It’s not like the social workers assigned him to us or anything. We’re not responsible. If he’s run away or he’s off on his own, I don’t see why that’s any of our business. Is it?”
Just then the ferry got underway, stirring a breeze that quickly turned into a rush of wind. Ashley’s hair blew out in dark ribbons while Jack’s jacket ballooned around his chest. Air that had felt so warm moments before now chilled him. He watched as his mother pulled her collar close around her neck.
As far back as Jack could remember, his mother had taken care of animals or anything that was hurt, and that extended to neighbors and friends and stray children. He was glad she hadn’t heard what he’d just said to his father; she would probably tell him he was acting selfish. Well, for once he didn’t care. Why couldn’t some other family step in for a change? He’d almost decided his father wasn’t going to answer his question when Steven said, “Jack, I told you about the time I ran away, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, when you headed off to Idaho. You were in a bad foster home, right? I forget how old you were—”
“Twelve. Hardly big enough to lick a stamp and there I was, hitching a ride west with the aim of trying my hand at farmwork.” He looked off into the distance. “It was a stupid thing to do—a risky thing. I don’t know what would have happened if Carlos hadn’t taken me under his wing and talked me into going back. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Jack wasn’t sure, but he said, “I guess so.”
“Things could have been very different if that migrant worker hadn’t stepped in and helped me out. There was nothing in it for Carlos, nothing but the good that comes from helping a fellow human being. Carlos taught me a lot—things I don’t want to forget.”
Jack couldn’t help thinking that the situation with Forrest was completely different from his dad’s, but he decided to drop the conversation, and his father didn’t press. Minutes passed in silence as the prow of the ferry cut through the water. Jack knew there were other islands nearby, but all he could see were the little white-capped waves and all he could hear were the engine sounds that lulled him. When his eyes closed—just for a minute—pictures of his father flashed through his mind: His dad hitching a ride in a red pickup, Steven walking through a potato field, and, oddly, his dad as a kid talking to Forrest about a storm that was coming in from the west, a bad storm that could kill them all. Jack could feel his head rock on his shoulders as he fought the heaviness of sleep, and then he felt his father’s arm, warm and strong, encircle him before he gave in to his dream.
“We’re here. Wake up, Jack.”
Jack’s eyes flew open as he realized they must have arrived at St. John. His mother stood over him, gently shaking his shoulder. Ashley was already leaning over the railing, her hair wind-whipped to three times its normal size, chattering to Steven as they watched people from the lower deck stream onto the dock.
“Hey, are you finally awake?” Ashley asked when he stumbled over to where she stood. “You sure were out of it. You were drooling like a St. Bernard.”
“Yeah, well, you look like you’ve got a tumbleweed stuck on your head,” Jack replied, yawning. He stretched hard, pushing the blood back into his limbs.
With both hands, Ashley tried to mash down her wild hair. She was about to say something more when her eyes widened. Pointing to where the last of the lower deck passengers stepped off the gangplank, she cried, “Look—oh my gosh—it’s Forrest! He must have been on the bottom deck of the ferry the whole time. We didn’t even see him! Mom, Dad, there he is!”
With cool confidence Forrest walked to where the luggage had been piled and picked up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. Again there was no one to meet him, and he obviously was not looking for anyone. He’d come to St. John all by himself.
“He’s still alone,” Olivia said, her voice grim. “Steven, what should we do?”
“What do you think, Jack?”
Jack shifted uncomfortably under his father’s gaze, which seemed to pin him right into the wooden deck. He knew what he should say, so he made himself say it. “I guess we’d better go talk to him.”
Ashley cried, “He’s leaving!”
“OK, everyone, move fast,” Steven ordered.
The four of them clambered down the steps onto the wooden dock. Again young boys crowded forward, offering to carry their luggage, this time to waiting taxis that looked like ice-cream trucks with colored canopies, but the Landons rushed past. Steven reached Forrest first, clapping his hand onto the boy’s shoulder while the rest of the Landons hurried to catch up. When Forrest whipped around, he seemed visibly dismayed.
“Oh…hello…Mr. Landon,” he stammered.
Steven sounded pleasant enough, but Jack could tell he was on edge. “I’m surprised to see you in St. John. I thought you said you were going to St. Thomas.”
“I…changed my mind.”
“Where are your cousins?”
“They’re around here, somewhere,” Forrest said, shaking his shoulder free. He crossed his arms, as if daring Steven to ask him more questions.
“I’d like to meet them.”
“No! I mean, thank you for your concern.” Jack noticed a bead of perspiration roll down the edge of Forrest’s face. He must be wilting in the moist evening heat. Or maybe he was more nervous than he was letting on. “Look, Mr. Landon, I don’t want to be rude, but what I do really isn’t any of your business.”
“I’m afraid it is,” Steven answered quietly. “I was just talking to Jack about that. You’re only 13 years old, you’re thousands of miles from home, and you’re here all alone. That makes it my business.”
“And mine,” Olivia agreed, edging closer to Steven.
Jack could tell that Forrest was going to bolt. His arms, his whole body tensed, and in one quick motion he tried to escape, but Steven grabbed him and hung on. “Whoa, take it easy. We’re only trying to help you.”
“I don’t want your help. I don’t need it! Let me go!” Forrest demanded. He pulled furiously, but it was useless. Steven had him tight.
“Just tell me—have you run away?”
“None of your business!” Forrest spat.
“OK, then at least tell me where you plan to stay. You can share that much, can’t you?” Steven’s voice had regained its steady calm. “If you tell me what your plans are, then I’m sure it will all work out.”
Raising his head proudly, Forrest declared, “I have money. I’ll get a hotel room with my platinum card.”
“For heaven’s sake, is that what you were planning to do? You can’t get a room at the spur of the moment on St. John, not this time of year,” Olivia retorted. “There are no hotel rooms.” When he looked at her blankly, she said, “It’s spring break, Forrest. The island is overflowing with vacationing college students right now. You can’t even rent a closet.”
This seemed to startle him, and the last bit of smugness faded from his face. Olivia shot a glance toward
