Greenie's Arc

Chapter 5 of 5

Greenie sat by the chest until dawn. Thursday was two days off. Twenty children would be delivered, and he did not know from where. Without that, he could not stand between them and Doctor Jerry. He shut the catalog, tucked it under his arm, and slipped out the preschool door. The school district office kept the lists. Every child in Marshwood had an address in a drawer there. He reached the district building before it opened and hid behind a planter. When the front doors unlocked, he waddled in behind a delivery man and slipped under a row of waiting chairs. The lobby smelled of copier toner. A woman in a pink blouse sat at the front desk, arranging bonbons in a glass dish. Secretary Bubble. Greenie had seen her at the parade, clapping without smiling. He crossed the tile and stopped at the foot of her desk. She looked down over the edge and did not startle. "Well," she said. "Look who walked in." Greenie held up the catalog. He opened to the page where he had written "he is bringing them here" and turned it so she could read. Bubble read it. She unwrapped a bonbon and set it on the desk without eating it. Her eyes went to the closed door behind her, then back to Greenie. "Superintendent's out till ten," she said. "You got until then." She stood and walked to the file room. Greenie followed. She pulled a folder marked TRANSFERS - PENDING and laid it flat. Twenty names. Beside each name, an address. Beside each address, a pickup point and time. Thursday, 7 a.m. All twenty were being collected from one place. "Park courts," Bubble said. "Summer program sign-up. Parents drop them at the swings. A van's supposed to take them to a field trip that don't exist." She tapped the sheet. "Signed off by a name I don't know. Came through last week. I flagged it. Tim told me to file it." Greenie looked up at her. "I got two nieces on this list, baby." She closed the folder. "You take a picture in your head. I can't let it walk out." Greenie stared at the page until the names sat in him like stones. Marshwood Park Courts. Seven a.m. Thursday. The swings by the wooden playhouse. He nodded once. Bubble slid the folder back into the drawer. She walked him to the side door and cracked it open. Before he stepped out, she crouched and set the unwrapped bonbon on top of his catalog. "Whatever you're doing," she said, "do it Wednesday night." Greenie waddled down the alley. In the catalog he wrote three lines. Park courts. Seven. Twenty swings, twenty children, one van. He had a place now. He had a time. He had one day to reach the parents before the van did, and he was a plush toy with no mouth.