Page 29 of Pieces of Ash
We pullinto the small ferry stop at Charlotte thirty minutes later, and after the boat is docked, I walk from the lower level onto the dock with three other foot passengers. There is no terminal here, as the ferry is mostly used by commuters, but there is a small ticket booth, and I’m relieved to see that there’s someone inside. I knock on the window, and an older woman looks up at me.
“Help ya?”
“Yes, please,” I say. “May I use your phone?”
“Don’t have a public phone here.”
It’s about six miles from here to the address on Gus’s business card, and Father Joseph, who looked up the ferry stop on the internet, warned me not to try walking it since the roads between the ferry and Gus’s house are heavily wooded on both sides.
I lift my chin. “Do you have a cell phone, ma’am?”
She looked up again. “Yeah. Why?”
“May I pay you something to use it, please?”
“Ya don’t have a phone?”
I shake my head.
She rolls her eyes with a huffing sound. “I’m coming out. I’ll let you make a quick call.”
I watch through the window as she closes and locks the window, puts her denim purse on her shoulder, turns off the lights in the little building, and exits via a side door. She steps over to me, looking up at my face thoughtfully for a moment before squinting.
“Do I know ya?” she asks.
Because of the startling likeness between me and my mother, I have heard this question many times in my life. People see her face in mine, but it’s just different enough to throw them off. Sometimes I have used this to my advantage, but not tonight. Tonight, I want to be forgettable.
“No, ma’am,” I say. “I’ve never been here before.”
She tilts her head to the side, trying to get a better look at me. “Ya look familiar. Ya have family hereabouts?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then what’re ya doing here?”
“Visiting a friend,” I say, adjusting my cap, pulling the brim over my forehead.
“A boy?” she asks, her voice warming as she reaches into her purse and takes out her phone.
“Mm-hm,” I murmur, reaching for her phone and dialing Gus’s number.
“Well, be quick. I got a man waiting at home for me too.”
The phone on the other end rings, and I feel a jolt in my belly. Hope. So sharp, it almost makes me cry.
“Hello?”
“Um, hi. May I please speak to Gus?”
“Gus? He’s sleeping. Can you ring back in the morning, please?”
“No!” I raise my voice, worried that he’s going to hang up on me. “Ireallyneed to speak to him now, sir.”
There’s a pause, and the voice on the other end asks, “Who is this?”
I glance at the lady standing beside me. She’s lit a cigarette, and the smoke exhaled from her lips catches a ride on the breeze. I turn away from her and cup the phone.
“Ash,” I whisper, praying she doesn’t hear me. Between my mother’s face and my first name, the internet could deliver up my identity quickly.
