Searching Lucas

I ended the call with the last airline within the North Carolina radius with the expectation of a proximate flight to Florida. As expected from Independence Day, every flight has been booked—until August.

My only option relied on the sheets spread around the table: the primary goal, side tracks in case something went wrong, and the estimated time.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The clock on the wall showed the little hand on the three and the big hand on the five. 3:05 in the morning. I'd been plotting for almost the entire night. Even though the estimated time to reach Miami would be in less than 10 hours, those hours were still crucial. Sylvia won't allow me to take Lucas there—it was common sense. I could not ask her to take Lucas to his real family. Considering the plausible risks, it would cause Sylvia to freak out, possibly shielding me from ever seeing Lucas and potentially damaging or complicating the rest of the plan.

Time has caused Sylvia to have forgotten one aspect. Whether she raised Lucas well or not, he wasn't her priority. Sylvia thinks otherwise, and so she'll track down Lucas when she finds him gone. I have to make sure that doesn't happen. I have to keep my legacy—my promise.

I could make an excuse and convince Sylvia to allow Lucas to stay with me throughout the weekend, similar to what Michael did. Only I would care for him. Would she find it odd? Not really. In her right state of mind, Sylvia would agree. But finding Sylvia in a good mood was like finding nuggets down a gold mine river.

It's been six hours since I called Monica back. She'll expect us to be by her residence on Friday night. Just me, Lucas, and Pamela.

***

33 days left.

There is foolishness. And then there is believing that Sylvia would casually allow Lucas to spend the weekend with me just because we're blood-related.

I thought that asking Sylvia on Monday, June 30th, would give her time to ease her mind. Maybe that was a mistake. Instead, Sylvia's jittery thoughts got the best of her. "No," She'd flatly said. Sylvia didn't take her eyes off the pot as she kept stirring with a grumpy face.

***

32 days left.

On Tuesday evening, I waltzed into the living room. Lucas sat on the opposite couch with his Tamagotchi while Sylvia stared deadpan at a sitcom on the television.

"Can Lucas stay with me on the weekend?"

"I already said no," She didn't look my way.

***

31 days left.

On Wednesday, we crossed paths at the local supermarket, the place Sylvia went to for her mid-week groceries. Six sharp, Lucas has said. The conveyor belt transported cans of beans, vegetables, poultry, milk, and jugs of juices. Sylvia stared at me from the next lane. While the angry-looking cashier bagged Sylvia's goods, she was already shaking her head.

But I shot another wiseass smile.

"Lucas can sleep on the couch. It converts into a bed so that he feels comfortable—"

"Forget it!" Sylvia barked. Everyone—even the cashier stared at her.

***

30 days left.

Lucas slung his backpack across, looking both annoyed and upset. As he got off the bike, he turned around to me. He tucked both the helmet and leather gloves.

"Jess, forget it." Desperation oozed from his pre-pubescent voice. "Sylvia is getting mad."

But Lucas knew me well enough. He knew me as stubborn, a go-getter. Did I fail? All the time. But if there is one thing that Lucas also knew about me was that I wasn't a quitter.

Ignoring his pleas, I walked past the lobby, up the elevator, and didn't knock on the door this time. Sylvia didn't even have to look to where a magazine covered half her face, a Celebrity Sleuth: a degrading and scandalous magazine covering half her face.

Lucas walked in time to hear Sylvia—to the surprise of no one—telling me no.

***

29 days to go.

By Friday morning, I had bought tween-sized clothes: some neutral colors, polka dots, stripes, a fresh pair of denim jeans, and even tossed in some Nike Air Nomo Max for good measure. Underwear, socks, and a pack of tank tops too. His garment waited in the living room—an unfurnished one, as Lucas would not sleep there tonight.

I called Monica Williams to make the drive there tonight. Lucas lucked out that he didn't have summer school on Friday.

Sylvia was mad at me. And Lucas was caught in the crossfire: he had to deal with the repercussions—the house rules Sylvia established. On the other hand, I would care for him as I always did when Michael was still alive.

Sylvia told Lucas to go to his room. He did as told.

I closed in Sylvia, shushed. "I'll have Lucas back by Sunday at midday. Not a minute after."

Sylvia shook her head, looked at the ceiling, then let out a raspy sigh. She then jabbed a finger my way. "Not a minute after,"

"Sure,"

"And you'll call this landline. Twice." I sighed, my eyebrows caved in. The face of disbelief—was Sylvia always this delusional? "Fine?"

"Alright," I said. "I'll call twice."

Sylvia nodded, probably giving herself a pat on the back for toying with me one last time. If this is what it takes to earn her trust, I sure as hell didn't believe her welcoming floor mat.

Sylvia moved—a head tilt that looked more like a twitch. "Get out of here. Both of you."

And just like that, Lucas was here with me. In my apartment. He looked skeptical and frail. He feared Sylvia was insane enough to place a tracking device or hijack my television with a hidden camera. I've never seen Lucas this restless before, not even when we were stuck with Michael. Sylvia has him mistrusting everything: her. And even himself.

Lucas dragged the chair backward, and I sat across, watching him remove the cuticles from his long fingers.

"Are you hungry?" I asked.