After the third ring, she answers: “Hello?”

“J--j-joanie?” I choke some on her name.

“Robin.” I hear her breathe out loud and long, like she’s been holding her breath just like I was. This woman’s not home, she’s not my dad, but she’s at least one of the few people who really knows where I came from, and she might have that news that could change everything for us.

Please, after all this time, let her have news.

“Are you two okay? Where are you? I’ve been losing my mind.”

“I know. And I’m sorry about that. It’s why I called. I wanted you to know we are truly okay.” My eyes water up because despite the part where I feel like I’ve changed so much these past days, I’ve noted the ever-cold, biting tone in her voice. A tone that says she’s still exactly the same as she was when we left, and that she’s pissed off at me. Despite my urge to hang up fast, I manage to keep my voice steady and go on, “I told you in the letter I left behind, that I’d call you on my birthday, or that I’d call you if we had any troubles.”

“Yeah, but I hoped you weren’t serious. I thought you’d be back by the end of day one. It’s been over a week, Robin!” She now sounds panicky. “It’s not your birthday, so you’re in trouble? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Honest. I didn’t want to risk anyone knowing where we went so I waited.”

“And where did you go? I’ve got caller ID, you know? I can Google this number and area code.”

“It’s not a secret. We’re in Orlando and I’ve got a job. A solid, well-paying, responsible-adult type of job. I also have a good, responsible babysitter for Sage.”

I can hear Joanie’s three boys in the background. Joanie pauses to shout, “Mason, take a shower like you said you would. Jason, do the dishes, and Bryson, don’t you make that face at me, because you know it’s your night to feed the dog, so get to it! Now. Go!” Then back to me: “You’re so lucky you called tonight, because I was determined to call the police tomorrow. It’s been too long. I was freaking out.”

“Oh, Joanie. I didn’t mean to scare you. I swear. We’re fine, and as I explained in the letter I didn’t want social services involved. Are they? Have they come to check on us?”

“I evaded them for this week, but look. I’m not going to lie about it anymore. I’ve got my own kids to worry about. If you aren’t planning on coming back, damn you—young lady, if you’re in Orlando,” her voice gets all shrill, “then I’m going to report you as missing!”

“Please. No. If you could wait until my birthday. I’m sure that would help the case. Tell them why we left. Tell them that I plan to seek custody of Sage. Use the letter I left for you.”

“Oh, I’ll tell them everything. The letter will explain why you aren’t here now, but if they found out you’ve already been gone for quite some time? If something happens to you, despite the bullshit?” She changes her voice to a bad rendition of my voice, “I hate you, Joanie, you will never understand me which is why I’m running away,” crap you typed in that letter, and the additional, “we’re so depressed and confused about our father we need to run away and think paragraphs?” Paragraphs that I think you wrote because you wanted to protect me as well as yourself, and I do thank you for that Robin, I will still get in trouble for not reporting that you’ve run away.” Pulling in a deep breath like she knows she’s just lost it, she tries to calm her voice and adds, “Honey, even with that job, and you turning eighteen, they aren’t going to let you keep Sage.”

“Yes they are. They have to. I’m his only family and his sister,” I protest, because suddenly I’m really afraid that she knows more than I do. “Why not?”

“You have to be able to prove consistent savings and an ongoing ability to support him. Housing, food and parenting support. There’s no way you can have acquired that in such a short time.”

“Yes I have. My job is huge money and we are better than okay. We’ve got a temporary place to stay, and in two weeks when I’ve saved enough for the deposits, we’ll have our own apartment. I’ll have a salary to prove competency and stability. I will also be legally old enough to watch after Sage and I’ve been his parenting support since he was a little kid. So, see? All good.”

“Is there someone I can speak to there who can confirm you’re really okay? An adult?”

I wince at that, but answer, “I am an adult, Joanie. You need to realize that.”

“God. Don’t make me laugh. What do you mean your job is huge money? The only way a girl like you could make any sort of money would be —oh my God.” She sucks in a vacuum of air. “Are you working as some kind of exotic dancer or worse right now? There’s no way I’m going to believe you at your word, young lady. Let me talk to someone else.”

I bolster my breathing with every ounce of fake confidence I can muster, because I can’t let her know she’s crumbling my soul. I also know I can’t shout or be any sort of stupid, irrational teenager like she always accuses me of being, so I grip the phone and lie, “This is a phone I’m borrowing from a guy I met at a gas station. Tomorrow I call you back with my new cell phone number. Tomorrow or the next day, or, maybe the next. I’ll have a real phone and permanent address for you. Okay?”

“A guy? At a gas station?”

“Yeah. I’m getting gas. He’s driving a minivan and his whole family is with him. Sheesh. So paranoid.”

“Where are you staying now? With whom?”

“I met someone. I mean, not like a boyfriend, I met this other guy, a friend from—from my work—he helped us out when my car broke down.”

“A guy! You’re borrowing phones and staying with some random guy? What do you mean your car broke down? Are you out of money? You wrote in the letter that you had enough to get by for over a month! You know there are so many people who prey on young kids. I can send some money right away to get you out of there. Jesus, Robin, come home. Don’t stay with some guy you don’t know. Don’t you dare. Let me at least talk to Sage. I want to hear if he’s okay from his own mouth!”

“I don’t need any money. Sage is more than fine.” I pause, searching for the right things to say to calm her down. “The guy we are staying with is not random, either. We’re with his whole family. Sage and I are in our own room, and he lives with his mother.”

“And they don’t have a telephone?” She sighs. “You are lying through your teeth, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“You know I have to turn you in. Tomorrow.”

“Please, Joanie. Don’t.”

I want to yell. To remind her, like I always did when I stayed with her, that she’s not my mom. That I don’t owe her any explanations, tell her that she sucks, but because I’m hoping she will calm down and not call the MPs in the morning, I tell her everything without telling her anything. “I’m a nanny, for some wealthy people who own a hotel, as well as a bunch of other hotels around the US. Once we’ve got an address you can come down with the boys and visit. See the parks. You’ll like it here. Please, Joanie. We are totally fine. Please.”

She doesn’t answer for a long time. “I’m sorry I said I wouldn’t keep Sage. Come back, and we’ll work something out.”

I can tell by the sound of her voice, that this time she’s the one lying and I call her out on it. “You have three kids of your own. You said you don’t want him. From where I sit, there’s nothing to work out. I don’t trust you anymore and I can take care of my own brother. I understand why you didn’t want us, Joanie. I do. I’m asking you to understand why I can’t come back and give us some more time. At least until my birthday.”

Inside I’m screaming: But…I don’t. I don’t understand you. And I never will. How could you choose to have a funeral for your MIA husband without any sort of formal report that says he’s died?

“What about Ridley and the art school scholarship?”

My legs can’t hold me anymore so I sit. There’s no way I can be standing when I admit, “I’ve sent in the email. They’re letting me wait a year.”

“So…all is not lost.”

“No. Not lost at all,” I spit out, while the real answer I’m grappling with bounces around my head in all directions: Yes. All is lost. Our father is MIA. Our futures are totally screwed up. You’re going to call the MPs on us, which will send out social services or the police. And I’m responsible for making things right, only I don’t think I can do it. Yes. All. Is. Lost.

As if she can read my mind, Joanie softens her voice saying, “You’re so young. There’s no way you can handle this responsibility. You need to admit you’ve been too impulsive by running away, and that you were wrong. Please come home before someone gets hurt.”

“We’re going to be okay, Joanie. I’m begging you. Give us time,” is all I can say, before I hang up fast because I can’t breathe past that. Because I’m going to puke from how much I already hurt, and because Sage and Angel have come into the back hall and they’ve caught me on the phone.

I can tell by Sage’s expression he’s caught that I was talking to Joanie but his shoulders slump when he gets that I’m not excited or jumping up and down with any sort of good news about Dad. He’s so anguished that even Angel notices, and raises one of his brows while making that expression of his that I already know is him asking me if there is any way he can help.

I answer him with a small shake of my head and a sigh, dying a little more inside as we both watch Sage put himself back together exactly how I’ve just done.

And even though Joanie had me questioning everything, the devastated look on Sage’s face tells me I’m doing all the right things. She’s wrong. I’m not too young for this. But Sage…poor Sage. He really is too young. Our dad was my little brother’s whole world and now he’s only got me to make things right. To cover for my own swirling emotions and how Sage’s expression physically hurts me, I turn to Angel with a casual shrug and ask, “I hope it’s okay that I made that call? I should have asked first, but I wanted—people to know that we’re okay.”

“Of course. I’m happy you have someone to call.”

I nod, keeping my small smile locked in place for Sage and don’t say what I’m thinking. That the call was a mistake.

That we definitely don’t have anyone to call.

Not anymore.

Not ever again.