Page 3 of Forget Me Not

“Fantastic.” I slam my hands into him and shove him out of my way, stomping off before I blow up at him. “So now it doesn’t matter what I say or do, you already fucked up your chances of ever going back there.”

“I really think you’re putting way too much importance on some fucking pancakes, Coop.”

I stop, succumbing to a full-on tantrum. Why can’t I ever win these fights with him?!

I turn back to face him, fully prepared to give him a last, angry piece of my mind, when he does the thing he so rarely does, and grins, rendering me completely useless.

He juts his jaw out playfully, like the last ten minutes never even happened. “How do you feel about Arizona? I’m thinking we need to stay south. Let’s be real. You’re not cut out for any sort of winter.”

“I hate that you did this,” I grumble. I’m giving in but I’m not happy about it. “I hate that you’re always ruining your life for me.”

“Don’t hate that I’m doing it. Hate that there are shitty people out there who don’t give me a choice but to do it.”

I shuffle back to where he’s standing and curl my arm around his. He tugs me closer. As soon as I feel the strength of his body against mine, I remember how exhausted I am. He steadies me, as my muscles slack and I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder as we slowly begin to meander down our new path.

“Colorado,” I mumble, “I don’t care what you think. I want to see snow.”

“Colorado it is then,” he agrees. And we walk, pretending to have a destination, but knowing our aim hasn’t changed any from the last damn time we ran away. We’re not really going anywhere, we’re just trying to survive.

CHAPTER THREE

“Jane Cooper?”

That’s me. I get up, I start moving, following the voice who said my name. It’s all on autopilot. The voice is different. The long, dark corridor is different. Even the plastic chairs were a different shade of puke green this time, but the process, it’s always the same. You get busted. You get dragged in, shoved in some corner and then, eventually, someone shows up to drag you back out and onto the next place. Sometimes I recognize the person who picks me up, sometimes I don’t. I’ve been in the system my whole life and I’ve been passed around between social workers from the get go. No one’s wanted to be stuck with me. Not from the moment I was born. Even before I could make my own bad choices, I had my mother’s working against me and the stigma of being her child followed me for years.

There’s an exchange between the adults as I’m passed off, but I’m too busy staring at the floor and wondering where Gun is to care. I haven’t seen him since we were cuffed and crammed into the back of that cop car. No one will tell me where they took him once we got here. No one cares. I’m a minor. And we’re not related. They don’t get that we’re the only family the other’s got.

We step outside and the bright sunlight blinds me. I’m suddenly woefully aware that I’ve lost all track of time. It was dark when we got here. Was it last night? Has it been longer than twenty-four hours?

“You hungry?” A man’s voice. It’s familiar. Curiosity gets the better of me and I look up. All sense of familiarity disappears again. He’s Korean with a nice face and wavy black hair he keeps longer than any social worker I’ve ever dealt with. He’s young too. Maybe in his thirties. Probably late twenties. Even when he’s just staring at me, waiting for me to respond, there’s an uncanny kindness about him I don’t fully know how to process.

“Who are you?” It was probably mentioned at some point back inside, but I was too preoccupied being pissed off about Gun to listen.

“My name is Bon-Hwa Amante. I run the Whaler’s House.” He smiles. And I know why I thought I knew him. Ihaveheard his voice.

“You’re Mr. B.” Hope blossoms slowly in my chest. “Where’s Gun?”

He seems slightly disheartened. “They’re not being as cooperative as I’d like. I’m afraid Gun’s going to have to spend another night here, but don’t worry. I’m taking care of it.” His hand meets my lower back and he begins to usher me away from the building. “Trust me, I’ll have him back home just as soon as I can.”

“You’re letting him come back?” He has to know Gun stole that money.

He nods. “Of course.”

I laugh, not because I find him funny. Because I find him naïve. “Is it a Jesus thing?” I ask snidely.

“Excuse me?” He releases his hand from my back and we part ways at the passenger side door to a large SUV. I guess this is his ride.

“You know, forgiveness, turn the other cheek, save the children and all that jazz?”

He chuckles. “All good things, but no, that’s not what I’m in it for.”

I lift the handle until it clicks and opens. Mr. B mirrors me on the other side and we face each other again inside the vehicle as we slide into our seats.

“Then what?”

Smiling, he places his key in the ignition and starts up the truck. “You never answered me about food. But I know what those places serve up. How do you feel about Italian?”

I frown, skepticism keeping me at bay. “I’d rather just get this done and over with. I know I’m not staying at your place. Where are you taking me?”

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