Chapter 23
Maggie
Earlier
It was ruined. All of it. Ruined.
My school life? Over.
My father’s happiness? Destroyed.
Me having fun with Danielle? Never again.
Unless.
Yes, Mr. Once-ler. Unless.
Though I wasn’t quite sure what happened, I knew it had something to do with Danielle. She’d left my father for some reason. It probably had to do with that crazy lady who was over the other night.
Now, I’m not an idiot. I knew that plenty of girls my age would be completely flummoxed, but I knew better.
I also knew, without a doubt, that my father hadn’t done anything wrong.
Sure, Danielle was upset, and sure, there had obviously been a misunderstanding, but I could tell how much my father cared about Danielle. He looked at her the same way he used to look at my mother: all misty-eyed and endearing. He cared, and, though I did not know Danielle as well, I was ready to believe that she cared, too.
So everything was ruined – unless I got Danielle back.
There was no point arguing with my father in his current state. I had raged at him at first, obviously, but after a while that burnt out and I realized that there were more constructive ways to spend my time and energy.
So, that night, after my father had fallen asleep in front the television, I had packed a backpack and snuck from my bedroom.
My first concern was money. I was going to need that that accomplish my goal. Now, as a daughter of a very rich man, I had a credit card I was entitled to use “in case of emergencies.” But I also knew (perhaps from reading too many trashy crime novels) that credit cards were really easy to track. As soon as my father caught whiff that I was gone, he was sure to come charging after me, tracking me down with the credit card records. I would have been forced to risk it – if not for that fact that I knew where my father kept some spare cash.
In the library, beneath the neatly stacked wood my father used for his impressive fireplace, there was a tin box, securely locked. There wasn’t much in it – perhaps five thousand dollars cash – but he kept it there for similar reasons to why I had to credit card: Just in case. Careful to tiptoe past my father’s sleeping figure, I headed to the library, and dug it out as quietly as I could. Did I feel bad about stealing from my father? No. I was good enough at mathematics now to understand how rich he was. This five grand would be like stealing a grain of sand from a beach. I tucked it into my favorite wallet (a leather thin inlaid with the image of a horse, bought for me by my mother before she died) and tucked my wallet deep into my coat pocket. I was well-read enough, you see, to know that a poorly timed burglar could jeopardize my whole plan.
Once I had the money, I went to the kitchen, stole whatever snacks I thought would keep, and headed towards to door.
Emerging from the hotel would be the hardest part. Even though it was late, there would be a staffer manning the desk, a bellhop at the door, and quite possibly Rita, who seemed to work endlessly without ever tiring.
I had to have a plan.
Rather than taking the private elevator to the lobby, I had it take me to the third floor. These were our cheapest rooms, and I thought that it would look less out of place there to have a kid running around at night. I’d often heard my father’s security guards complaining about lack of discipline there.
Still, I needed a plan.
Growing up my whole life in a hotel, I knew that there were always late customers, which meant that there were always bellhops trundling around with big luggage carts in tow. I just had to wait until one appeared.
Fortunately, there was a hollowed nook in the hallway, decorated with a pedestal and a large flowering plant. By taking my backpack off first and sucking in my gut, I was able to shimmy in behind it and stay (mostly) out of sight. I hoped no one would wander by. I wasn’t worried about getting into trouble – “Hello, my name is Maggie Clifton” normally cleared things up in a flash – but I was worried that if someone found me they’d notify my father, and then the gig would be up.
Fortunately, it was a slow night, and none of the bleary eyed wanderers who ambled by noticed me.
Then, after about an hour, with my legs cramped and my back complaining, I spotted a bellhop.
He was pushing the big luggage cart in front of him without too much regard for what was in front of him. They did for hours every day, and I’m sure the guy was certain the hallway was as straight as it ever was.
So he wasn’t really paying attention when I squeezed out from behind the pedestal, seized my bag, and leapt up onto the cart. Fortunately, this one consisted of several large winter coats in bags, so it was easy to slip in between them and disappear in a flash.
The guy hesitated. He must have felt that the cart was heavier. Then he shrugged, mumbled to himself, and continued pushing.
I remained hidden among the clothing all the way to the elevator. Though it was only two floors down to the lobby, this was by far the most nerve-wracking part. I was so convinced that he’d be able to hear me breathing, the two of us trapped in a boring, empty space.
At last, the door slid open, and the bustle of the lobby, even at night, hid my sigh of relief.
I rode the luggage cart until we were about halfway through the lobby – passed the desk, which I was most worried about – and then hopped off before it trundled down a side corridor. At this point, my back was to the receptionists, so I held my head high and marched right through the lobby doors.
And out into the bustling and dangerous nightlife of New York City.
However, my dad had always worked under that the thought it is better to be nervous and prepared than happy and ignorant, so he had a long time ago showed me how to do things like hail a cab and use the bussing and subway systems. Since I needed to go to Vermont (Danielle had told me all about her happy little home when she was my nanny) I figured I should take a bus, which meant leaving from Port Authority. It wasn’t that far, but I wanted to be safe as possible and took a cab. While I was inside, I took a moment to discretely extract my money and hide it in different places on my body: my wallet, my back pocket, even tucked into the back of my shoes. This was, if I was robbed and lost some money, I would still have a backup.
All in all, I felt pretty clever, and well prepared for my journey. Once I was at the station, buying a ticket was easy, and pretty soon I was seated comfortably in a big old Greyhound. My father being, well, my father, I had never taken a travel bus before. The damp smell of rubber and unwashed coats and the rumble of the engine beneath my feet actually filled me with excitement rather than disgust.
I was going on an adventure!
…Which turned out to be pretty boring.
The ride from New York to Burlington was pretty dull for most of the way. And while I had packed a million things in case of emergencies – band aids, extra food, even a compass – I had forgotten to pack anything to do. This left me staring listlessly out the window, daydreaming about what would happen once I got Danielle back for my father.
Sweet family dinners, where Danielle and my father snuck kisses while I gave them a hard time over it, because that’s my job.
Me being able to stay at my regular school. Keeping all my friends and my favorite things.
Danielle and my father getting along so well that they end up deciding to get married, and, on the day of the reception, I would take her aside and call her “Mom” for the first time.
All of these fantasies left me in a happy and stupid warmth, and I soon found myself falling asleep.
Creak!
The sound of the unoiled bus door, sliding open. I jumped, my eyes flying open, and glanced around at the other passengers, who all seemed equally disturbed.
“We can’t actually be there yet, can we?” A woman asked her husband.
Since the bus was well lit, it was hard to see into the darkness outside, but by squinting and pressing my nose up against the glass I was able to make some things out:
We didn’t seem to be anywhere.
Is this Burlington? I thought stupidly. I mean, everyone always talked about how amazing New York City was, but I figured there’d be, you know, buildings at least in Burlington. We appeared to be just on a small paved patch of earth on the side of the highway. Huge mountains, blackly shadowed, filled the view to our right. On our left, way, way far into the distance, I could see the twinkling of city lights. That’s probably Burlington, I thought.
At the front, the bus driver rose from his seat and addressed his passengers:
“We’re broken down, folks. Busted radiator. A replacement bus is on its way, but it’s gonna be a few hours. I’d get comfortable, if I were you. If anyone needs to use a phone to contact someone in Burlington – ”
He gestured to the cluster of city lights with his thumb.
“ – Just let me know. In the meantime, I’ve opened the door so you can stretch your legs. Don’t wander far, you hear?”
And like that, he turned round and plopped right back down into his seat.
Angry mutters filled the bus, like a flock of geese disturbed. I heard several people complain about the state of the bus company, and others about ruined plans, but most simply resumed their comfortable positions and closed their eyes.
I guess busses breaking down is a common occurrence outside of New York.
I did my best to be patient like those latter passengers, but as the minutes ticked by, I felt myself growing more and more agitated. It’s one thing to be bored while you’re going somewhere, but to be bored while also being useless and doing nothing was even worse. I need to be talking to Danielle, I kept thinking. Or: The longer we sit here, the more likely it is that my father will catch on and find me. He had never let me ride in it, but I knew that my father had a helicopter that could catch up with us right quick.
Two hours passed, and people began asking about the replacement bus. The bus driver called back that he hadn’t heard, but instead of a few hours he probably should have said several. I groaned and fidgeted in my seat. Outside, I could see that the sky was beginning to lighten, and realized that it was already dawn.
The longer I wait the harder this will be! I thought.
I glanced out the window at the clutch of lights and shifting shadows that was Burlington and had an idea.
I rose from my seat and approached the front.
“Mr. Bus Driver?” I said politely. The man jerked and opened his eyes, just coming out of a doze.
“What?” He replied grumpily.
“Sir, how far is Burlington from here, exactly?”
He scowled. “Oh, three, four miles. It’s not far. But the damn replacement bus has to come from Milton, which is why we have to wait so long.”
After this, he settled back down and closed his eyes, hoping for more of a nap. But I wasn’t going to let him get away that easily.
“Is it hard to find?” I pressed.
He scowled, then said, “No. We’re close enough to the city now to just follow the signs. A blind man could do it.”
A blind man, I thought sarcastically, Or a little girl.
“Thank you, sir!” I piped. “I’m just gonna take a quick walk then!”
The man grunted in response, and did not even bother watching me as I sauntered down the stairs and hopped off of the bus and into the early dawn.