Let's Get Lost (20 page)

Sonia knew there was only one other thing she could do, but the thought of it was so unappealing that she imagined all sorts of wild contingencies—how long would it take to get a fake passport? How easy would it be to skydive near the border and accidentally drift into Canada?—before allowing herself to admit it. She would have to go back home and beg her family for help.

4

WHEN THEY PULLED
up to Sonia's house in Tacoma, the sun was shining between a spattering of grayish clouds. Mount Rainier loomed large over the city, its peak still white with snow, like some enormous sentinel standing guard over the city. Sonia felt a sense of panic, realizing that the wedding would start in only a few hours.

Both her parents' cars were in the driveway. They hadn't been washed in weeks, dust clinging to the windows in the shape of raindrops. Even if they were both home, the chances were that they had to go to work, and “Thou Shalt Go to Work” was commandment number one in Sonia's household. She didn't hold out much hope that they'd be able to help, even if they were willing. It was times like these that she ached for parents like Sam's, who'd drop anything for the sake of their children.

Since her house keys had also been in her purse, Sonia rang the doorbell. The sound of arguing came from inside, and she could hear her dad stomping over, muttering to himself. He answered with an angry expression on his face, as if he'd already started an argument in his head with whoever had rung his doorbell so early in the morning. He was in his baggage-handler uniform, a cup of coffee in his hand. When he saw that it was Sonia, he said, “Oh. Hi. Everything okay? ” he said, already turning back inside, leaving the door open for them.

“Yeah. You guys have work?” Sonia said, leading Leila into the house.

“Sure do,” her dad replied, making his way back to the living room.

Sonia sighed. Mitch was her only chance, then.

All the curtains in the house were shut, which was no surprise. The light inside the house was permanently bleak, almost like Tacoma itself. Her parents were both seated in the living room, drinking coffee and eating microwavable egg burritos. Her dad plopped himself down on his chair, filling out his crossword puzzle. Her mom was on the couch, watching her favorite morning talk show.

Sonia's mom took another bite of her burrito and chewed with that faint smacking sound that drove Sonia crazy. The whole house smelled of beans and fake cheddar cheese. After her bite, she finally noticed Sonia and Leila standing by the couch. “Morning. I thought you had somewhere to be today. Work?”

“I took the weekend off,” she said, wondering if her mom even remembered the wedding.

“I'm gonna need you to get the oil changed on my car, then, since I gave you a ride on Wednesday.”

Sonia ignored the comment. She glanced at Leila, embarrassed that her parents hadn't even noticed her standing there. “Is Mitch home?”

Her mom snorted. “Where else would he be?”

Sonia motioned for Leila to follow her. They crossed the living room toward the staircase, drawing a muffled protest as they blocked the TV. A thin film of dust covered the handrail, and Sonia felt herself blush with shame. She'd never really talked about her family with anyone, not even Sam or Jeremiah, choosing instead to deal with them in her writing. She didn't understand her parents, how they'd fallen into the loop of work and irritability that seemed to define their lives. Or why they'd even chosen to become parents, since they had never once shown affection toward Sonia or her brother. In her writing, she could at least fake a familiarity with her parents' backstories, their motivations for living life as if it were a curse handed down to them.

Avoiding the basket of dirty laundry at the top of the stairs, Sonia and Leila moved down the hall. Sonia's cell phone buzzed again.

i'm starting to get a little worried. where are you?

She put the phone away and knocked on Mitch's door. “I haven't been in his room in a while, but if nothing's changed, get ready for an unpleasant smell,” she warned Leila. Then she knocked again and pushed open the door.

The smell was practically tangible. It was a stink bomb of traditional-teen-boy smells—socks, sweat, the general muskiness of a body immune to its own offensive odor—mixed in with who knows what else: spilled beverages soaking deep into the fibers of the carpet, forgotten snacks rotting on his computer desk, the combined exhalations of weeks' worth of morning breath marinating in the stagnant air.

Sonia immediately started breathing through her mouth, while behind her Leila gagged. Mitch was snoring lightly, one foot hanging off the side of his bed. In the gray light coming through the blinds, Sonia could make out a white thread clinging to his neck-beard.

“Mitch,” she whispered. He didn't stir. “Mitch,” she said again, a little louder. He groaned and reached for a pillow, throwing it in her direction but missing. “Mitch, I need a favor.”

He turned away from them. “Go away.”

Sonia took a step forward, avoiding something she couldn't identify on the ground. “You know I wouldn't be here if it wasn't an emergency. I really need your help.”

Mitch groaned and scooted farther away, pressing his face against the wall. “Sleep,” he said, slurring a few more words afterward that Sonia couldn't make out.

Leila brought her T-shirt over her nose. “Mitch,” she said, almost a yell. “Your sister needs your help. Wake up.”

Intrigued by the unfamiliar voice, Mitch turned back and opened his eyes. He squinted as if the light inside the room was overwhelming. “Who the hell are you?”

“I'm Leila. Now listen to your sister.”

Mitch scratched at his beard, the thread that had been hanging there coming loose onto his pillow, probably to be reacquired by his facial hair at a later time. “All right, I'm listening.” From beneath the sheets she could hear the sound of him scratching.

Sonia fought the urge to tell him how disgusting he was. “I need a favor. It's going to sound a little strange, but you know I wouldn't be asking you if I wasn't desperate.”

“Just say it already.”

“I need you to drive to Canada for me.”

“Get the hell out of here,” he said, turning back toward the wall.

“Mitch, I'm serious. It's a long story, but I have Liz's wedding rings, and the wedding is today. I have no way to get there.”

Mitch groaned again. “Fill up my gas tank and give me fifty bucks, and I'll let you take my car.”

“You're not listening. I can't get into Canada. I lost my passport. I just need you to drive there and drop off the rings. I'll pay for the gas.”

“You want me to drive to Canada?”

“It's just three hours each way.”

Mitch laughed. “Have you been stealing from my stash? There's no way I'm going to drive six hours for you.”

Sonia felt herself tear up. “Mitch, please. You're the only person I can ask. If you don't go, the wedding will be ruined.”

“Yeah, well, that's not my problem, now, is it?”

“I'm going to hit him,” Leila said, still speaking through her shirt. She didn't make any move toward him, though, and Sonia was too distraught to think of what else to do. She was used to apathy from her family, but deep down she'd thought that if she really needed them, they would put their petty selfishness aside. It wasn't pleasant to be proven wrong.

Not knowing what else to do, Sonia stood right where she was. She wished Leila would actually hit Mitch.

“Go talk to Stoner Timmy,” Mitch mumbled.

“What?”

“Stoner Timmy. You can find him at the Tim Hortons in Bellingham. He runs some sort of business into Canada. He's not exactly the most law-abiding guy around, so I wouldn't be surprised if it involves the smuggling of something or other. He might know how to get you across.”

Okay, so it wasn't the biggest favor, but Sonia wanted to hug Mitch for at least being a little bit helpful. But the smell made her hesitate, and then he yelled at her and Leila to get out of his room.

She knew it was a long shot, but Sonia was willing to accept any tiny amount of hope. Any lead, no matter how unlikely, was a chance that she wasn't going to ruin the wedding. They stopped by Sonia's room so she could change into more normal clothes, then rushed back down the stairs and across the living room, eliciting some complaints from her parents for making a ruckus in the morning. Then they climbed into Leila's car and headed to Bellingham to meet Stoner Timmy.

5

AS SOON AS
Sonia and Leila entered the Tim Hortons, they spotted Stoner Timmy. “That's gotta be him, right?” Leila said, pointing out a guy in his late twenties sitting at a table by the window. He had dirty-blond hair that looked almost silky up front but was dreadlocked in the back. He wore plaid shorts, cracked leather sandals, argyle socks, and, despite the heat, a tie-dyed hoodie. About half a dozen cardboard cups littered his table, and he was using one as an ashtray. How he was getting away with smoking inside a rather small coffee shop wasn't clear, but it didn't seem as if anyone minded. He was scribbling fervently into a notebook, occasionally grinning to himself.

“My God,” Sonia sighed, and she got into the two-person-long line for the counter. “I get the feeling I'm gonna need a cup of coffee just to get through this conversation.”

“Good call,” Leila said. “How are we doing on time?”

Sonia clicked her phone on. “The ceremony starts at three, so we have about six hours left for that guy to smuggle us into Canada. No big deal.” Sonia looked up at the familiar menu. There weren't any Tim Hortons as far south as Tacoma, but Sam's family was Canadian and insisted on stopping at one on every road trip. She decided to order Sam's favorite drink and doughnut, then turned to Leila, who was still studying the overhead menu.

“I don't think you've told me,” Sonia said after Leila placed her order. “Why are you on this trip? Why do you want to see the Northern Lights?”

“I've always kind of been obsessed with astronomy. It's probably what I'll study when I go to school.” Leila took her change, and they stepped out of line, lingering by the counter to wait for their drinks. They both unconsciously turned to Stoner Timmy, who had lit a fresh cigarette and was now doodling on one of the coffee cups. “But more than that, I think I was destined to meet Stoner Timmy. Screw the Lights. This is it.”

Sonia laughed, but her curiosity had been piqued. Then their order was called, and Sonia, hungrier than she had realized, immediately bit into her doughnut, effectively changing the subject.

The maple-glazed doughnut tasted like Sam. Or, rather, not Sam himself, but the two years she'd been with him. She took another bite. The choice of doughnut had been at once a mistake and a deep comfort.

“Shall we?” Leila said, motioning toward the smoky table.

Slipping her hand into the jacket folded over her forearm to make sure the rings were still in the breast pocket, Sonia nodded and took the lead. Stoner Timmy—presumably anyway—was popping open the lids of all the cups on his table and examining the contents. When she got close enough, Sonia could see that each cup was half-full, the liquids inside too varied in color to be just coffee-based. “Stoner Timmy?”

Stoner Timmy looked up from his experiment with the cups. He narrowed his eyes in a way that seemed theatric and took a puff from his cigarette. He looked from Sonia to Leila and then back at Sonia. He was not clean-shaven, but his facial hair could hardly be called a beard. He fixed his eyes on Sonia. “I dig your eyebrows, man. Very avant-garde.”

“Um,” Sonia said, not sure at all how to take the comment. “Thanks. Hi. You are Stoner Timmy?”

“I've been known to respond to that name, sure. Whether I have any rights to the name is up to the gods. Or nature. Or, you know, the social security office. The man,” he said, stretching out the vowel and wiggling his fingers in front of his face like a puppeteer.

“Jesus Christ.” Leila chuckled behind Sonia. “This is going to be interesting.”

Stoner Timmy took another puff of his half-smoked cigarette. Then, without any clear reason, he tossed the cigarette into one of the cups and immediately lit another one. “You seek my assistance?” he said, motioning at the two chairs across from him.

Sonia sat down warily, a little flabbergasted by the thought that this guy could help her solve even the smallest of problems, much less manage to smuggle her into Canada. Leila, on the other hand, sat down in a rush, composing herself quickly, though her eyes still beamed with excitement. “Yes,” Sonia started, trying to figure out how to phrase it. “We heard that you can get people across the border.”

Stoner Timmy looked out the window and nodded solemnly. Sonia suspected this was done purely for appearance's sake. “I know the way into the Great White North, it's true.” He stroked his chin as if a long white beard flowed from it, instead of the odd tuft of hair that actually sprung from his face.

“So you
can
get us through?” Sonia said, dubious. “How?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Stoner Timmy held up his hands. “What's with all the questions?”

A snicker escaped Leila. Stoner Timmy seemed not to have noticed.

“It's just really important that I get across, and I want to make sure I'm not wasting my time here. If you can get us through, tell us what we need to do.”

“Rest assured, She with the Interesting Eyebrows. I make several trips a day. My livelihood depends on it,” he said, making a sweeping motion over the table, as if the coffee cups bespoke great wealth. “But before I explain the how, I've got some questions of my own.”

“We cannot wait to answer them,” Leila said, pulling her chair closer.

Timmy ashed his cigarette. “Good.” He squinted at Leila, either out of his sense of theatrics or because smoke had gotten into his eyes. “I like your moxie. You don't meet many people with moxie these days.”

Sonia took another bite of Sam's favorite doughnut. Stoner Timmy was staring off into the space between the two girls.

“Stoner Timmy, the question?”

“Right,” he said, snapping out of his daze. As far as he ever would, anyway. “First question. Who sent you here?”

“My brother, Mitch.”

“And he works for which government agency?”

“What? He doesn't work for any government agency. He doesn't work at all. He sits around and gets high all day. When he's feeling productive, he bathes.”

“Far out,” Stoner Timmy said, smiling with approval. “What business have you with our neighbors to the north?”

“Why do you need to know?” Leila chimed in, clearly amused by mimicking his dramatically suspicious tone. “That hardly seems pertinent.”

“The success of my business depends on the consequences of my actions in Canada. If I bring in harmless people and keep a low profile, my business thrives. If, on the other hand, I bring in undesirables, my profile is raised, and my business is in jeopardy.” Sonia raised her eyebrows, impressed by Stoner Timmy's sudden eloquence. “And shit,” he added as an afterthought, immediately cheapening what he'd said before. “So, if you're going over there to kill someone or cast a spell that'll cause all the forests to die, or whatever, people are gonna look to me. You see what I'm saying?”

Sonia looked around the restaurant to see if anyone was hearing this lunatic's words. But no one was looking their way at all.

“We're going to a wedding,” Sonia said, pulling the jewelry box out of Jeremiah's jacket. “It's in a few hours, and I have the rings.”

Stoner Timmy tucked his cigarette into the corner of his mouth and picked up the box, studying it with the wonder of someone examining a solved Rubik's cube. Sonia's phone buzzed in her pocket, and she silenced it without pulling it out of her pocket, panicking at the thought of time running out. “Please, Tim, can you help us?”

After a few quiet moments Stoner Timmy casually opened the jewelry box, only briefly taking note of the rings inside before putting it back down on the table. “So your quest involves love and jewelry,” he said, ignoring Sonia's plea.

“That is exactly what our quest involves,” Leila said. “One might even say that, without love and jewelry, we would have no quest.”

“Like so many others.” Stoner Timmy picked up one of the cups, peeked inside to make sure it hadn't been used as an ashtray, then took a sip from whatever the liquid inside was. A little bit dribbled onto his chin; it was red, like Leila's car. He wiped at it with the sleeve of his hoodie, where the stain disappeared into the swirls of color seamlessly. “You seem pure of heart and worthy of entry into the north, Interesting Eyebrows.” He nodded at Sonia, then at Leila, adding, “Full of Moxie. One last thing before I tell you the way into Canada. I just need to know...” He paused. Sonia found herself leaning across the table almost as much as Leila was, who by now could no longer contain her smile and was grinning as if the exchange was the funniest thing that had ever happened to her. “A) Are either of you wearing a wire? and B) Are either of you Time Lords?”

Leila gave Sonia an ebullient look, her eyes wide, biting her lip to keep the giggles from spilling out.

“Are we Time Lords?” Sonia asked, incredulous. What the hell was a Time Lord, and why would Stoner Timmy suspect either of the teenage girls in front of him of being one? But asking for an explanation from Stoner Timmy would likely unleash a whole new incomprehensible bout of rambling.

“No, I'm not a Time Lord. I'm not wearing a wire,” Sonia said.

Leila raised a hand. “I promise that I am not, I have never been, and will never be a Time Lord.”

Stoner Timmy plucked the cigarette from his mouth and exhaled slowly, his eyes fixed on Leila. “You sure? You're not lost in time?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Leila said. She was trying to suppress a smile, but a few moments went by with Stoner Timmy studying her intently, and the glimmer in her eyes slowly faded. Suddenly, it felt as if something was being communicated between them that Sonia wasn't privy to.

“You're definitely lost in something,” Stoner Timmy said, taking another slow, long pull from his cigarette. “Canada may be her destination, but it's not yours,” he said, his eyes still locked on Leila's.

Then he leaned closer to them, bringing with him a surprisingly pleasant smell, coconut-scented sunscreen and freshly laundered cotton. He looked over his shoulder conspiratorially and waved them in closer. “The answer to your problem lies in the doughnuts. Bavarian crème, if possible.”

Sonia waited for more, but Stoner Timmy leaned back in his chair, looking intensely pleased with himself.

“Wait, what? That cannot possibly be all the information you've got for us.”

Blowing smoke out the side of his mouth (and directly at a neighboring table, whose patrons, shockingly, remained oblivious), Stoner Timmy frowned and scratched at a reddened patch of skin on his jaw that might have been a rash or just the result of too much scratching. “I've already said too much.” His gaze went around the room, as if scanning for a spy. Then he set his sights on the last bite of Sonia's maple doughnut. “You gonna finish that?”

Her mind already scampering to find some other solution, Sonia shook her head and pushed the doughnut across the table.

“Remember,” he said, lifting it off the napkin, “the answer is in the doughnuts.”

He paused for a moment, as if allowing for some added meaning to sink in. But Sonia had no idea how doughnuts could possibly get her into Canada. She turned to read Leila's response, but Leila looked just as perplexed.

When he finished chewing Sonia's doughnut, Stoner Timmy waved at a kid who had just entered the Tim Hortons. The kid approached, and Stoner Timmy asked Sonia and Leila to excuse him so he could conduct some “business stuff.”

They stepped out into the early-morning sun, squinting as much at the gray-tinged Washington light as at the conversation they'd just been a part of.

“Well, that was interesting,” Leila said. She was smiling a little but seemed to pick up on the fact that Stoner Timmy's bizarre advice put them basically right back where they'd started.

“The answer is in the doughnuts? How the hell does one enter a country with doughnuts?”

The question hung in the air, a small question compared to all the other ones Sonia left unasked. How would Liz ever forgive her for ruining the wedding? How would Martha feel about Sonia fleeing in the middle of the night? How disappointed would Jeremiah be with her?

Just as Sonia felt her frustrations growing into tears, Leila tapped her arm and pointed at a Tim Hortons delivery truck in the parking lot, its engine idling. The driver was unloading a stack of goods, ready to cart them inside. The store manager was nearby, checking things off on a clipboard.

“Last one,” the driver said, the words carrying across the parking lot as if on cue. The manager nodded, and the two of them walked side by side past Sonia.

“Look at the license plates,” Leila said. British Columbia. “That must have been what Stoner Timmy meant. The answer is in the doughnuts!”

Sonia looked back into the café, where the truck driver and the manager were unloading the cart. At this point, Sonia was willing to try anything. They speed-walked across the parking lot and peered into the back of the truck. There were cardboard boxes all around, stacked up high enough to reasonably hide behind, at least until the next delivery at the next Tim Hortons, which, Sonia knew from past road trips, was definitely on the other side of the border.

Sonia, wanting to waste no time, hoisted herself up. Then she helped Leila climb in as stealthily as she could, which was not stealthy at all. Sonia banged her knee against the bumper, and Leila almost kicked a neighboring car. Hoping no one had noticed their clumsy climb, they rushed to hide behind a column of boxes near the back. They stood together, the two of them holding their breath and trying to resist the temptation to peek around the boxes to see what was happening in the outside world. When the driver came back, he closed the door without bothering to check if anything was amiss, shutting them in darkness as he shifted into drive and pulled out onto the highway.