Page 12 of SEAL'S Baby Surprise
Betty sticks her tongue out at Bobby. Bobby one-ups the face right back at her by not only sticking out his tongue, but also putting his thumbs in his ears, using his index fingers to pull his eyes into ugly slits, while wiggling his remaining fingers in the air.
That makes Julia giggle.
Austin scoops pancakes off the grill and puts two each on five paper plates, and hands three of them to the kids. “Your choice sausage or bacon,” he says pointing at the condiment table.
“I thought syrup went with pancakes?” I say, feeling a little bewildered.
“You do it like this,” Julia says, picking up a sausage and tucking it in a fold of pancake. “You can have syrup on it if you want to. I like it that way, but it can be really messy. “
“Only if you douse it in a gallon of syrup,” Austin reproves her. “Lee can have her pancakes however she likes them.”
That seems like a sensible idea to me, so I have my cakes with a little syrup and some bacon on the side and eat them with a fork. There is a choice of milk or orange juice in little cartons.
After they scarf down their breakfasts, the kids all run three vans down the way, and are met by a grandmotherly woman in a blue, wraparound apron.
Austin watches them go, then waves to her and she waves back. She and the kids go around her van and disappear.
“Where are they going?” I ask.
“Mother Hubbard’s homeschool,” he replies. “Mrs. Hubbard watches van kids during the day so their parents can have some time to get things done. Would you like to walk over to the square and see what the guy there would give you for some of your things?”
“I would like that very much,” I say. “That way I can pay my share of things.” I’m still not quite sure where I’m going to go from here, but I know that I owe Austin for helping me, and feeding me, and being so nice to me.
“I’m not too worried about that,” Austin says. “But it’s always nice to have a little cash on hand in case you want an ice cream or something.”
Ugh. He’s so nice, it’s ridiculous. He’s being very cool about this, but I also know that nothing is free, and I’ve been eating his food for a couple of days. I finish my pancakes and give my plate and fork to Austin. Austin lifts his eyebrows at me, then opens the trash can and dumps the disposable utensils into it.
“Take me to the man who sells the things,” I announce.
Austin gives me a little smile. “This way, milady.”
There is a nice sidewalk from the van up to the little village. We walk along it, enjoying the nice breeze that blows in off the ocean.
When we get to the top of the beach there’s a neat little sign that says, “Freedom Beach — Vans, RVs and Tiny Houses welcome.” Below the sign is a coffee can that is labeled, “Spare change. Put some in if you’ve got any, take some out if you need it.”
“Won’t people steal that?” I ask. I know that I’m not a thief, but that doesn’t mean anyone else is.
“So, what if they do take it,” Austin said. “It’s put in what you don’t need and take out what you do need.” He drops in two quarters by way of demonstration. “Used to be, the kids could buy an ice cream or snow cone for that. But it will take a few more bits to make even a cup of ice.”
“Are things so awfully expensive?” I ask. I couldn’t remember ever having to scrounge up change. But then, I had never before been without my debit and credit cards. You don’t have to worry about the price of a cone if you have unlimited credit. I’ve never really thought about it before.
But I had known when I ran away that if I brought my cards and used them, I could be traced. I’m determined not to be found. No way, no how.
I love my brothers. But I also know that they love me too much to see how tortured I was.
I need to find my own way now.
We find the pawn shop all right. It is like a place of wonders. There are watches and strings of beads. One corner of it is labeled, “Johnson’s head shop: Legal Dispensary,” and there are all kinds of ways to consume pot, including a pan of brownies that says, “fresh today.” I know recreational pot is legal now, but it is still a little weird to see this stuff openly displayed. One of my friends had gotten arrested for having stuff in his car, not that many years ago.
Another section has earthenware jugs in a row, and a sign that says, “Totally legal microbrews. Just printed the license myself.”The license is displayed, with a scribbled signature that could have been signed by just about anyone.
There is a corner with worn toys, one filled with musical instruments, displays of cooking pans, glasses, odd silverware and bunches of things I couldn’t even put a name to.
Two men sit behind the counter. One of them is dark-skinned, and has an islander look about him, while the other one has fading red hair that is receding back from his high, florid, forehead yet streams down his back in a riot of curly dreads. Each of them has a cup of something hot.
The islander has a cup that has the letters, “Tea for me,” printed on it, while the other guy has a coffee cup that is labeled: “Coffee, Red hot,” and has a busty female cartoon leprechaun on it.
The dark-skinned guy says, “Hey, Austin. What can I do you out of?”
