Free The Great Good Summer by Liz Garton Scanlon Page B

do his it’s-a-hydraulic-lift-you-dummy thing, and then he finishes with “Shhh.”
    â€œShhh,” as in to hush me!
    Okay. I’m sorry, Mr. Boss of the World, but I don’t think that being really quiet standing next to a gigantic Greyhound bus on the side of the road is gonna keep us from getting caught. And I don’t think that being in a fight is gonna get us to Florida. (I mean, of course I don’t actually say that, because I’m supposed to be quiet.)
    Most other folks aren’t quiet, by the way, becausethey aren’t running away from home and Paul Dobbs isn’t their running-away partner. In fact, everyone else seems to think this is a little bit fun and worth making friends over, never mind that we’re all standing in wobbly gravel and the tow truck’s noisy and the sun is already hot.
    The lady and man who were sitting a couple rows up from us, across the aisle from each other, seem to be discovering that they actually know each other from way back when. “It’s a small world,” the lady keeps saying.
    â€œA mighty small world,” the man answers.
    Which makes me think of Mama, who, heaven knows, would not only be making friends with everyone on the bus but would also be giving them recipes and possibly starting a sing-along. She’s polite and friendly that way, ten times more polite than I am. She’d be driving Paul Dobbs half-crazy if she were here right now.
    â€œBlest be the tie that binds,” I whisper under my breath, because Paul cannot keep me away from Mama’s favorite hymn. He just plain can’t.
    â€œWe pour our ardent prayers . . .” I whisper and I keep on going, all the way till the bit that says, “When we asunder part, it gives us inward pain,” and I think, that is the real truth. I am parted from my mama, and I am inwardpained. I am! And I don’t understand why she isn’t too! Why isn’t she on a bus, coming for me? Whatever happened to the “family” part of my mama’s moral fiber?
    â€œHey,” says Paul all of a sudden. “Hey, now! A new bus! Lookit, Ivy. We’re not even gonna have to get hauled back into town. We can leave from here!”
    And he’s right. A new bus—a perfect twin to the one we were on, only this one has all its pieces working right—pulls off into the gravel in front of ours. Our driver, the very gigantic (but also, I’ve realized, very beautiful) woman who’s told everyone by now that her name is Magdalena, and she’s originally from Sweetwater, and she started driving Greyhounds to see the world . . . well, she steps up onto the edge of the asphalt now, so she looks a little taller and in charge, and she claps to get our attention.
    â€œFriends,” she says, “great news! A new bus is here, and we’re gonna get back on the road just as soon as we all load up and Mr. Dalnaut here helps transfer over all of y’all’s luggage.”
    â€œAll right,” says Paul, next to me and sounding less serious now. “That’s what I’m talking about. On the road again.”
    â€œSomeone’s looking after us,” I answer. And then Ilook at Paul and smile because we’re starting over, God on our side.
    He rolls his eyes at me. So. That didn’t last long. I feel silly one more time.

    Here’s how Paul Dobbs and I left things in Loomer, Texas, so that nobody will know we’re missing till we’re really good and gone:
    â€¢ I left Daddy a note saying that I was going to the Murrays early and that I was spending the night at Abby’s afterward, so I’d see him tomorrow night, and I love him and he should have something besides a burger for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
    â€¢ I sent an email to Mrs. Murray to say that I couldn’t babysit today or tomorrow because I’ve got this overnight with Abby and then we’re going to the water