Free Pieces of Me by Darlene Ryan

swings until my shoulders ached.
    â€œHigher, Maddie,” Dylan urged. “Higher!” A faint whisper of memory, of me, swings and my dad floated through my mind. I felt that ache of missing him I sometimes got. I knew it wasn’t really missing him; it was missing the idea of him, because you can’t miss what you can’t remember very well.
    It took some time, but we even got Fred to try the slide. He was way too scared to go down by himself, so Fred sat on Dylan’s lap and Dylan sat on my lap. Then Fred decided to give the monkey bars a go. That was Q’s department.
    He helped the small brown bear climb up and sit on a rung about two thirds of the way from the top. Then Dylan decided he had to try it.
    I stood by the bars, which were shaped sort of like a red metal igloo and watched Dylan climb while I bit the inside of my cheek. I was way more scared of the monkey bars than Fred the bear was, but I didn’t want Dylan or Q to know that.
    When Dylan, Fred and Q were back on the ground, Q said it was time to head back up the hill. Dylan didn’t argue. He tucked the bear back into the plastic bag and took my hand.
    It was quarter to four, and there was no sign of the blue van. We parked at the top end of the row, next to a dark-brown RV that was as big as a bus. We walked down the row of travel trailers and back up again. Nothing. I looked at Q over the top of Dylan’s blond head.
    â€œThey could have gotten held up,” Q said softly. “And he’s the type to take advantage. It’s okay.”
    We took Dylan in for another pee. I had a granola bar in my backpack, and I gave him half.
    â€œWe’ll go down the mall,” I told Q.
    â€œOkay,” he said. “I’ll go back to the car and watch for them.”
    I walked Dylan down the mall. We stopped at every kiddie ride so he could get on. I didn’t have any money to make them shake or bounce up and down, but Dylan didn’t care. He made vroom-vroom sounds in the red race car and said giddyup to the purple horse. He was too busy making all the sticks and buttons move in the black helicopter to do any sound effects. When he got on the giraffe, Fred insisted that I ride the elephant. I kind of felt like a dork, especially when a couple of girls about my age walked by and laughed. Then I reminded myself they could have been laughing about my clothes or my hair or maybe not even about me at all.
    Q was sitting on the hood of the car when we came out of the mall. He shook his head slightly as we walked over to him. “Is my mom here?” Dylan asked.
    â€œNot yet,” Q said. “She’s probably still at the doctor.”
    I squatted down to his level. “Are you tired?” I asked.
    He shook his head. “No, but Fred is.”
    â€œSo how about Fred gets in the backseat and has a nap, and you keep him company?”
    â€œOkay,” Dylan said. “Fred still takes naps because he’s younger than me. I don’t take naps because I’m a big boy.”
    I settled him in the backseat with one of my blankets and then went to sit next to Q. “Where are they?” I said.
    â€œI don’t know,” he said, pushing his sunglasses up on his head. “I’ve been around this end of the lot three times.”
    â€œThey are coming back for him, aren’t they?”
    Q blew out a breath and tilted his head to one side to look at me.
    â€œAren’t they?” I repeated.
    â€œI don’t know,” he said finally.
    I looked over my shoulder, through the windshield. Dylan was asleep, his head against the back of the car seat, hugging the bag with the teddy bear inside to his chest.
    I pressed a hand to my own chest and closed my eyes for a few moments. When I opened them, Q was watching me. “What do we do?” I asked.
    â€œThey’ll probably be back,” Q said, but he didn’t sound convinced.
    â€œWhat if they’re