Run by Gregg Olsen Read Free Book Online

and go. We also notice a homeless man with a garbage bag of cans. I hope we never end up like some sad soda-can forager.
    Finally, a door opens and we pounce on a young man with a faint moustache and stubble on his chin behind the counter.
    “Our mom left her jacket on the ferry the other day,” I say, as if my inquiry is more out of boredom than urgency.
    “Yeah, that’s right,” Hayden says.
    I shoot him a look. This is my deal. My little brother is just supposed to keep his trap snapped shut.
    The man catches my vibe and I give him what I know he wants.
    “She’d forget me if she could,” I say.
    He nods. “Yeah, I have a mom like that too. Can you describe what it looks like?”
    I shake my head. “Mom-boring. That’s what it looks like. I’d know it if I see it.”
    “That’s not the way it works. We have a lot of crap back there. You have to tell me what it looks like.”
    “God,” I say. “Dark, ugly. She just said she left it. I’ll just tell her someone took it.” I turn and start walking nonchalantly. Inside I’m waiting. I’m hoping.
    “Hey,” the man says. “It’s against rules, but go ahead and look around.”
    “Really?” I say, a little relieved.
    “I have to pee,” Hayden says.
    “Just a second,” I answer.
    “No. I can’t wait.”
    “We’ll never find that jacket. And Mom will yell at us. She’s such a bitch to me.”
    The man looks at my brother. “I’ll take him and stand outside and wait.” He turns to me. “You look for the ugly-ass jacket.”
    I return the wry grin on Hayden’s face. He’s not so terribly awful after all. He can take direction. Even if he is a homeschooler.
    The door shuts and I instantly feel like I’m in one of those shopping spree videos. I only have a few minutes to get what I need. I paw through the coats and jackets like a wild woman. I can easily see why no one came back for any of them. They’re all totally Ross Dress-For-Less rejects. I find one, a black jacket from the Brass Plum that looks mommy-desperate enough. Next, I grab a bag. It’s black leather with a fake Chanel clasp. It’s the same purse Gemma had at the beginning of the school year. I wonder if she lost hers. I’ll never see her again, so I guess none of that matters. It’ll work better than my backpack, that’s for sure. I find a cool graphic T-shirt for Hayden and wad it into a ball and stuff it in my new purse. My eyes scan the small room.
    A white silk scarf. Stained. Gross. But it’ll work. My heart is racing. I know I’m not on a game-show video, but I feel that kind of a rush. Hurry! Ten seconds to go! You’re running out of time! I pick through the sunglasses— there are dozens of pairs in a big plastic tote next to the shoes. Who loses their shoes on a ferry? It seems like everyone whoever rode that ferry left their glasses aboard. I find a Kate Spade pair that might even be real. Those go in my new purse too.
    The door opens and my brother and the Lost and Found guy are there.
    “Looks like you found it,” LFG says.
    I nod with a sour look on my face. “Yeah. I’d know this anywhere. If my mom had any sense she’d have left it here. But no. It’s her favorite jacket of all time.”
    LFG looks at me and nods. He pays no attention to the black leather purse which I slip casually over my shoulder as though it were mine.
    Which it now is. Sort of.
    THE BANK IS ON FIFTH Avenue and as I look I see a mix of the wealthy and the street people congregating around its big brass-framed doors. I know that Hayden and I fit in somewhere between the two factions vying for coffee, money, and whatever people in crisp, new suits think is important. A black mongrel,with a white spot under his chin that looks like he’s just finished slurping up a bowl of milk, curls up next to a man. At his feet, facing the movers and shakers of that Seattle sidewalk, is a cardboard sign that says in crudely drawn letters:
    HOMELESS. ALONE. PLEASE HELP.
    You and me both, I think, as