Free Eleven and Holding by Mary Penney Page B

kinda be like trying to find a needle in the world’s most humongous haystack.
    I googled “DVA” and ran my eyes down and up the long list that popped into view, my lower lip pinned by my teeth—Delaware Volleyball Academy, DaVita Healthcare, Department of Veterans Affairs. . . .
    Veterans — Bingo! That had to be it! It made perfect sense that he would work for the Department of Veterans Affairs on a special project. Next, I did a search on “Veterans Affairs in Los Robles.”
    â€œ1716 Sixth Avenue”—perfect match! I had just mowed down my haystack big-time. If I hadn’t been in the library, I might have done a few backflips.
    I leaned back in my chair and drew a big breath. I checked my watch. I didn’t have much time left. I had to get my alibis worked out. Twee hadn’t asked me yet what I was doing tomorrow, but I knew she was just biding her time. It was her way. Since I hadn’t immediately volunteered why I couldn’t babysit Jack tomorrow, she was circling around it to figure out how she would get it out of me.
    I had way too many meatballs on my plate, as Nana would say. I was already starting to sweat tomorrow’s bus ride. My stomach would be in shreds before daylight. I blew the air out of my lungs. I needed to do a mental dress rehearsal, like Dad talked about.
    I scooted down in my chair a bit and shut my eyes. I tried to let my neck and shoulders go soft. I set the scene.
    I watch myself getting off the bus in Los Robles after a smooth ride. I wave good-bye to the cute high schoolboy I’d been talking to during the trip. I march down Sixth Avenue, my backpack heavy with the box of homemade macaroons I’m bringing Dad—his favorite.
    After two blocks an enormous sign welcomes me to the Department of Veterans Affairs. I pull open the heavy glass doors and then head for the information desk. A friendly security guard listens to my story, picks up the phone, and smiles at me. He explains that while it’s highly irregular, he’s been authorized to take me up to the eighth floor. He clears his throat and leans close to me. Whispers that whatever I see up there, I mustn’t tell anyone. Ever.
    The elevator trip lasts a long time, and I wonder if we’re not going much higher than the eighth floor. Probably a secret headquarters! The doors finally open, and we step out. It’s dim and quiet. The only light comes from a large sign overhead that reads “DVA, Special Projects.”
    I spy a water fountain down the hallway, and a soldier in combat fatigues is bent over it. I look up at the guard, my throat parched all of a sudden. He nods, understanding, and I hurry down the hall. The soldier straightens up, wiping his mouth with his hand, takes a look a me—
    â€œMacy?”
    My heart leaps. “Dad?”
    The soldier hurries toward me and then wraps me in his big arms.
    â€œDad!” I hug him back hard, shaking. “I’m so glad I found you—”
    He holds me away from him a second and smiles. But now, it’s not Dad—
    â€œCHUCK!” I shout, horrified, breaking away. “What are you doing here?”
    I back away and spin toward the elevator, but now it’s gone. Instead, Nana’s coffee shop is there—but the front window is all boarded up and across it someone has painted “Caffeine Canine Heaven.”
    â€œWhat have you done?” I yell at Chuck, whipping back toward him. But he’s not there anymore. Ginger is there instead. She looks at me with sad eyes, shaking her head.
    â€œHe’s gone, Macy,” she says.
    â€œWho’s gone?” I shout at her, because I don’t know if she means Chuck or Dad or maybe Mr.—
    â€œMacy! What’ya doing? Sleeping?” Twee gives me a soft karate chop between the shoulder blades.
    I sit up abruptly and blink. I can taste the early stages of sleep mouth. “Wasn’t sleeping, just thinking.”