his failure-to-breathe mode. Other times he can’t even remember what they look like.
Jack has no choice of roads. He has to leave the day care by the same route he came in. He checks traffic. No BMW. No Lincoln. He crosses the Post Road, turns down a side street that won’t take Cheryl to the day care, so it’s probably safe, and now he is approaching the railroad station.
They are on the Boston to New York track, but no through trains stop here. This is a local commuter station. The city of New Haven is its only destination; people continuing to New York have to change trains. But even if Jack and Tris could hop on a train and get out of here, then what? You have to have supper wherever you’re going. You have to sleep somewhere. Take a shower in the morning. Have breakfast. Jack literally doesn’t have a dime, but even if he had a thousand dollars, how could he run with a three-year-old?
Jack’s only reliable rescuer is Diana. But this isn’t babysitting for an hour. This is Tris’s life—weeks and months and years in which Jack has to protect his little brother, because that’s what he promised.
“You be the best big brother there is, okay?” said his mother. She was too weak to sit up, but she was smiling because the baby was healthy. “He’s going to have a good life,” she told Jack. “Now you help Daddy. He’s going to need you and this is hard for him.”
“I’ll help Daddy,” he promised. He was twelve. He didn’t know how bad it was going to get. But neither did Mom.
How is Jack to give Tris this good life Mom had in mind? Being featured as a monster and a parent killer on national TV is not going to launch Tris on a good life. One good thing, Jack realizes: Cheryl won’t stick Tris in foster care when she’s portraying herself as the Good Aunt, the Only Hope, the woman these children are So Lucky to have.
And now Jack has to call the girls, which he hates doing. He gets caught somewhere between desperation and anger, between love and hate, and can think of nothing acceptable to say. But he has to tell them about the docudrama plan and make sure they don’t cooperate. Smithy can hide out pretty well up there in Massachusetts. But Madison … Is Cheryl telling the truth? Are the Emmers trying to get rid of her? Jack wants her home on any terms. Yet if Madison is forced to come home, what will that be like?
Jack reconsiders flight.
If he takes off with Tris, Aunt Cheryl will call the police. She’ll love calling the police. Any attention is good attention. Jack running away would just add more scope. And bringing in the police could help Cheryl. Aside from creating a nice scene in a docudrama, if Jack runs away from home with a three-year-old and no money in cold weather on a bike, Cheryl can probably put
Jack
in foster care.
So there’s nowhere to run.
But if he takes Tris home, they walk into the arms of the producer.
Tris is chattering about nothing, strings of marvelous words and miscellaneous thoughts. He reaches up under Jack’s jacket and latches his fingers on to the belt loops of Jack’s jeans.
Jack’s emotions suck the strength out of him. He’s barely pedaling. The bike is coming to a stop.
* * *
The rear of the TV van in Madison’s driveway opens up and people climb out, as if they’re appliance deliverymen. Madison is running as fast as she can. She circles the van and almost smashes into a little blue car. Leaping up the steps, she rips open the front door, and plows to a halt.
Cheryl is standing right there, badly startled by Madison’s sudden entrance, which is reasonable, because Madison hasn’t walked through this door since Labor Day.
Beside her is a middle-aged man.
Cheryl is well dressed, as if she’s off to a bridge game and luncheon at a fine restaurant. She’s a heavy woman who carries her weight well. Her hair is dyed ash-blond and around her throat a scarf is pinned at a jaunty angle. She’s just had a manicure in her favorite
Jack has no choice of roads. He has to leave the day care by the same route he came in. He checks traffic. No BMW. No Lincoln. He crosses the Post Road, turns down a side street that won’t take Cheryl to the day care, so it’s probably safe, and now he is approaching the railroad station.
They are on the Boston to New York track, but no through trains stop here. This is a local commuter station. The city of New Haven is its only destination; people continuing to New York have to change trains. But even if Jack and Tris could hop on a train and get out of here, then what? You have to have supper wherever you’re going. You have to sleep somewhere. Take a shower in the morning. Have breakfast. Jack literally doesn’t have a dime, but even if he had a thousand dollars, how could he run with a three-year-old?
Jack’s only reliable rescuer is Diana. But this isn’t babysitting for an hour. This is Tris’s life—weeks and months and years in which Jack has to protect his little brother, because that’s what he promised.
“You be the best big brother there is, okay?” said his mother. She was too weak to sit up, but she was smiling because the baby was healthy. “He’s going to have a good life,” she told Jack. “Now you help Daddy. He’s going to need you and this is hard for him.”
“I’ll help Daddy,” he promised. He was twelve. He didn’t know how bad it was going to get. But neither did Mom.
How is Jack to give Tris this good life Mom had in mind? Being featured as a monster and a parent killer on national TV is not going to launch Tris on a good life. One good thing, Jack realizes: Cheryl won’t stick Tris in foster care when she’s portraying herself as the Good Aunt, the Only Hope, the woman these children are So Lucky to have.
And now Jack has to call the girls, which he hates doing. He gets caught somewhere between desperation and anger, between love and hate, and can think of nothing acceptable to say. But he has to tell them about the docudrama plan and make sure they don’t cooperate. Smithy can hide out pretty well up there in Massachusetts. But Madison … Is Cheryl telling the truth? Are the Emmers trying to get rid of her? Jack wants her home on any terms. Yet if Madison is forced to come home, what will that be like?
Jack reconsiders flight.
If he takes off with Tris, Aunt Cheryl will call the police. She’ll love calling the police. Any attention is good attention. Jack running away would just add more scope. And bringing in the police could help Cheryl. Aside from creating a nice scene in a docudrama, if Jack runs away from home with a three-year-old and no money in cold weather on a bike, Cheryl can probably put
Jack
in foster care.
So there’s nowhere to run.
But if he takes Tris home, they walk into the arms of the producer.
Tris is chattering about nothing, strings of marvelous words and miscellaneous thoughts. He reaches up under Jack’s jacket and latches his fingers on to the belt loops of Jack’s jeans.
Jack’s emotions suck the strength out of him. He’s barely pedaling. The bike is coming to a stop.
* * *
The rear of the TV van in Madison’s driveway opens up and people climb out, as if they’re appliance deliverymen. Madison is running as fast as she can. She circles the van and almost smashes into a little blue car. Leaping up the steps, she rips open the front door, and plows to a halt.
Cheryl is standing right there, badly startled by Madison’s sudden entrance, which is reasonable, because Madison hasn’t walked through this door since Labor Day.
Beside her is a middle-aged man.
Cheryl is well dressed, as if she’s off to a bridge game and luncheon at a fine restaurant. She’s a heavy woman who carries her weight well. Her hair is dyed ash-blond and around her throat a scarf is pinned at a jaunty angle. She’s just had a manicure in her favorite
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