Once Upon a Day by Lisa Tucker Read Free Book Online

the woman were holding hands, and the two children, a boy and a girl, looked very young, though the boy was a bit older than the little girl. It struck me that the composition of this family was the same as ours had been, before my mother died. If only she were here right now, she could help me get Father to a hospital and help me find Jimmy. If only she were here, I thought, none of this would have even happened.
    The gloom was overtaking me, but I shook it off and concentrated on what remained of my food.
    “This is delicious,” I said, holding up the cylinder-shaped green food I’d just taken a bite from. “I’ve never tasted anything like it. What’s it called?”
    “A pickle,” Mr. Spaulding said, and laughed that soft, musical laugh of his. I’d only heard it a few times all day, but it never failed to cheer me.
    “Of course,” I said, smiling. “I’ve heard of those. I don’t think my father likes them though.”
    We’d both finished eating when I finally admitted I had no ideawhat to do next. He looked at me. “Maybe you should start again tomorrow. Where are you staying? What hotel?”
    “I don’t know. It probably sounds foolish, but I was hoping I wouldn’t need to stay the night. I thought I would have Jimmy with me and we could go back.”
    He took a long breath. “Do you want to keep looking? I know a few places we could try. No guarantees.”
    “Oh yes. Thank you so much.”
    “I’m not promising anything.”
    “Thank you,” I repeated.
    We got back in the cab and headed off into the early evening darkness, though it wasn’t dark at all compared to home. There were streetlamps and office buildings still lit, traffic lights changing colors, stores with blinking yellow bulbs. I wondered if anyone had trouble sleeping with all this brightness, but then I remembered that I’d taken a nap in this very cab in broad daylight. At home, I never slept after sunrise, and I certainly never napped. Maybe everyone in the city was exhausted from all this light and motion.
    Mr. Spaulding drove for about twenty minutes before he stopped at a building right in the heart of what I could tell was downtown from the closeness of the Arch, which he’d pointed out earlier. He told me this was a shelter.
    “A shelter?” I said.
    “For the homeless.”
    The very idea made me sad, and I was almost glad Jimmy wasn’t there. But the next place Mr. Spaulding stopped was even worse. He told me it was a hospital, and I could tell it was from the horrible noise as an ambulance blared into the driveway marked “Emergency.” But then we drove to the other side of the building, by the sign that read “Psychiatric.”
    “My brother is not crazy,” I said, leaning forward, grabbing the front seat. “I know all those people called him crazy, but it isn’t true! I’ve known him my entire life, and he’s as sane as I am. He’s not in the nuthouse!”
    “The what?”
    “The insane asylum! Isn’t that what this is?”
    “This is the psychiatric ward of the county hospital. No one uses the terms ‘nuthouse’ and ‘insane asylum’ anymore.” His voice was incredulous as he turned around to look at me. “Jesus, where do you come up with these things?”
    I felt stupider than I’d felt all day. “An old set of encyclopedias and some even older novels,” I admitted, dropping my hands. “My father’s library wasn’t very modern.”
    “You were homeschooled?”
    I’d never heard the word, but it fit perfectly. School at home. Homeschooled. I told him yes, but then I pointed at the hospital. “I really am very certain that Jimmy isn’t in this place.”
    “He probably isn’t,” Mr. Spaulding said, but he turned around and got out of the taxicab. I followed, though I knew it was a waste of time.
    But I was wrong, Jimmy was there. He’d been brought in because he was “self-destructive.” This was what the doctor told Mr. Spaulding. The doctor’s name was Dr. Phillips, but Mr. Spaulding called