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The tears that were burning my eyes broke free and began streaming down my cheeks.
"Don't cry, Christie," Jefferson said. "Gavin's coming soon."
"Yes." I smiled through my tears. "Gavin's coming." I kissed Jefferson and held him close.
And mercifully, we fell asleep in each other's arms.
11
SOMEONE TO LEAN ON
"THERE YOU ARE!" GAVIN CRIED.
My eyelids fluttered open and I gazed up at him smiling down at me with his hands on his hips, his suitcase at his feet. He wore dark blue dungarees and a white T-shirt under a light black cotton jacket. I was never happier to see him. Even though it hadn't been that long since we had last seen each other, he looked so much older and taller.
Jefferson remained fast asleep with his head on my lap. Exhausted, I had slipped down on the bench and quickly fallen into a deep sleep myself. I had no idea how much time had passed, but it looked so late. Even in this busy place, there were hardly any people going to and fro. With my fingers balled into fists, I ground the sleep out of my eyes.
"Gavin, I'm so glad you're here," I said.
"I've been here awhile looking and looking for you. I almost didn't find you and gave up. I walked past this place once, but you two were down below the back of the benches, so I didn't see you. Just lucky I decided to take one more look," he added.
I nodded and then all of it came rushing back over me--what Uncle Philip had done, our sneaking out and taking the bus all the way to New York, the horribly disappointing meeting with my real father, nearly losing Jefferson in Port Authority, and the robbery of all our things. Without giving Gavin a warning, I simply burst into tears, the floodgates holding them back collapsing completely. My sobs and shudders woke Jefferson.
"Oh Christie," Gavin said, quickly sitting down beside me. "Poor Christie." He put his arm around my shoulders and I buried my face in the nook between his shoulder and neck. My body shook with my sobs. "It's all right now," he said. "Everything will be all right."
"What's the matter?" Jefferson asked, sleepily scrubbing his face with his palms. And then he realized Gavin was with us. "Gavin!"
"Hey, little nephew, how you doing?" Gavin ran his fingers playfully through Jefferson's already quite messy hair.
"I'm hungry," Jefferson declared immediately, "and we don't have any money for food." He scowled.
"No money? What happened?" Gavin asked, looking to me.
Slowly, I lifted my head from his shoulder and began to describe our disastrous experiences in New York, bawling out the ending that related how we had lost all our worldly possessions and all our money. Gavin shook his head sympathetically and then pressed his lips firmly together, assuming a take-charge look.
"Well, the first thing we'll do is get you some-thing hot to eat. There's a small restaurant down that way. I passed it looking for you. Come on," he said, urging me, "some hot food will make you feel better." With the back of his hand, he gently wiped the tears from my cheek and smiled.
"And they took my new toy, too," Jefferson complained. "Can I get another one?"
"We'll see, Jefferson. One thing at a time," Gavin said wisely. How strong and confident he looked to me now, and how happy I was to see him. My heart pitter-pattered and I felt the tension and fear that had nailed me to the bench lift from my body.
I took Jefferson's hand and Gavin took my other hand. He picked up his suitcase and led us to the restaurant. After we ordered our food, Gavin de-scribed how he had left home immediately after my desperate phone call.
"I wrote a note and put it on the refrigerator and then snuck off. Daddy's going to be upset, but my mother will calm him down. I promised to call them as soon as I could. I didn't tell them you had run away," he added quickly, "but Philip might call them or they
might call him. Do you want to tell me more about what happened now," he asked, "and why you had to run away?"
I shifted my eyes toward Jefferson and then shook my head.
"Later," I said softly. Gavin nodded with under-standing.
Now that Jefferson was getting food, he was animated and excited again. He described our trip, going into detail about the people on the bus, the things he saw, our cab rides in New York, and the policeman who chastised him for walking away from me.
Toward the end of our meal, Gavin asked the most obvious and important question.
"What are you planning to do now?"
"I'm not going back to Cutler's Cove, Gavin," I said firmly, my eyes narrow with determination. Gavin studied me for a moment and then sat back.
