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As they came into Tampa, the sun that had been hiding behind clouds popped out, lighting up the interior of the bus like stage lights. Abby cringed against it and put her hand over her face.
They pulled up in front of the Tampa Museum of Art. When the bus was still the woman with the clipboard stood up and began yelling orders: “Herb here is going to let us out and he’s going to go park the bus. Be quick but careful getting off the bus, because we’re holding up traffic. Now, wait, wait. Sit down for a minute. Look to your left, look to your right. The seats all have numbers above the window. I need you to remember your seat number, remember who you are sitting by, and remember who is sitting in the seat across from you. Take a moment everybody. Write it down on something like the back of your hand if you need to. I’ll wait… Okay. When you come back here later today, you need to be sitting in the same formation as you are right now.”
The girl to Abby’s left was still staring out the window. Her mouth was hanging open a little and a tear was running down her cheek. She brushed it away. In the seat to Abby’s right were a boy and girl who were about twelve or thirteen and appeared to be massively in love. They were scrunched down with their knees against the seat in front of them, heads together, talking.
“Let’s hide here and skip the museum,” Abby heard the girl tell the boy.
“I think I’m going to have to call my husband and have him come get me,” Abby said to the crying girl beside her.
“Okay.” She nodded without looking up.
“I’m feeling real bad,” Abby added. “My head. It’s pounding.”
The girl nodded again. The bus was emptying out. Abby stood up and started moving along with the crowd. She’d considered darting away, but realized it would look suspicious, so as soon as her feet hit the pavement, while everyone else was still mingling about, waiting for directions, she made her way straight through the crowd to the museum. Several other buses had already dropped off their riders and the space in front of its main entrance was disorganized chaos. She went straight through it, and up to a man and woman who worked there. They were chatting, waiting for their day to begin.
“I’m with the school group. I’m feeling a little sick. Could I use your restroom?” Abby said.
“Oh, sure, Ma’am,” said the young woman, leading her to it.
To Abby’s displeasure, the restroom was staffed with an attendant. So much for her plan to hide out unnoticed in a stall. She nodded to the woman, who nodded back. Her sunglasses still in place, Abby made her way to the farthest stall. Once inside she waited a moment and then rustled in her bag.
“Hi Honey, it’s me,” she said. Her voice rang out clearly in the restroom. “Yeah... You’re going to have to come get me… Yeah, a migraine... I’m sorry but I’m so sick… Yeah, the Tampa Museum of Art… Yeah, it’s a big, modern building by the river… Use your GPS, Sweetie… I know... I know it is… Okay... Yeah, call me when you’re getting close… Thanks, Honey… Maybe I’ll take a little walk to get some fresh air… Okay. Love you too.”
The restroom suddenly filled with the sound of everyone from the bus piling in. Abby stayed locked in her stall, waiting for them to all clear back out. After about ten minutes, when it sounded like there were only a few people left washing their hands, she heard a voice she recognized. It was the nasal twang of Ms. Red, White, and Blue from the bus. “Kelsie. Kelsie.”
“What?”
“Who was that lady sitting next to you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, didn’t she say whose mother she was?”
“No.”
“Do you know her?”
“No.”
“Where’d she go?”
“I don’t know. She was sick. I think she was going to call her husband and have him get her.”
“Husband? I didn’t think she had a wedding ring on.”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know.”
Silence.
“Have you been crying?”
“No.”
“You should wash your face. It looks like you have. If you were a little friendlier you might have more friends. You know what they say? Want a friend? Be a friend.”
Silence.
