Tony's Arc

Chapter 9 of 9

The mall bus rolled forward, and Tony pressed his nose to the window. The kitten curled against his chest. He had the right route now, but the driver made stop after stop. Doors opened. Doors closed. Each stop looked wrong. Somewhere along this line sat a small store with an orange sign, two blocks from a glass mall. He didn't know which stop was his. "I can't just watch and hope," Tony whispered. "I'll ride right past her." He needed a way to spot the store before the bus left it behind. So he walked to the front and stood by the driver. "Excuse me. I'm looking for an old store with an orange sign. It's near a big glass mall. Do you know which stop is closest?" The driver shrugged. "Lots of stops, kid. I watch the road, not the signs." That answer was no help. But Tony noticed a folded map wedged above the visor. "Can I look at that?" he asked. The driver handed it over. Tony spread the map on the empty seat. He found the mall first, a green square marked with terraces. Only one stop sat two blocks from it. He pressed his finger there. "This one," he said. "That's where she got off." He watched the passing stops and counted them against the map. Three more. Two more. One more. "Next stop, please!" Tony called. The bus slowed. The doors hissed open. He jumped down onto the sidewalk with the kitten. Ahead rose the glass mall, tall and shining, green plants spilling from every terrace. Tony turned his back on it and walked two blocks the way the map showed. Then he saw it. A little store squeezed between two taller ones. Its wooden front was old and worn, painted green, with a big orange sign above the windows. The paint had faded, but the color was right. The kitten lifted its head and mewed. "That's it," Tony breathed. "That's the place." He ran to the door and pulled the handle. It didn't move. Locked. Tony pressed his face to the glass. Inside, shelves stood bare. Dust covered the counter. No one had opened this store in a long time. His mother had come here, but the store was empty and closed. He stepped back, heart sinking. Then he spotted a paper taped inside the glass. He wiped the dust with his sleeve and read. It was a note in his mother's handwriting. "Tony," it said, "if you found this, you're close. The store moved. Ask the man at the hotel across the way. He knows where I went." Tony looked up. Across the street stood a hotel, its glass doors bright. His mother had left him one more step. He tucked the kitten close and crossed toward the hotel, the note folded tight in his fist.