah like someone sent from the heavens.

  "To what do I owe this visit? And at such a late hour I might add."

  There was an edge to Mrs. Whittaker's voice that Sarah had heard only a few times before.

  "Oh...well...I," Hank spluttered, "Bowser took off after a squirrel...and wouldn't you know it...he pulled me right into your backyard. Crazy mutt."

  "Did he? Wow. That's mighty odd, because I can assure you that there are no squirrels in my yard at this time of night," she said, her eyes flicking towards the tree house.

  Had she seen them?

  "They usually get up into that big elm there for the night so they can sleep and not be bothered by creatures like him," she said, gesturing with her gaze towards Bowser who was now sat at the base of the tree, swishing his tail and moaning as he stared up towards the tree house.

  "Furthermore," she continued, returning her gaze so that her eyes settled on Hank's oversized head, "if there were any squirrels in my backyard, Bowser would certainly not be welcome to harm them. They keep the crows out of my garden better than any scarecrow and so they're welcome anytime."

  "Of course...of course," answered Hank quickly. "It won't happen again - and I'm sorry if I disturbed you. You were probably trying to sleep."

  "Sleep?" scoffed the old woman. "Why I find that the most interesting things happen during the evening hours. And I wouldn't want to miss all the excitement. Don't you agree, Hank?"

  She cast a glance once more at the tree house and there was not a shred of doubt in Sarah's mind that Mrs. Whittaker had discovered them. The only question now was, would she hand them over to Hank?

  "Er...yes...I suppose," he answered, slowly turning to look at the elm tree as Bowser growled and pawed at its trunk.

  Hank looked up at the tree house and Sarah withdrew her eye from the spy hole.

  "Would you mind if I took a look up - "

  "I know Charles shares my sentiments too," said Mrs. Whittaker shrilly.

  It seemed to Sarah that she was trying to draw Hank's attention away from the tree house.

  "When he called me earlier today he told me that they'd caught a group of men last night preparing to rob a bank over on Brock Road. Like I said, interesting things happen when normal folk go to bed."

  Hank coughed uncomfortably. "Yes...I suppose you're right about that. How is Chuck by the way? It's been awhile since I've seen him."

  Sarah watched as Mrs. Whittaker moved closer to the edge of her balcony so that she now stood over Hank like a judge. "Well, as it so happens, this month marks his twentieth year with the force. He'll be receiving an award from the Durham Regional Police Service at a special banquet in November. Who would have imagined that the smallest boy on the Dunbarton High School football team would end up being a police captain, eh?"

  "Not me, that's for sure" Hank said with what sounded like a sincere laugh. "I honestly can't count the number of times I had to scrape your son off the field."

  Sarah found Hank's nice guy routine more sickening than usual. Perhaps because this time he was using it on someone she cared about.

  "BOWSER!"

  Hank's loud interruption caused Sarah to nearly fall off the straw bale. She managed to regain her balance though and she returned to spying through the hole in the tree house wall.

  " - I would appreciate it if he didn't claw my beautiful elm to bits. Billy planted that, you know, when we first bought this place. That's a forty year old tree standing there."

  "I'm very sorry, Mrs. Whittaker."

  "Oh, there's no need to apologize. Dogs will be dogs. I guess it helps if they've responsible owners though - but there are no guarantees in life."

  Hank ignored the sting of her remark. "I mean...I'm sorry about Mr. Whittaker's passing. I never did get a chance to pay my last respects."

  Sarah watched the old woman put a hand to her heart. "Bless your soul, Hank. That's very considerate of you to think of him."

  Sarah had never seen Hank look as uncomfortable as he did now and she wanted to savour this moment.

  "Er...yes...anyways," he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth as he fidgeted nervously, "I really should get going...it's quite late...and tomorrow's a busy day. Say hello to Chuck for me...and congratulate him on his big award."

  "Why don't you do it yourself? He'll be here on the weekend at some point. Stop in for a visit."

  "Oh th
at's...that's nice, but...we're...we're busy this weekend Mrs. Whittaker. Gloria's got this thing to go to and the kids are playing in a soccer tournament (Sarah's eyes narrowed at this lie) and...it's just a busy weekend for us. But another time for sure."

  "Oh that's too bad," the old woman sighed. "Another time perhaps."

  Hank nodded and Sarah watched as he tugged on Bowser's leash and pulled him away from the tree once more.

  "Anyways, Mrs. Whittaker. It's been great talking with you, but I've got to get home now and put this boy to bed," he added, chuckling softly.

  Sarah cringed.

  "Yes, I suppose dogs need their sleep just like the rest of us."

  Sarah grinned from ear to ear, sure that Mrs. Whittaker had intended the double entendre.

  "Yes, they do," said Hank stiffly.

  "Alright. Stop by and say hi sometime - only next time just come to the front door. It's much easier for me."

  Despite the dim light, Sarah was certain she saw Hank's ears redden.

  "Of course."

  "Excellent. Well, good night then," said the old woman cheerfully. "Oh, and give my regards to Gloria and the kids for me too would you? It's been ages since I've seen them."

  "Will do," he said, making his way to the gate.

  "Good night, Hank."

  "Good night, Mrs. Whittaker."

  Sarah heard the gate slam shut and she listened carefully as the sound of his footsteps slowly disappeared. This was followed by several seconds of silence before Mrs. Whittaker called up to them. "You can come down now children. He's gone."

  - 2 -

  MRS. WHITTAKER

  "Now, did you two get enough to eat?" asked Cora Whittaker as she cleared the table.

  Ron and Sarah nodded.

  "Yes, Mrs. Whittaker. Thanks."

  "Good. Because as Billy used to say, there's nothing worse than being hungry."

  William Whittaker - or "Billy" as he'd affectionately been known - was Cora's late husband. He had passed away two years before and while Sarah had never met him, she could tell by the way Mrs. Whittaker and Tom and Julia spoke about him that he'd been a kind man. The house, despite her never having seen him there, felt empty without him.

  She glanced around the kitchen as Ron helped the elderly woman rinse the dishes and load them into the dishwasher. Not much had changed since that evening in late August when they had shared a "last supper" with Tom and Julia - a giant homemade pizza topped with all their favourite fixings. There was the same pink and purple cuckoo clock. The wine cabinet with the little stained glass windows. The three-tiered fruit basket that hung from the ceiling, presently filled with apples, oranges, and bananas.

  "I'll bet you two miss Tom and Julia," said Cora Whittaker once the dishwasher was turned on and humming gently.

  "Yeah. A lot."

  "Well, they'll be back next summer - but I suppose that's a long time to wait when you're young," she added with a chuckle. She finished wiping the counter and sat down at the table.

  "Pour yourself another glass of milk there Ron and come join us."

  "Okay."

  As Ron hobbled towards the fridge and set about pouring a second glass of milk, the old woman turned her attention to Sarah. "So, now that we've eaten and calmed down a little bit, tell me what's been going on at the Smolinski household."

  Sarah didn't know where to begin - but it felt good to finally be sitting in front of an adult who was willing to listen - and believe - what she had to say. And so she began with the very first time they'd met Hank and Gloria (and Bowser).

  It had been a warm day in May and their social worker, Theresa, was in particularly high spirits. The entire drive to the Smolinski's, she had gushed about how nice of a couple they were and raved about the pool in their backyard, the sauna in the basement and all the other exciting amenities.

  "They're just the most amazing couple. Gloria - she's a knockout. And Hank makes a good living - he works in consulting or something like that. Anyways. Big house. All the things a kid could ask for. I just know that you two are really going to like them."

  And Sarah had to admit that Hank and Gloria had been very kind and generous and that their house lived up to Theresa's rave reviews.

  Everything changed after the first week though - when the Smolinski's revealed their true colours.

  Criminals, they manufactured counterfeit money and were members of the Redcoats - a prominent biker gang based in Durham County. The couple - well Hank mostly because Gloria was most often shopping or sunbathing by the pool - used her and Ron to deliver counterfeit money to their associates in Pickering and the Greater Toronto Area. In this way she and Ron had served as money mules for the Smolinski's.

  Hank liked that they were young and didn't raise suspicions when making deliveries and Sarah suspected that this was the sole reason the Smolinski's had become foster parents.

  At first, missing school to make deliveries for Hank wasn't so bad. She got to skip gym class and vaccination day. But by the end of the school year, Sarah had grown tired of it; the never-ending list of deliveries to be made meant she had no time to do assignments and study for tests. She began receiving Ds and her teachers warned her that she might be held back a year.

  And the worst part wasn't her failing grades - it was the beatings. Ashamed, Ron looked at the floor as Sarah recounted how Gloria would often strap her with a leather belt and how Hank would wail on Ron. She explained that he had pushed Ron down the stairs in a fit of rage earlier that day, nearly breaking Ron's ankle. This had been the final straw for Sarah and she decided that they needed to get out.

  "But what about trying to contact your social worker...Theresa or whatever her name is? Why can't you call her and tell her about what's happening?" Mrs. Whittaker asked, perplexed.

  "I called Child Services before. I called like ten times."

  Ron affirmed this with a solemn nod.

  Mrs. Whittaker raised her eyebrows. "And?"

  "And Theresa said I was lying! She said that they'd interviewed the Smolinski's three times before bringing us there and that they'd passed every test. The one time that she did come out to perform an inspection, Hank and Gloria turned on the charm and acted all concerned and said they'd take me to a therapist and all this, blah, blah, blah."

  "A therapist?"

  Sarah nodded. "Yes! Theresa and Hank and Gloria all said that I just wanted attention and that I was suffering from attachment disorder and all that."

  Mrs. Whittaker looked concerned. "And? Did they send you to a therapist?"

  "Yes! And this woman, Doctor Leslie, prescribed me these pills and stuff."

  Cora Whittaker shook her head in dismay. The skinny teenager seated before her was clearly distraught. She seemed of sound mind.

  "Though you story sounds a little far-fetched - "

  "I'm not lying, Mrs. Whittaker."

  "Let me finish, please."

  Sarah nodded and waited impatiently for the old woman to continue speaking.

  "Though your story sounds a little far-fetched - Red Coats and counterfeit money and all that jazz - I believe you. I believe you Sarah Litchmore because you were over here a hundred times with Julia and not once did you seem like a girl who has issues. You're a polite and respectful young woman and I've always known Hank Smolinski was a bad apple. Though I certainly never would have imagined that he'd be involved in stuff like this!"

  Sarah and Ron exchanged a smile, happy that she believed their story.

  "You know," the old woman continued, eyeing them both closely, her blue eyes blazing, "Hank and Charles were friends growing up - well until the tenth grade at least. At some point that year they had a falling out over a girl or something...I forget what the situation was exactly...it was so long ago now...but anyways, they had a falling out and never really spoke much after that. Hank and Charles both graduated in eighty-seven. His mother used to attend our church and I'd heard from her that he had plans to attend university - and that was about it. Mr
s. Smolinski passed away in ninety-eight and Mr. Smolinski went the year after. Hank inherited some money and married Gloria a few years later. That would be about...oh...two thousand and two or two thousand and three. Anyways, I remember Billy coming home from the pub one night - he and his golfing buddies used to go to the pub to watch all the big tournaments - and he said to me, 'Cora, guess who I saw at O'Reilly's tonight?' and I asked 'Who?' and he told me he'd seen Hank and that they'd chatted briefly. It had been quite a few years since we'd seen Hank - apparently he'd been away in Mexico or Costa Rica or something. Anyways, Hank told Billy that he was getting married to a girl by the name of Gloria Schmidt. Now Billy was intrigued by that because he was pretty sure that she was the daughter of a Schmidt that used to work for him. Man by the name of Gill Schmidt. Billy had to fire him after he discovered he'd been stealing from the company to feed a gambling habit. But this was years ago and Billy wasn't entirely sure if the Gloria was this man's daughter or not - but he seemed to think so. Anyways, that being said, when Tom and Julia brought you two here for the first time, I was shocked to hear that the Smolinski's had fostered children. I took that as a sign that Hank was turning his life around. I guess I was wrong."

  Sarah nodded grimly while Cora Whittaker sat back in her chair to reflect further on the matter.

  "Just wait until Charles hears of this. He'll pass this information on to his buddies at the station and they'll be on those two like -"

  "No!" Sarah cried. "You can't say anything! Especially not to your son, Mrs. Whittaker...well, not yet anyways."

  "Why ever not?"

  "Because we need to find my dad first. If the police find out about Hank and Gloria, Child Services will just take us back to the group home...and that's if they even believe us! We could end up back with Hank and Gloria!"

  "Dear child," huffed Cora Whittaker, "the police will most certainly believe what you have to say. I'll make sure of that!"

  "Well, so what then!" shouted Sarah defiantly. "All that means is that we'll end up in another foster home...and I'm sick and tired of foster homes! I want to live with my dad...and Ron wants to come too."

  The old woman sighed heavily. "I understand Sarah, but in this situation -"

  "No, Mrs. Whittaker. Please, I have to find my dad first. Then once we're living with him, you can tell your son and go to the police and tell them everything. We'll even come with you and be witnesses."

  "Sarah - "

  "Please."

  "Good grief, girl!" Cora Whittaker snapped. "Where is your dad anyways? I thought you were an orphan."

  "My mom's dead, but my dad's still alive. He lives in Toronto."

  "Whereabouts in Toronto?"

  "I don't know...somewhere downtown."

  Mrs. Whittaker looked at her with a bemused expression. "Somewhere downtown? You mean you don't even know where he lives?"

  "Well no...not exactly...but I know where he works! That's where I'm going to go and meet him. I have his business card and everything."

  "Have you spoken to him recently?"

  "Yes," Sarah lied, nodding her head. "Last week. I talked to him on the phone. He said that we could come and stay with him."

  She hated lying - especially to Mrs. Whittaker - but she couldn't let Child Services take them back. She wouldn't.

  Cora Whittaker looked from Sarah to Ron and back at Sarah. "Okay. But he has to pick you up here. And I want to speak with him beforehand."

  "He can't pick us up," said Sarah, thinking quickly. "He doesn't have a car."

  "He can take the train then."

  "He's too busy. He works every day."

  The old woman frowned. "What does he do that he's so busy?"

  "He's an accountant."

  Cora Whittaker stared squarely at Sarah. "You're fourteen years old my dear - "

  "I'm almost fifteen! I'll be fifteen in April!"

  "Please let me finish. You are fourteen years old. That's much too young to go off wandering around the city to look for your dad - and to think that you would be responsible for your younger brother as well...," she sighed, casting an eye towards Ron as he sipped his milk, "...and with the state he's in. He can hardly walk for heaven's sake!"

  "Please, Mrs. Whittaker. You don't understand. And I -"

  "I understand perfectly well dear girl! You two need to be in the care of a responsible adult. You will sleep here tonight and in the morning I'm calling the police and I'm calling Child Services."

  "But, Mrs. Whittaker!"

  "No buts, Sarah! Too many adults have let you down and I'm not about to add myself to that list!" she shouted, slapping her hand on the table. "The responsible thing to do is to get you two somewhere safe and have the Smolinski's put behind bars."

  "But - "

  "Sarah. That's enough. I think it's time we all went to bed. We'll get a good night's sleep and in the morning this whole thing will look a little better. Okay?"

  She rose from her chair before Sarah could respond.

  "You two can wash up in the bathroom (she gestured towards a door just off the kitchen) while I go and make up your beds in Tom's and Julia's rooms. Okay? I don't want any more arguing," she finished, shooting Sarah a reproving stare.

  Sarah knew the discussion was over and decided not to pursue it any further. Mrs. Whittaker obviously had no interest in helping her find her dad - and she resolved to do it on her own.

  "Okay," said Sarah quietly.

  "Good. Now I'm going to go and make your beds up while you two get ready. There are face cloths and towels in the cubby in the bathroom. And new toothbrushes in the drawer under the sink. I want you both in bed and lights out in fifteen minutes."

  Ron and Sarah nodded.

  With that Cora Whittaker left the room and trudged up the stairs.

  "Ron!" Sarah whispered when she was sure that the old woman was out of earshot.

  "What?"

  "We have to go. Tonight."

  He moaned. "Ahhh, Sair."

  "Ron."

  "I'm so tired I can't even keep my head up - and all that running made my ankle hurt even worse!"

  "I know, Ron. I know."

  She put a hand on her foster brother's shoulder.

  "But we have no choice. Mrs. Whittaker is going to turn us over to Child Services! And then we'll end up back in another home just like the Smolinski's! And if they don't believe us, we might even end up back at the Smolinski's! Could you imagine? Hank would kill us. We have no proof about Hank and Gloria! They have Child Services completely fooled and you know it. Do you really want to go back living with them!?"

  Ron played with his wrist watch while he deliberated.

  "Okay," he said after a minute.

  He looked into Sarah's eyes.

  "But don't complain if I can't go as fast as you."

  "Oh Ron!" Sarah squealed, squeezing him tightly.

  "Okay, okay...sister cooties," pulling away. "What's your plan?"

  "Well, we'll have to get a taxi...that's obvious because of your ankle. We'll leave early in the morning...before Mrs. Whittaker gets up...around five or so."

  Sarah got up from the table and began pacing the kitchen floor.

  "We'll go to the train station...I have both our passes in my bag..and we'll take the first train to Toronto. I think it's at six o'clock."

  Ron nodded as Sarah continued.

  "So we'll go to bed...you can sleep for a few hours...wrap the ice pack around your ankle like Mrs. Whittaker showed you. Hopefully that'll fix it. And I'll come and wake you around five. Okay?"

  "I guess."

  "No you guess, little brother...it'll work. Trust me."

  Ron sighed softly.

  "Whatever you say. But can we just go to bed now? I'm really tired."

  Sarah smiled. "Alright, go and wash up and then get to bed."

  While Ron washed his face and changed into a pair of Tom's pajamas, Sarah took the phone book and the portable phone from the small bureau in the kitchen. When it was her tur
n to use the bathroom she carried the phone book and the phone into the bathroom, locked the door, and turned on the shower. She made a chair of the toilet and looked up the number for A-1 Cabs. She found it after a few minutes of searching and dialed. An operator picked up on the second ring.

  "A-1 Cabs."

  "Yes, hello," said Sarah, making sure that she was loud enough to be heard over the shower, but quiet enough so as not to be heard by Mrs. Whittaker.

  "I need a cab for three hundred forty one Dixie Road at five o'clock tomorrow morning."

  She heard the woman rustling some papers. "Okay. And where are you headed?"

  "To the Go Train station."

  There was a pause.

  "Alright. Five a.m. There'll be a cab for you."

  "Thank you."

  "You're welcome."

  "Bye."

  "Good bye."

  Sarah switched off the portable and placed it on top of the phone book. Next she undressed and showered quickly. When she was finished and changed back into her clothes, she gave herself a quick once over in the mirror.

  She'd never liked her ears - they were too small and didn't fit her head - so she usually kept them covered with her shoulder-length, auburn hair. She loved her hair. It had a red tint to it - which was obviously from her mom - and was the brown from her dad? Having never even seen a picture of him, she had no idea what his hair colour was. Mind you, she'd be seeing him soon enough. So that mystery would be revealed.

  Taking a face cloth from the rack, she scrubbed at a wannabe zit. She hated zits - and she rarely got them - but when she did, they stuck out like crazy.

  When she was satisfied with her appearched, and had passed a brush through her hair, she threw her facecloth and towel into the laundry hamper and tiptoed into the kitchen.

  It was silent, save for the ticking of the cuckoo clock. She listened to see if Mrs. Whittaker was nearby. When she heard no sound, she moved quickly towards the little desk under the wine rack and replaced the portable and the phone book. That done, she quietly removed a box of crackers from the pantry. She hated stealing - but it was a good idea to bring a snack for the road.

  With the box of crackers tucked safely under her sweater, she made her way up the stairs. She could hear Mrs. Whittaker across the hall in Tom's room, speaking to Ron, and she turned into Julia's room where she hurried to stow the box of crackers away in her bag.

  Julia's room was spacious, with a desk in one corner, a bed in the other and a large closet that ran the length of one wall. The bright pink walls were heavily plastered with photographs and posters and Sarah happily recalled the evenings they'd spent putting them up. Sarah lay down on the bed just as Mrs. Whittaker knocked.

  "Sarah?"

  "Yeah? Come in."

  "All ready for bed then?"

  The old woman glanced at Sarah with a quizzical expression on her face.

  "You know you don't have to sleep in your jeans, dear girl. Julia's got plenty of pajamas and night wear that you can borrow."

  Sarah watched as Mrs. Whittaker strode over to the closet and pulled it open. She flicked a few hangers aside and selected a white, cotton night gown.

  "Here. Try this on."

  Sarah didn't want to change out of her street clothes - that would mean one more thing to do in the morning - but she also resolved that it was best to avoid giving Mrs. Whittaker any reason to be suspicious and so she decided to play along. "Uh...thanks."

  "You're most welcome Sarah. Now," she paused, "I want you both to get a good night's sleep. You and Ron have had a very stressful evening and I want you to be clear-headed and refreshed for tomorrow. It'll be a busy day and we'll all have to be patient and so I want you both to be at your best."

  "I understand, Mrs. Whittaker. Thank you."

  "Okay. I'm glad that you're finally coming around, Sarah. In adult situations, sometimes you just have to let adults make the decisions. Responsible and caring adults. Not like that filth you were living with," she said, frowning deeply.

  She looked at Sarah and her expression softened. "You're a smart girl and a brave one to boot - but you've done enough. You're safe now and we'll get everything squared up tomorrow and hopefully we can get you into a new home where you'll both get the love you deserve."

  Sarah felt her cheeks flush and she wanted to tell Mrs. Whittaker what she really thought. That the Smolinski's would just tell Child Services that she'd made it all up. That she was on medication and had been to see a therapist (which was true). It would be just like in all those TV movies where everyone thinks the person is crazy and doesn't believe them until it's too late. Hank and Gloria had fooled Child Services the first time and they certainly could a second time. There was no way she would ever return there - and she wouldn't let them take Ron back either.

  She took a breath and smiled sweetly. "You're absolutely right, Mrs. Whittaker. I guess sometimes I just figure that no one cares about Ron and I and that I can only rely on myself."

  She paused for effect.

  "So I appreciate what you're doing for us and I know that everything will work out okay."

  Her kind words were not lost on the old woman. "Why, thank you, Sarah. And I'm glad you're finally starting to see sense. I've always said that you were a bright girl and that Julia is lucky to have you as a friend."

  She glanced at the clock beside the bed. "Heaven's look at the time. Almost one in the morning. Quick, let's get you into bed. You two can sleep as late as you want tomorrow - I won't disturb you. Well," she added, her eyes wrinkling with her smile, "not until nine at least. By nine o'clock kids should be up at at it."

  Sarah nodded solemnly. "Alright."

  "Good night, Sarah."

  "Good night, Mrs. Whittaker."

  The old woman left the room and shut the door behind her. Sarah waited for the sound of her footsteps to disappear downstairs, and then set Julia's alarm clock for 4:45 a.m. She hoped that would give her enough time to get her and Ron out the door by five. Ron was right across the hall - so getting to him wouldn't be a problem - it was the waking-Ron-up part that worried her.

  She hung Julia's night gown back in the closet, switched off the light and crawled into bed. After tossing and turning for several minutes her thoughts drifted to her mother. She'd been dead for five years already - almost a third of Sarah's life. With her beautiful smile and cayenne-red hair - she'd looked like a movie star. Until she'd gotten cancer. Within a year, the radiation and chemotherapy had taken their toll. The image of her mother during her final days flashed before her. That sunken face...that leathery skin...her beautiful hair practically gone.Sarah reached for her necklace - her mother's necklace - and opened the locket containing her mother's picture. There she was. That eye-catching red hair. Those beautiful, blue eyes. That perfect smile. Sarah closed the locket and put the necklace back on. Finally, she took hold of one of Julia's plush giraffes, sighed, and fell into a deep sleep.

  - 3 -

  FREE AT LAST!

  She awoke with a start. "Love Me Lots" by Brittany Shears was playing.

  Where was she?

  The events of last night slowly came back to her and she vividly recalled their narrow escape from Bowser and Hank Smolinski.

  She turned and looked at the alarm clock, the source of the music.

  4:45.

  Perfect. She switched it off and leapt out of bed.

  Without making a sound, she gathered her things and stuffed pillows under the blankets so that it appeared as though there was a body in the bed. That done, she crept out of the room and shut the door softly behind her. Sarah tiptoed across the hallway and opened the door to Ron's (normally Tom's) room.

  "Ron," she whispered.

  He was fast asleep. She walked over to the bed and shook her brother gently.

  He mumbled something and rolled over.

  "Ron," she said, louder this time.

  "Wha - "

  "It's time to go."

  Ron rolled over so t
hat he faced her.

  "What time is it?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

  "Five a.m. The taxi should be here any minute. Come on, we have to go."

  Sarah helped a sleepy Ron (pushed would be the better word) out of bed. Next she stuffed pillows under the bed covers as she had done in her room and then made sure his bag was packed and zipped up tight.

  "Turn around," Ron said to her when it was time for him to change out of his pajamas.

  "Oh geez, I've seen you in your underwear a hundred times already. Just hurry up and change would you?"

  "Sair."

  He was in one of his stubborn moods and Sarah knew it was best not to argue.

  "Fine. I'll be downstairs. Make it quick."

  She took his bag and using the night light in the hallway to guide her, tread quietly down the staircase. When she reached the bottom however, she heard something that made her stop dead in her tracks. The sound of a toilet flushing.

  Mrs. Whittaker. In the bathroom. Just around the corner.

  Sarah realized she only had a few seconds to disappear and she turned and sprinted up the stairs. Unfortunately, Ron had just begun to descend the stairs and she plowed right into him.

  "Argh!"

  "Shhh!"

  Sarah clapped a hand over her foster brother's mouth and steered him back down the hallway to Tom's room. Once inside she removed her hand so that he could speak.

  "Sair!"

  His face wore a mixed expression of shock and awe.

  "You almost knocked me right over! My ankle -"

  "Ron," Sarah panted. "Mrs. Whittaker was in the bathroom! I'm sorry - but we're lucky she didn't see me! Never mind you almost getting knocked over. I'm sorry about your ankle," she added quickly, seeing a frown forming on the boy's face.

  Ron glared at her and sat down on the edge of the bed.

  "So what do we do now?"

  "I don't know," said Sarah, starting to pace the room nervously, "but this is bad. If the taxi is already outside - and if we're not out there soon - the driver might get tired of waiting and come and knock on the door."

  Seeing the state his beloved foster sister was in, Ron racked his brain for a solution. "Hey, let's just look out the window and check. That window," he pointed to the wall opposite, "looks right down onto the street!"

  "Oh my God! Ron!" she whispered loudly. "For once, a good idea out of you!"

  Excitedly, Sarah hurried towards the window and pulled back the curtains. She peered outside. The street was dark and there was no cab parked in front of Mrs. Whittaker's.

  Phew.

  Sarah let the curtains drop back and stepped away from the window.

  Ron looked at her. "So? The taxi isn't there yet?"

  "No. Not yet...but it will be soon."

  "What should we do?"

  "Well," said Sarah, resuming her pacing, "we'll wait five minutes. After five minutes I'll go downstairs and check. If the coast is clear, I'll signal to you to come down too. If it's not, we'll wait another five minutes."

  She stopped her pacing long enough to look at Ron. "That's the best I can think of. I just hope that Mrs. Whittaker isn't up for the day. If she is, we're doomed."

  "It's too early for anyone to be up for the day," Ron groaned, lying back on the bed. "I'm sure she'll go back to sleep. Remember how Gloria always gets up in the night to use the bathroom? I'm sure Mrs. Whittaker is just the same way."

  Sarah shot him a nervous glance. "I hope you're right."

  The five minutes seemed to drag on. Ron stared at the ceiling while Sarah stood and listened at the door.

  When the five minutes were up and the house felt silent once again, she opened the door. It was dark except for the pale glow emitted by the night light in the hallway.

  She turned and looked at Ron.

  "Bring the bags to the top of the stairs and wait there while I go down and check."

  Ron nodded as he slowly rose to his feet. Sarah crept forwards and made her way, once more, down the staircase. She stepped as lightly as possible on each hardwood step so as not to make a sound.

  When she finally reached the bottom, she stopped to listen. The house was silent. Using the night light in the kitchen to find her way, she tiptoed through the dark towards the kitchen. Next, she tiptoed across the granite tile floor. When she reached the corner of the wall, she stopped and peered around the corner towards the bathroom.

  The door stood ajar and the light was off.

  Phew.

  Further down the hall, Mrs. Whittaker's door was shut tight and the space under the door was dark. Sarah felt a surge of excitement.

  Finally they could get out of here!

  She crept back to the stairwell and gave Ron a thumbs up. He nodded, descending slowly as he carried both their bags against his chest.

  Sarah sensed that his ankle was still bothering him and hurried up the steps to take the bags from him.

  "Thanks," he whispered.

  "Don't mention it."

  The foster siblings crept down the stairs in the darkness, Sarah with the bags slung over her shoulder and Ron gripping the banister. Working towards the same objective made Sarah feel close to her foster brother and even though living at the Smolinski's had been the worst time of her life - she was thankful Child Services had put them there together.

  They reached the floor and, much to Sarah's surprise, were able to leave Mrs. Whittaker's without any further difficulty.

  Outside, a bright yellow coloured cab sat idling with its lights on. Upon seeing them approach, the driver hopped out, said hello, and helped them load their bags into the trunk.

  A minute later they were on their way.

  Free at last, thought Sarah, as she looked through the rear window and watched Mrs. Whittaker's pink bungalow shrink into the distance.

  - 4 -

  THE TRAIN TO TORONTO

  "How much longer, Sair?" asked Ron for what seemed to Sarah like the hundredth time.

  Normally Ron's "How much longer?Are we there yet?" routine would have annoyed her - but she decided that she was in too good a mood to let it bother her.

  After all, she was going to see her dad tomorrow!

  Sarah glanced up at the digital clock centred on the hutch wall.

  "Ten minutes Ron. It's five fifty-six and our train departs at six-o-six."

  "Oh."

  "We really have to get you back into school little brother," said Sarah, feeling annoyed that he'd asked her for the time when he could have just as easily gotten it himself - especially when he always wore his wrist watch.

  She looked at Ron, who seemed to be in a daze, staring off into space, and punched his arm.

  "Ow!"

  "What?"

  "Why'd you hit me!?"

  "Because you're getting slow. Don't you pay attention in school?"

  She suddenly felt guilty for berating him, but she couldn't help it; the lack of sleep she'd had the night before was beginning to wear on her and her good mood was quickly evaporating.

  "I guess so," said Ron slowly, scowling as he rubbed his arm. "It's hard to pay attention sometimes."

  Sarah suspected that he had had trouble paying attention in school because he was always going to class hungry - the Smolinski's rarely fed him.

  She felt guilty and resolved to be more pleasant towards him.

  "Well, as soon as we get moved into my dad's, we're getting you signed up for school."

  Ron turned his head so that he faced her. "And what about you? Aren't you going back to school?"

  "Maybe," she replied nonchalantly. "Maybe not. I'm almost fifteen now Ron. I don't need school anymore."

  Ron didn't answer, but instead sat back to reflect on this fact. Sarah, meanwhile, resumed her people watching.

  The sun had yet to rise and so it was still quite dark, but the platform was well-lit and Sarah could make out several men in suits reading newspapers, a mother holding a crying baby and a group of students chatting excitedly.
/>
  Her eyes came to rest on a man slowly pushing a rickety, wire cart from one end of the platform to the other and she watched him until he was out her line of sight.

  It was rather warm for October and several people were wearing shorts with their sweaters.

  "Hey Sair, you still didn't tell me where you got all that money," said Ron suddenly, interrupting her thoughts.

  He was curious about the money she'd used to pay the cab driver.

  "Did you steal it?"

  Sarah's expression remained stoic. "Maybe."

  "You stole it," he said grinning from ear to ear. "You stole it from the Smolinski's. Didn't you?"

  She didn't answer but tried to keep a straight face as she looked forward. She liked when Ron wanted to know something only she knew. In this moment, his curiousity was addictive, and Sarah wanted to bask in it for as long as possible.

  "Didn't you? Sair. Come on. You stole it from the Smolinski's."

  Sarah looked straight ahead and said nothing, but she could feel a smile tugging away at her stony facade.

  "Sair. You stole it from the Smolinski's."

  Finally after a few more seconds, when she could no longer control herself, she burst out into a fit of giggles.

  "Yes Ron. Sherlock. I stole it from the Smolinski's. Are you happy now?"

  It felt good to laugh.

  "YOU!" he said.

  His mouth formed an "O" and he sucked in a breath of air. His eyes were wide and his face aglow.

  "Hank is going to kill you if he ever finds out."

  "Oh, I'm sure he knows by now," said Sarah smugly. "I took it from the safe."

  "But he checks that every day!"

  "Exactly."

  Ron's "O" shaped mouth caused her to giggle again.

  "How much did you take?"

  "Enough to last us for awhile."

  "How much, Sair!?"

  When she didn't answer he moved closer and began to tickle her stomach - his most deadly weapon.

  "Enough - to - last - us - for - awhile," she said, giggling uncontrollably now as she struggled in vain to avoid his tickles.

  "Sair! Tell me!"

  "Okay, okay," she conceded, pushing him back, "stop and I'll tell you! Geez."

  Ron ceased his tickling. "How much Sair?"

  "A thousand."

  "A THOUSAND DOLLARS!

  "Yeah stupid, but keep it down," Sarah hissed angrily, "People are starting to look at us!"

  Ron obeyed her command and sat back, dreaming about all the candy and video games and skateboards he could buy with a thousand dollars.

  His reverie was interrupted by the familiar clang-clang that announced the impending arrival of the GO Train.

  Sarah stood up quickly because she knew that in order to get a seat they would have to be one of the first to board. And to be one of the first to board, they had to get to the front of the platform as soon as possible.

  "Come on, Ron. Let's go. Get your stuff."

  She slung her bag over her shoulder. Ron grabbed his backpack and the siblings hurried out of the hutch towards the yellow line at the edge of the platform.

  The crowd had grown considerably since they'd first arrived and Sarah had to grip her brother's shoulders to prevent him from getting jostled out of line.

  Over the din of the crowd, she could hear the screeching of metal on metal in the distance and she knew that the train would come to a stop in exactly fifteen seconds.

  She took the Go Train several times a week from Pickering Station in order to make deliveries for Hank and timing the train until it stopped and other games of that nature was how she amused herself.

  Her frequent trips also meant that Sarah could recite every stop along the Lakeshore East line - the line that runs between Oshawa and Union Station - in order.

  Moreover, she knew that it took exactly forty-six minutes to get from Pickering station to Union Station on sunny days and fifty-two minutes on days when it was raining.

  As the familiar green and white Go Train approached, Sarah smiled. They were free of the Smolinski's! She couldn't believe that it was actually happening, that they were actually running away.

  Just one more day until I get to see my dad.

  The train rolled to a stuttering stop. A dozen passengers got off and pushed their way through the crowd waiting to get on. When it was clear, the crowd pushed forwards and Ron and Sarah squeezed their way onto the train.

  Pulling Ron to the end of the car, she flopped down on one seat and set her bag on the seat beside her.

  "Sit," she told Ron, gesturing to the pair of seats directly opposite.

  Sarah didn't care that they got dirty looks from a few passengers for taking up seats with their bags - they deserved a bit of space to themselves after the adventure they'd just had.

  Ron pulled out his video game and Sarah sat back to read the newspaper left behind by another passenger.

  A few minutes later the train got on its way, lurching forward and then gradually picking up speed until it was racing along at a steady one hundred kilometres per hour.

  Sarah glanced periodically out the window, taking in the passing scenery. Ron, meanwhile, had long since abandoned his video game and with his nose glued to the window and his eyes wide and enthusiastic, he marveled at all the things to be seen.

  Sarah had taken the train a hundred times in the five and a half months that they'd been with the Smolinski's and she found that the scenery was simply too familiar to be interesting.

  Ron however was thoroughly impressed by the massive warehouses, farmers' fields and long lines of highway traffic - highway traffic that stretched as far as the eye could see and formed a colourful rainbow of red SUVs, orange sedans, yellow trucks, and blue vans.

  At six-fourteen they reached Rouge Hill. A few new passengers got on and some got off.

  They got rolling again and Sarah flipped through the celeb-gossip section where she found an article about her favourite singer, Brittany Shears.

  Brittany had been arrested for drunk driving again and this time the judge wasn't going to go easy on her.

  Good, she thought.

  It was a drunk driver that had killed her mom's only brother - the one person other than her dad that could have taken her in after her mom passed away.

  "Next stop, Guildwood," said the voice on the intercom.

  Sarah recalled her last delivery for Hank where she'd gotten off at Guildwood Station. She'd met the client at the club house of Hampton Links golf course - a short cab ride from the train station.

  The client had really surprised her - not so much by his attitude - although that was quite unusual too - but with his appearance.

  Tall, blonde, and well-dressed, the man she'd called Mister A was a rarity among Hank's clients because he didn't look like the biker-type.

  The majority of men (and women) she delivered counterfeit money to sported multiple tattoos and piercings, wore ripped leather jackets and had long, unkempt manes that hung down to their shoulders. But others, like Mister A, looked like regular businessmen and you'd never guess, seeing them on the street, that they were criminal bikers.

  "Four more stops until Union," said Ron cheerfully.

  While he rarely took the Go Train - Hank only used him for deliveries in Pickering and he always drove him to and from the exchange spot - Ron liked to hear Sarah's stories about the deliveries she had made. And whenever she told him where she'd gone on a particular day, he would consult the system map, pointing and oohing and aahing at the stations she'd stopped at and peppering her with questions.

  After a few months he'd memorized many of the Go Train stations in the Greater Toronto Area.

  "So where exactly are we staying, Sair?" asked Ron a few minutes later as the train rolled to a stop at Eglington Station.

  Sarah looked at her brother from over the top of her newspaper.

  "It's a surprise."

  "Sair. C'mon. You have to tell me. I didn't hav
e to come with you."

  "Oh no?" Sarah retorted.

  Ron didn't like her patronizing tone.

  "No."

  "So I should call Hank then and tell him to come and pick you up when we get to Union Station?"

  "No!"

  "What then?"

  "Just tell me where we're staying."

  "Fine...but then it won't be a surprise."

  "I don't like surprises!"

  "Okay, okay. Sheesh. You're worse than Gloria!"

  Ron glared at her.

  "We're staying at the Le Luxembourg...it's a fancy, four-star hotel downtown."

  Sarah reached into her bag and pulled out a magazine page that was folded in half.

  "This is the ad," she said, unfolding it and glancing at her brother before reciting the text aloud.

 

  This Fall, why not treat yourself to a stay at Toronto's urban oasis? The four-star Le Luxembourg is currently offering guests 15% savings when you book now for stays between October first and November thirtieth. Enjoy five-course meals prepared by our team of European-trained chefs, four-hundred thread count Egyptian linen, free shuttle service to the city's main attractions, and full access to our day spa facilities. At Le Luxembourg you'll find that little slice of paradise you've been waiting for. Don't delay, book your getaway package today!

  "Whoa..."

  "I know! Who could have imagined that two wards of the State would stay at a four-star hotel in downtown Toronto? Did I choose good or what?"

  Ron grinned, flashing the dimples Sarah had always admired.

  "You chose good, Sair."

  "Thanks, little brother."

  "Hey," said Ron, suddenly. "How come we can't stay with your dad?"

  "For the simple reason that I don't know where he lives and that it wouldn't do to just show up on his door step like two little street urchins with nowhere to go."

  Sarah set down her newspaper and looked out the window. "He left my mom when I was still inside her...when she needed him most. If I'm going to be seeing him for the first time...I have to at least appear to be independent...and grown up."

  "And you can do that by staying at a fancy hotel?"

  "Of course. Why not? We'll invite him to the hotel for supper after we stop in at his office...it'll be our treat. He'll be impressed and we'll show him that we can handle ourselves...well that I can at least...and maybe he won't mind so much when we ask to live with him."

  Ron threw her a skeptical look.

  "But..."

  "But what?"

  "It's just...you're his daughter and he's your dad...and so he should love you no matter what."

  Ron's comment exasperated her.

  "I know. That's obvious. But it doesn't work like that. Look...he already abandoned me once...if I'm to have a shot at winning him over...I have to show him that I'm all grown up...he doesn't want to babysit us."

  "But isn't that what parents are supposed to do?" asked Ron, a quizzical expression on his face.

  "Argh. You're clearly not understanding so I'm going to stop talking."

  They rode the rest of the way in silence, Ron playing his video game and Sarah pretending to do the Sudoku puzzle in her newspaper.

  Maybe Ron's right, she thought. Isn't a parent supposed to love their son or daughter...no matter what? Isn't a parent supposed to be a so-called babysitter...at least until their children reach adulthood?

  Why was she defending her dad when he had walked out on them all those years ago? More importantly, why didn't she have the option to go and live with him when her mom passed away? Had he not wanted her?

  She studied Ron as he tapped furiously on the buttons of his game console. Ron didn't have a mom or a dad. His mom had left him crying in a church pew when he was just a baby...or so the story went, and according to him, he never did learn who his father was.

  At least her mom had been a parent to her.

  Ron had no one.

  A wave of guilt flooded over her.

  "Hey, Ron?"

  "Yeah?" he answered, without looking up from his game.

  "How about we grab some pizza for lunch?"

  He shrugged his shoulders and continued playing.

  "Sure."

  "We'll get a an extra-large pizza - with one half covered in anchovies for you and the other half covered in olives for me."

  "Sounds good."

  "After that we'll order up a big batch of ice cream. And they'll bring it right to our room. Sound good?"

  "Yeah," he answered mechanically, his eyes still fixed on his game console.

  She sighed.

  He'll perk up eventually.

  Sarah turned back to her Sudoku puzzle as the intercom issued the two minute warning for their arrival at Union Station. It was tough and she was growing increasingly frustrated at having to scratch out all the numbers she entered.

  She liked math and numbers - something she assumed she had gotten from her dad seeing that he was an accountant and all.

  But she had difficulty concentrating in school and last semester she had failed math. Her teachers said she didn't apply herself.

  How could she when she was missing school three times a week to make deliveries for Hank?

  Besides, school isn't the only way to become successful. Didn't Brittany Shears only go up to ninth grade?

  "Union Station," announced the intercom.

  The excitement Sarah had felt earlier that morning returned as she felt the train stop and saw hundreds of passengers begin to disembark.

  She grabbed both their bags and pushed her way into the aisle.

  "Hurry, Ron! Put your video game away and let's go! We have a date with the Le Luxembourg!"

  - 5 -

  LUXURY LOST

  Ron and Sarah gazed up at Le Luxembourg as the taxi pulled slowly into its magnificent porte-cochère, neither one believing that this was actually where they were going to be spending the next few days.

  Rising to a respectable height, the hotel's granite brick exterior was complemented by a sleek, metal-framed front entrance. Gurgling fountains and a variety of green shrubs ran along its perimeter.

  "Look at that balcony!" Sarah squealed when she spotted the massive, half-moon shaped balcony jutting out from the third storey.

  She imagined herself standing on it with a glass of champagne while watching the hustle and bustle on the street below.

  A bell hop in a burgundy uniform snapped to attention as they came to a stop alongside the steps that spilled out from the main doors.

  He made his way quickly towards them and opened the passenger door of the cab.

  Seeing Sarah, his face registered a look of surprise.

  "Is there something the matter?" she asked, half fearful, half annoyed that her youthful appearance might have been what surprised him.

  The bell hop shook his head and swallowed.

  This girl could be someone famous.

  "I suppose I was expecting someone older."

  Sarah lifted her chin. "Well I'm older than I look."

  "Not a problem, Mademoiselle. May I take your bags?"

  "Yes, please."

  Sarah paid the taxi driver and her and Ron followed the bell hop into the hotel. Upon entering the lobby, their eyes widened.

  In the centre of the lobby, an enormous, spiral chandelier extended all the way from the floor to the ceiling - six stories above. It was framed by a narrow, square moat.

  As they neared the front desk Sarah fluffed her hair and ensured that she walked as tall and upright as possible - these two rituals she often performed when preparing to use her fake ID. (Hank had ordered her, from a Redcoats forgery expert, a fake Ontario driver's license and health card so that she would have access to the bars, night clubs and other adult venues where she most often delivered counterfeit money.) When using her fake ID, she had to make sure she looked old enough to be nineteen - the age of majority in Ontario.

  A middle-aged woman with coffee-brown
hair and dressed in a crisp, black uniform, greeted her with a tight smile.

  "Welcome to Le Luxembourg, how may I help you?"

  "Hi...er...yes, I'd like to get a room for myself and my kid brother."

  "One room or two rooms?" asked the woman as she punched a few keys on the keyboard of her computer.

  "One room. Two beds."

  The woman nodded. "Alright."

  Sarah watched nervously as "Harriet" (the name given on her name tag) pounded away on the keyboard.

  Ron, standing beside her with the bags, still hadn't removed his eyes from the glittering, spiral chandelier behind them.

  "Okay," began Harriet, clicking her manicured fingernails noisily on the desk, "we are fairly full at the moment...but we do have a few rooms available...on the first floor we - " she stopped mid-sentence and looked squarely at Sarah.

  Her penetrating gaze moved methodically over her face and Sarah quickly did her best to make her face look old by narrowing her eye brows and pursing her lips. The woman seemed to do a double take and Sarah felt relieved when she continued speaking," ... as I was saying, on the first floor we only have one remaining vacancy and that is our Chamberlain suite."

  Sarah nodded and stared squarely at Harriet.

  "The Chamberlain suite is one of our signature suites which means that it comes fully furnished and equipped for extended stays - how long we're you planning on staying?"

  "Just a few days," answered Sarah in as dignified a tone as she could muster. "Three or four days to be more precise...I have a couple of interviews to go to and I'd like to get in a little shopping. Ottawa just doesn't compare," she added, waving her hand and giving her hair a puff.

  Harriet gave a curt nod. "I see...well then you probably don't need a signature suite...let me check...for something..." she said slowly, glancing at her computer monitor, "we do have...oh no...nope that won't work...let me see..."

  To her right, Sarah noticed the bell hop waiting impatiently and made a mental note to tip him generously. She planned on taking full advantage of room service - never having had the opportunity to stay in a fancy hotel before - and she wanted to make sure that they stayed in the bell hop's good books over the next few days.

  The sound of typing ceased abruptly and Sarah returned her attention to Harriet.

  "Now, this is perfect," said Harriet, rotating the computer monitor so that Sarah could see the screen.

  "This is our Luxor suite. It has double twin-beds, a Jacuzzi tub, fully-loaded entertainment system, mini-bar - the works. Unfortunately, as you know," she said with a sympathetic smile, "it's Thanksgiving this coming weekend and we are fully booked so the Luxor suite is only available until the Saturday - that's the ninth of October. Will that be sufficient?"

  Sarah counted the days quickly in her head.

  Today is Wednesday...

  That would give them three nights and four days to track down her dad and convince him to take them in. Moreover, at two hundred and some dollars a night, the money she had would last them just that long.

  "WE'LL TAKE IT!" she exclaimed, a little more loudly that she had intended.

  Two elderly women admiring the chandelier, with purses on their arms and canes in their hands, shot them reproving stares.

  "We'll take it!" she repeated, lowering her voice to a near whisper.

  Harriet smiled. "Excellent."

  The woman typed something into the computer and looked up again.

  "So I just need your name and two pieces of identification please."

  "Certainly," said Sarah, coughing politely and snapping her fingers at the bell boy. "Our bags please, Sir."

  The bell boy nodded and brought them their bags.

  "We'll take these from here thanks."

  "Of course, Mademoiselle."

  "Henry," said Harriet, seeing an opportunity to assign the bell boy a task, "go and see if Mrs. Winthrop still needs that extra pillow."

  "Of course," replied the bell boy, and he plodded off towards the elevator.

  "The name's Jessica Myers," said Sarah, as she dug through her bag and found her wallet.

  Harriet smiled. "It's a pleasure to have you stay with us, Miss Myers."

  "The pleasure is mine."

  Sarah removed her fake Ontario driver's license and health card - with her picture on it - but in the name of Jessica Myers and with a birth date of 05/30/1992 - which made her nineteen years and four months old.

  Harriet slid the cards across the desk towards her and set them in front of her keyboard so that she could record the necessary information.

  "This will only take a minute," she said sweetly.

  Sarah nodded. "Sure."

  While she waited, Sarah joined Ron in taking in the rest of their surroundings.

  In addition to the towering, spiral chandelier, there was a comfortable-looking lounge complete with leather recliners, glass end tables and miniature palm trees. Ron was particularly attracted to the sixty inch flat-screen T.V. mounted on the wall.

  At the other end of the lobby, Sarah watched a barista bringing an order to a couple seated in front of what appeared to be a small cafe-bar complete with four table and chair sets and a red-and-white striped Parisian awning.

  "Miss Myers?"

  Sarah spun around, realizing that it was to her that Harriet was speaking; even after six months, she still wasn't fully used to her alter ego.

  "Yes."

  "All finished with these," said Harriet, handing back the fake ID cards.

  Sarah took them and returned them to her wallet. "Thanks."

  "Now, the next order of business is - why good afternoon Mr. Thorrington," she said to a man as he came around the desk.

  "Good afternoon, Harriet," he replied in a noticeable English accent.

  He wore a three-piece suit and an expensive-looking watch.

  "Everything in order this morning then?"

  "Yes indeed, Mr. Thorrington."

  "That's what I like to hear," he said, flashing Sarah a smile. "Please, don't let me interrupt."

  "Sorry, about that," Harriet said to Sarah as Mr. Thorrington walked to the opposite side of the long desk and began examining some paper work.

  "He's our manager. A fine fellow if I may say. He's giving a lecture this evening in the dining room - do feel free to join us if you like. He's a very important man," she added in a low voice. "Lots of press coming tonight...black tie event...dress in your finest if you plan to attend. It begins at seven. Minors," she said glancing at Ron with a polite smile, "are not welcome of course as it is a licensed event."

  "Right."

  "Anyways, where were we? Oh yes...the payment. Here at Le Luxembourg we do ask that guests pay half up front, before they begin their stay. We've had troubles in recent months with certain guests...and we like to ensure we are covered."

  Sarah nodded. "I understand."

  "If you would like, we do accept payment in full at this time as well. So that's up to you."

  "I guess I'll pay now...for everything," said Sarah slowly, removing the remainder of her money from the side pouch on her bag.

  "Excellent. Your total then...for three nights...with tax...oh - and a fifteen percent discount as we do have a promotion going on...comes to..."

  Sarah waited nervously as Harriet calculated the final amount.

  "...six-hundred and four dollars and twenty-eight cents."

  Ron gaped aloud at the number and Sarah clamped a hand onto his head to quiet him.

  "I can do that," said Sarah, counting out six hundred and ten dollars from the wad of tens and twenties in her hand.

  Harriet looked somewhat surprised when she laid the money on the counter.

  "What's the problem?"

  Harriet shook her head. "No Miss, there's no problem...it's just...we usually deal in plastic," she said, smiling politely.

  "Oh...I'm sorry."

  Sarah patted herself down.

  "I don't have my credit card on me at the moment."


  Harriet's expression was surprisingly sympathetic. "That's fine. I'll just double-check with Mr. Thorrington to see that we can accept such a large sum of cash. It will only take a moment. Feel free to browse through our magazine collection or watch some TV in our hospitality area."

  Sarah nodded. "Alright. Thanks. Just give me a holler when you're done."

  Harriet looked caught off guard (and displeased) by her vernacular language.

  "Of course."

  "Was I good or what?" Sarah whispered excitedly to Ron once they were out of earshot of the desk.

  "Yeah, but you just spent all our money!"

  "I didn't spend all our money."

  She held up the remaining bills in her hand. "See? We still have at least two hundred left."

  She did some quick mental math.

  The two cab rides cost...

  "Well, just don't go spending it all crazy like Gloria, Sair."

  "I won't," said Sarah stiffly.

  She glanced over at the desk. Harriet and Mr. Thorrington looked deep in conversation.

  "I still can't believe we're staying here...it's like a king's palace," said Ron, plopping himself down onto one of the leather recliners.

  "I know eh? Isn't it great?"

  Sarah looked away from the desk. She was starting to get a little nervous.

  What was taking so long?

  "I could have bought a lot of video games with that money," ron mused, as he tested the lever on the recliner.

  Sarah gave her foster brother a playful swat. "Oh Ron. You and your video games. That's why I'm responsible for our finances and not you. And after what Hank and Gloria have put us through for the past six months, I say we pamper ourselves in a fancy hotel. Don't you agree?"

  "I guess."

  Ron pulled the lever all the way back and the chair popped open, leaving him looking up at the ceiling.

  "Ahhh...this is the life."

  "Now you're getting into it," said Sarah, stepping over to the magazine rack.

  She stole another nervous glance at the desk. Mr. Thorrington was looking in their direction.

  Relax, I'm sure it's alright.

  Unless the money she'd taken from Hank had been counterfeit.

  But Hank only kept real money in the safe.

  Panicking, she fumbled with the zipper on her bag and withdrew the remaining money.

  Looks alright...

  But then, Hank's counterfeit money always looked alright. That's why the Redcoats loved him so much.

  She held a twenty up to the light.

  No watermarks! It was fake!

  "Ron."

  "Don't bug me, Sair. Can't you see I'm in heaven."

  His arms were folded behind his head and he was tapping his good foot to the soft music playing in the background.

  "Ron!"

  "What!?"

  His face was angry now.

  "We have to go," Sarah said through clenched teeth, glancing warily at the desk.

  Harriet was nodding as though she and Mr. Thorrington had made a decision about something.

  Sarah watched in horror as she picked up her phone and dialed.

  Who's she calling?

  "Ron. We have to go. Now."

  "No! We just - "

  Ron! There's no time. Take your bag and let's go."

  She thrust the bag at him.

  "We have to go. Now."

  The boy's face was fearful now.

  "Why? What's the matter?"

  "I can't explain right now. Just take your bag. We have to get out of here."

  She looked back at the desk. Mr. Thorrington had just stepped through the swingy gate. He was headed in their direction.

  "Sair, that man is watching us," said Ron anxiously as he took the handle of his bag.

  "I know. Let's move."

  Sarah swallowed to clear the knot from her throat.

  How could this be happening!? The plans she'd laid had been so good...so well thought out.

  "EXCUSE ME," she heard Mr. Thorrington call out loudly when they were just feet from the front entrance.

  Sarah turned to face him.

  "EXCUSE ME. I'D LIKE A WORD WITH YOU TWO."

  Uh oh.

  "Ron, we have to go! Out the door now!"

  Sarah grabbed her foster brother and pushed him through the front doors. There were two sets of doors and before the first one had closed behind them they heard Mr. Thorrington shout: "HEY! STOP RIGHT THERE!"

  They flung open the second set of doors and spilled out onto the front steps. Sarah lifted Ron down the steps to spare his ankle and then they sprinted (with Ron still limping) under the porte- cochère and to the sidewalk. Up ahead, a bus was picking up passengers. This was their chance!

  "Ron! The bus!"

  "Okay!"

  Sarah glanced over her shoulder.

  Mr. Thorrington has just made it through the hotel doors. Henry, the bell boy, followed close behind.

  Seeing them, Mr. Thorrington shouted:

  "HEY! I NEED TO TALK TO YOU! STOP RIGHT THERE OR I'M CALLING THE POLICE!"

  "Hurry, Ron!"

  There were now just a few slabs of pavement between them and the street. The bus sat idling on the other side.

  Would they make it?

  They reached the edge of the sidewalk. The light for the intersection had just turned yellow and the hand had stopped flashing.

  But they had to cross.

  Now.

  "Put your arm around my neck," Sarah ordered, seizing Ron's bag. "Hurry! We've got like two seconds!"

  Ron threw his arm around Sarah's neck and they speed-walked through the cross walk as the light for the other direction turned green and a dozen impatient drivers began to honk at them.

  "Sorry," said Sarah, her ears burning.

  By the time they reached the other side, cars were already racing through the intersection. Sarah looked back and saw Henry and Mr. Thorrington standing on the curb, glaring at them. Mr. Thorrington was shaking his fist.

  "I'M CALLING THE POLICE!"

  Sarah ignored him and pushed Ron towards the bus.

  "Thank - you!" she stammered breathlessly to the bearded driver as they climbed aboard.

  "No worries," the man replied with a friendly smile. "You kids looked like you we're in a hurry. I figured I would do my good deed for the day and wait for yas."

  "Thank you."

  Sarah flashed their transit passes and lugged their bags onto the bus. Ron found them a free seat near the window and they flopped down, tired and shaken. Sarah looked out the window and saw Henry and Mr. Thorrington walking briskly back towards the hotel.

  "That - was - a - close - one," Ron panted.

  He was massaging his ankle with one hand and held his head in the other.

  "Tell me about it. Are you alright?".

  "Yeah," he said, wincing as Sarah put a hand to his ankle.

  "I'm sorry Ron...all this running...that was totally my fault. I can't believe I was so stupid. I should have checked the money. I just assumed it wasn't counterfeit," she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. "I'm a bad big sister."

  Ron shook his head. "Don't ever say that. You're a great big sister...you take good care of me."

  "Yeah? Well I sure don't feel like a good big sister," she said darkly, glancing out the window as the buildings flew past.

  She was angry with herself. She had mistakenly taken counterfeit money from Hank's safe.

  She knew how to tell the difference between the real and the fake stuff - and yet - she screwed up. And If she hadn't screwed up, they'd be lying on comfy queen-size beds this very minute, watching TV and gorging on ice cream.

  Sarah looked at her foster brother. His breathing was slowly returning to normal and he was getting ready to play his video game.

  Kids.

  His wavy, blonde hair nearly covered his eyes - the Smolinski's had only taken him for one haircut in the five and a half months that they'd lived there and it was begi
nning to mat as hair tends to do when left untended for so long.

  Silently, she cursed the Smolinski's and vowed to take good care of Ron. As long as she was responsible for him, he'd be happy and healthy.

  At that moment Ron lifted his arm to scratch behind his head and Sarah caught a whiff of strong body odour.

  And the first thing I'm going to do is find him somewhere to take a bath.

  - 6 -

  A PRESENT FOR RON

  The bus took Ron and Sarah downtown and to the CN Tower, its last stop. They got off and after thanking the driver, pulled their bags to the sidewalk.

  "Now what?" asked Ron, as the siblings wound their way through the flood of pedestrians on Front Street.

  "I don't know," replied Sarah gloomily. "We've got about two hundred dollars...no food - except for a measly box of crackers...and we don't have anywhere to sleep tonight."

  Ron plopped himself down on a bench and Sarah followed. From their new vantage point, they surveyed the bustling street scene.

  Cars blaring their horns. Men and women in business suits. Bike couriers weaving in and out of traffic. And throngs of tourists.

  A few feet away a hot dog vendor was grilling up a fresh batch of sausages. The aroma wafted towards them, making Ron's stomach growl.

  "Sair."

  "What?" she answered impatiently.

  "Can we get a hot dog?"

  Sarah glanced at the hot dog stand and realized that neither of them had eaten since Mrs. Whittaker's the night before. A sign read "Jumbo Hot Dog + Soda = $3.50".

  Her stomach growled and she removed the remaining money from the pouch on her backpack.

  "Ten...thirty...fifty...seventy...eighty...one hundred...one twenty...one forty...one sixty...one eighty...one eighty five...and three quarters makes one hundred eighty five dollars and seventy-five cents. That's what we've got. That's not a lot."

  Ron groaned. "Well what are we going to eat?"

  They had to eat something.

  "Okay," she sighed. "Why not eh? I think we deserve it. You especially - for being such a trooper."

  Ron's face lit up. "Hotdogs!"

  "Yeah."

  Ten minutes later, hot dogs in hand, they sat down on the bench again, munching happily.

  "That sure was scary when those guys from the hotel were chasing us," said Ron, wiping mustard from his mouth.

  Sarah sipped her soda, nodding.

  "I know. But we managed didn't we?"

  "Yeah...but my ankle really hurts now."

  Ron shoved the rest of the hot dog into his mouth and licked his fingers.

  "Yeah...I do have to figure something out for that. Maybe we'll have to take you to a walk-in clinic or something."

  "What will they do for me?"

  "Tell you to go home and get lots of rest."

  Ron and Sarah both laughed when they realized the absurdity of her remark - they had no home!

  The siblings finished their meal in silence, neither one wanting to upset this rare moment of tranquility.

  For the first time since yesterday, they weren't running from someone - or in the case of Bowser, something.

  A hoard of Asian-looking tourists stopped in front of them to take pictures of the Tower and their excitement reminded Sarah of the time her mom had taken her to visit the Tower.

  It had been a warm summer day - sometime in July maybe - she couldn't remember exactly as she'd only been five or six.

  What she did remember - and would always remember - was the lavender perfume her mom had bought that day from one of the sidewalk vendors.

  She would continue to buy that same perfume until the day she died.

  Sweet, soothing lavender.

  Sarah closed her eyes. She missed that fragrance. She missed her mom.

  She opened her eyes after a minute and watched as the tourists took turns posing in each others' pictures. Their happy, carefree attitude annoyed her.

  Why couldn't she be happy and carefree? Why was she homeless and parentless? Every other girl her age got to go shopping and go to the movies. Their mothers helped them buy their first bras, gave them advice about boys, and consoled them when their friends betrayed them.

  Her mother was in the ground - gone forever - hardly given a chance to fight the cancer that had taken her at such a young age.

  Sarah blinked as her eyes welled up with tears, willing herself not to cry.

  She had to be strong. If not for herself, then for Ron. She glanced at her foster brother. He was engrossed in his video game once again.

  "Ready to go rooster?"

  Rooster was the name the kids at the group home used to tease him with. But once they'd left the group home to go and live with the Smolinski's, she'd taken it and now used it as his pet name.

  Ron paused his game and set the console on his lap.

  "Where are we going?"

  Where were they going?

  "I'm not sure yet - but we'll figure it out. We need a place to sleep tonight."

  Ron groaned.

  "What?"

  "I'm too tired to walk...and my ankle really hurts."

  "I'll help you."

  Ron folded his arms across his chest.

  "I don't want to go anywhere. I'm tired of walking. Can't we just stay here for awhile?"

  "We have to find a place to sleep tonight, Ron! What? Are we just supposed to sleep on this bench?"

  Ron seemed to seriously consider this.

  "Ahhh, Ron. You don't understand. We have to find somewhere clean and safe to spend the night."

  "Well, then you go. I'll wait here. You go and us a place and then come and pick me up when you're done."

  Sarah was about to argue and tell him why that was the worst idea in the world, but she stopped herself.

  Maybe that isn't such a bad idea.

  She looked around, trying to decide what her next move should be. A man in an electric scooter rode slowly past them and an idea came to her. Rising to her feet, she threw their hot dog napkins in the garbage and picked her bag up from the bench.

  "Alright. Give me half an hour."

  Ron looked at her. "Okay."

  "I'll be back as soon as I can. Promise. If I'm not back in half an hour, it's because I found what I was looking for and it's just taking a little extra time. But I'll be back soon. Okay?"

  Ron looked unsure, but consented. "Alright."

  "And don't talk to any strangers - go up to the hot dog guy if anyone bothers you. Okay?"

  Ron nodded.

  "Alright. I'll be back soon."

  Hoisting her bag over her shoulder, Sarah waved at him then headed East along Front Street.

  It felt strange walking past Union Station when just an hour earlier they'd taken a cab from there to Le Luxembourg.

  She still couldn't believe she'd mistaken Hank's counterfeit money for real money - and worse - that she'd tried to pay the hotel bill with it.

  Not that paying cab drivers and buying hot dogs with it is any better...

  Mr. Thorrington had probably called the police and by now not only were they on the run from Child Services, but from the law as well.

  Continuing East along Front Street, Sarah soon found herself in front of the Hockey Hall of Fame.

  A cluster of high school kids - on what she guessed was a class trip - lounged on the front steps, eating their lunches and conversing loudly.

  Feeling that same twinge of jealousy she had felt watching the tourists in front of the CN Tower, Sarah lowered her head and walked quickly past.

  I could have been one of them.

  Sarah turned onto Yonge Street and followed it the two blocks to King Street. Turning East onto King Street, she walked briskly and after ten minutes found herself in a busy commercial district. Confident that she would be able to find the type of store she was looking for, Sarah scanned the long row of businesses. Her eyes came to rest on an orange-painted building advertising "Used Goods".

  That's perfect.
>
  She crossed the street, taking care to avoid the street car, and made her way towards it. Judging by the wide variety of items displayed in the front window, she was sure she would find what she needed. A gold letter sign on the door read "Truscott's" and a strand of bells tinkled when she pushed it open.

  "Good morning," said the old man sitting behind the counter. "Or," he added, examining his watch, "I suppose I should say good afternoon since it's noon already. My how the day flies."

  He smiled warmly and Sarah liked the tenderness she saw in his blue eyes.

  "Can I help you find something today...or are you just looking?"

  Sarah approached the counter. "Well actually...I'm looking for a wheelchair."

  "A wheelchair, eh?"

  "Yeah... it's for my Aunt Debbie," Sarah lied. "She just got out of hospital. Hip surgery. We're having her over for Thanksgiving and I thought I would surprise her."

  "Well, that's very thoughtful of you. You know, I keep telling people that you young people aren't so bad. You've still got manners."

  Sarah smiled, though she felt guilty for lying. But she couldn't leave a trail and saying that she was buying a wheelchair for her little brother would lead Child Services right to them.

  She stepped back as the white-haired man with the kind blue eyes came around the counter.

  "Follow me and we'll have a look in our sporting goods section. I think I saw one the other day while doing some organizing."

  "Sure."

  "My name's Cliff by the way," he said, turning to face her. "Cliff Truscott."

  "My name's Sarah."

  "Nice to meet you, Sarah. Yeah, my wife and I have owned this store for thirty-two years."

  "Wow."

  He chuckled at Sarah's expression.

  "That's quite awhile, eh?"

  "An eternity."

  Cliff emitted a sharp laugh. "Ha! Just wait until you get to be my age. Thirty-two years is a flash in the pan."

  Sarah followed the old man as he led her towards the back of the store. They passed a woman who was thoroughly scrutinizing a rattan chair, tilting it from side to side and pressing her stubby fingers against the wicker backing.

  "We carry quite a selection of used goods here as you've probably noticed," Cliff explained as they walked past.

  "Yeah, it looks like you've got everything."

  "It's incredible what people give away. Really. In thirty-two years I've seen just about everything - and some of it is very valuable. Old record albums worth hundreds of dollars. China sets from Imperial Japan worth thousands. Old sewing machines...you name it, we've either got it or we've had it."

  "Cool."

  "It is cool, isn't it? And I'm very happy that Betty and I decided to get into the business when we did. These days with the big box goodwill stores, it's so difficult to compete. We have a very faithful following though, and our customers keep coming back. Is this your first time here?"

  Sarah nodded. "Yeah."

  Cliff threw her a warm smile.

  "Well, I'm glad you came in. Like I said, we've had a bit of everything here at this store and there's something for everyone. I just hope I have a wheelchair so I don't disappoint you. Did you have a particular brand or model in mind...or just any old wheelchair will do?"

  "Any old wheelchair will do."

  "Well...that will certainly make my job a little easier...anyways, here we are," he said, stopping suddenly and clicking his tongue as he studied the shelves and display racks in front of them.

  The sign hanging above them read "Sporting Goods" and Sarah was amazed by the jumbled assortment of golf bags, treadmills and exercise balls piled all around.

  "Let's see what we have..."

  The old man began rummaging, peering behind shelves and pulling yoga mats out of the way.

  "Ah ha!" he exclaimed after a minute.

  His blue eyes danced with excitement and Sarah looked to where he was pointing.

  "Right there," he said, stepping around her. "I knew I'd seen one the other day."

  She watched as he bent almost to the floor and, reaching behind an elliptical machine, pulled out a wheelchair with one muscled arm.

  Judging by the leather backing and shiny, chrome frame, Sarah guessed the contraption was at least thirty years old.

  As long as it works...

  Cliff unfolded it and placed it on the floor in front of her.

  "Take it for a spin why don't ya?"

  Sarah was taken aback by his offer. It was quite unusual for an old man - and a store owner to boot - to ask a teenager if they wanted to "take a spin" around the store in a wheelchair. "Really?"

  "Of course. You want to make sure it works properly before you buy it, don't you?"

  "Yes...I suppose," Sarah answered.

  "Well, then?"

  "Sure...why not," said Sarah slowly, still somewhat unsure.

  She took a seat in the wheelchair. She felt shy because she'd never ridden one, and although she was excited to try, she hoped she wouldn't make an idiot of herself. She glanced around the store.

  At least there aren't any cute guys around to embarass myself in front of...

  She gripped the wheels and pushed them in a downwards motion as hard as she could, propelling the wheelchair forwards. It's response was instant and it rocketed forward, gliding smoothly across the tile floor.

  Unsure of how to brake, Sarah had to use her feet to avoid crashing into a shelf full of baseball equipment.

  Behind her, she heard Cliff chuckle.

  Sarah spun around in the chair and looked at him through narrowed eyes - though she was smiling.

  "I dare you to try it!"

  "Oh, I couldn't fathom the idea young lady! I'm far too old for that - mind you I may not have much choice in a few more years."

  Sarah spun the wheelchair up and down the aisle for a few minutes longer and then pushed it back to where Cliff stood waiting.

  "I'll take it."

  "Excellent."

  "How much?"

  "Hmm...well, given that it is rather old...and considering that you are buying it for your aunt who is in need of one...let me say ten dollars. Sound fair?"

  Sarah's stomach did a somersault. He was giving her a discount because of the story she'd made up about her fake Aunt Debbie.

  "Um...alright...thanks."

  "Don't mention it. I'm glad to help. I do have to get back up to the front now though in case any customers are waiting on me. Was the wheelchair all you needed for today?"

  "Yeah."

  "Great, let me take this up front for you then."

  "Thanks."

  Sarah followed Cliff as he pushed the wheelchair up the main aisle towards the front of the store. She felt terrible that she'd lied to such a warm-hearted man.

  When they reached the counter, Sarah saw the woman they'd passed earlier. Beside her, resting against the counter, was the rattan chair. Sarah could tell by her expression that she was impatient to get going.

  "I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Ma'am," said Cliff as he set the wheelchair beside the counter and made his way around to the register. "Noon hour is always a busy time here."

  "Yes, it is a busy time," she said, frowning and snapping her purse open. "How much do I owe you?"

  Sarah watched as Cliff inspected the rattan chair.

  "I believe Betty suggested five dollars as a price for this...so let's say five dollars. Sound fair?"

  The woman said nothing, instead thrusting a fiver at him.

  Sarah could see that he was surprised by her rude behaviour.

  Taking the money from her, he smiled.

  "Thanks. And just so you know, ten percent of our net proceeds today are going to Anthony's Mission."

  The woman stared at him as though he were the thing she'd scraped off her shoe that morning, shouldered her purse and left the store with the chair tucked under her arm.

  "Oy," said Cliff, once she'd gone. "Some people eh?"

  Sarah still couldn't be
lieve the scene she'd just witnessed had been real.

  "I've never seen someone be so rude to an old - I mean, to an elderly person before."

  Cliff shrugged, his blue eyes twinkling.

  "What can ya do, eh? If anything you have to feel sorry for people like that. Sun's shining. She's the picture of health. And yet she's in that foul of a mood. Seems like it would take winning the lottery to make her happy."

  Sarah pondered this notion while Cliff rang up her purchase.

  "So, just the wheelchair then?"

  His question pulled her back to the present.

  "Um...yeah," she said, smiling, as she shook the cobwebs from her head.

  "That will be ten dollars even."

  Sarah passed him a twenty and he handed her back a ten.

  "Thank you so much, Sarah. And, as I was telling the woman who just left, ten percent of our net proceeds today are going to Anthony's Mission."

  "What's Anthony's Mission?"

  Cliff wagged a finger. "I'm glad you asked. It's a home for people who don't have one. They provide meals and lodging to families in need. A great cause. Betty and I have been raising money for their Thanksgiving dinner for years now. Gee, I can't even think of how long it's been...at least twenty now because Greg was born in..." he trailed off.

  "I'd like to make a donation."

  Cliff looked surprised. "A donation? Really?"

  "Yes," she said, feeling that in making a donation to Anthony's she could redeem herself for having made up the story about her fake Aunt Debbie and repay Cliff's kindness.

  "Why, that's very thoughtful of you. How much would you like to give?"

  "Ten dollars," answered Sarah, returning the ten dollar bill Cliff had given her as change.

  "Goodness, such generosity at such a young age. Your parents must be proud."

  "Uh...yeah."

  "Here," he said, reaching for something below the cash register. Take this leaflet. It explains a little more about what Anthony's does."

  "Oh...thanks," said Sarah, taking the piece of paper and reading it:

  Anthony's Mission

  ANTHONY'S MISSION IS A NON-PROFIT ORGANIZATION THAT HAS BEEN HELPING TORONTONIANS SINCE 1981. WE OFFER A TEMPORARY HOME TO MEN AND WOMEN FACING DIFFICULT CHALLENGES. OUR RESIDENTS INCLUDE NEWCOMERS TO CANADA, WOMEN AND THEIR CHILDREN FLEEING SITUATIONS OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, AND AT-RISK, YOUNG ADULTS LIVING ON THE STREETS.

  FOOD AND LODGING IS PROVIDED DAILY AND RESIDENTS ARE GIVEN THE OPPORTUNITY TO BETTER THEMSELVES BY