Page 130 of The Five Year Lie

Miraculously, he does.

Our trip won’t end for another twelve or fifteen hours. Then we’ll get off the bus in a strange town with no money and only the faintest clue about where to go next. Just a thin, fragile hope that I’ve made the right assumptions. That there’s a miracle waiting for us.

Three weeks ago, my biggest problem was which summer day camps Buzz might enjoy—would he prefer Mad Science? Or the one at the arts center?

Then a text message from a dead man blew our lives apart with the force of a grenade. Now I know what it means to be scared.

A bearded man looms in the aisle beside me. My heart falters as he gives me a squinty stare. But then I feel his gaze shift away from me. And then he slides into the seat opposite us, letting out a sigh.

As my heart rate descends, I realize he was probably onlyquestioning the wisdom of taking the empty seat across from a preschool-aged kid. A quick glance over my shoulder confirms that ours was the last row with two open seats.

Breathe.I’ve managed to keep my wits for six states and counting.

Buzz shifts in his sleep as the bus begins to move again. “Shh,” I whisper, a hand on his hip. He twitches, but his eyes remain closed.

Then the man across the aisle opens a paper bag and pulls out a fast-food hamburger in its cardboard container. When he pops it open, the pleasantly greasy smell hits me right away. Buzz sits up suddenly. “Mama? I’m hungry.”

My heart clenches, but I keep my tone even. “It’s not mealtime. It’s time to sleep.”

He peers out the window. “I want a Happy Meal. They have that?” He points.

Sure enough, the Golden Arches are gliding by as the driver accelerates toward the on-ramp.

“Not tonight,” I say quickly. “Do you want to hear a story? How about Frog and Toad?”

“You have the book?”

I shake my head. “But I remember how it goes.”

“But, Mama,” he says, “I’mhungry.”

Fear rises inside my chest. “You had the raisins for a snack.”Hours ago.“How about a sip of water?” I still have half a bottle, but that’s it. I already fed him the mints from my purse.

Dread fills me up as I try to think of another way to distract him. We’re hundreds of miles from the only home he’s ever known, with no food and no money. For the first time in my child’s life, he’s gone without dinner.

And I have no idea how I’m going to feed him tomorrow, either. I can’t even think about that right now. “Buzzy,” I whisper. “Let metell you about the time Frog and Toad were afraid.” Because I need that story right now like I need my next breath.

“Okay,” he says, and I could faint with relief.

I’m just settling into the story when the man across the aisle pulls out a bag of French fries and starts eating them. The scent clobbers me, and my empty stomach gurgles.

“Mama, I want French fries,” Buzz announces immediately.

“I’m sorry, Buzz,” I whisper. “We don’t have any.”

He starts to cry. “I’m so hungry!” He presses his face against my ribs and sobs.

And that’s when I finally break. My eyes flood, and my chest shakes and I bite my lip until I draw blood.I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

“Miss. Here.” The man seated across from us is holding out the sack of fries. And even though I know what I’m going to do, I still hesitate.

He extends the packet a little farther. “I don’t need them.”

My hand closes around the bag and Buzz makes a little whimper as I pass it to him. The first fry is in his mouth a fractional second later.

“Say thank you,” I choke out.

“Thank you,” Buzz says immediately.