A/N: Here's chapter 6. Enjoy. :)

6. Out of the Woods

. . .

The bus only went as far as Midtown East, and even that wouldn't get them to the Brooklyn Bridge, which was several blocks over from Grand St. and an entirely different bus ride away, according to the old lady Jesse had asked about the route. Her hair was blue, so she probably knew what she was talking about. Jillian was scared of her because her fake teeth didn't stay in her mouth right, and they looked like they might jump out to bite you at any second, but Jesse had thought she looked pretty harmless. Only after she started asking questions about why the girls were by themselves did Jesse pretend to be too shy to talk.

Then that old blue-haired tattletale had ratted them out to the bus driver before she got off at her stop. Jesse knew because the driver kept glancing back at them in the rearview mirror. She had started to get scared that he was one of the bad guys her mommies arrested for hurting kids, and she was going to suggest getting off at the next stop to Jillian, but he had surprised her by calling over his shoulder, "Where you kids trying to go? I ain't a chauffeur service. There's only a couple more stops on my route, too, so you'd better make up your minds."

In a panic at being addressed directly—and because Jillian had gotten so scared when he hollered back at them, she'd dug her fingernails into Jesse's arm (they were sharp!)—Jesse blurted out the first thing that came to mind: "The Sixteenth Precinct!" She could see Bryant Park up ahead, and the building where her mommies worked was right next to that. If Uncle Fin was there, he would give her directions to Coney Island. He might even give them a police transport to the park! Uncle Fin was so great, and the bus driver would definitely be afraid of him if he was a bad guy.

"Police station?" The driver made a face like he thought that was a strange request, but he lifted his shoulders and his eyebrows at the same time, and muttered, "Guess that's the best place for a couple kindy-gardeners who have no business running around unsupervised."

Jesse pretended not to hear, but she had to fold her lips together real tight so she didn't tell him he was wrong twice over: the word was kindergarteners, not kindy-gardeners, and she and Jilly were not in kindergarten anymore! She, especially, was way taller than the five-year-olds at their school. But both of her mommies had tried teaching her not to correct adults (Mama called it respecting her elders), and she would rather not talk to the man any more than she had to, anyway.

"He's weird," Jillian whispered, her breath tickly in Jesse's ear. Some of her long brown hair tickled Jesse's cheek too, and Jesse sort of wished they could sit there for just a little bit longer, all those pleasant feelings dancing along the surface of her skin. It was like the butterflies from her tummy had gotten to the outside. "What if he touches us where he's not supposed to?"

Jillian thought about that stuff a lot, it seemed like. She was always worried someone might do the bad-touch thing to them—usually older boys and men, but sometimes even their girl teachers or the cafeteria ladies—and she started breathing funny: faster, like she was excited or scared. Her eyes always got bigger, her grip tighter on Jesse's arm. Jesse's mommies had warned her that Jillian might have a hard time trusting adults because of some bad people in her family, so it was important to tell them if anybody was hurting the girl or "being inappropriate." Jesse hadn't told about her friend thinking everyone was going to get them, though. It was just thinking, and that was different than if it actually happened.

"He won't," Jesse said, sounding more confident than she felt. It was one thing to talk about scary situations with strangers at home, but real-life strangers on the street—or the bus—were a whole other story. And there were lots of stories that didn't have a happy ending. "Pedal-files only do that in secret, so nobody finds out. There's still other people on the bus, and he'd get caught. My mommies would arrest him, and my Uncle Fin would probably shoot him."

That part made Jillian's eyes get even bigger, but she said no more about the man behind the wheel, and a few moments later the bus rolled to a stop at the curb outside the Sixteenth Precinct. Jesse led Jillian by the hand to the front of the bus with only mild resistance, although when they got close to the steps, Jillian practically knocked her down them in her haste to get out.

"Hang on there, you two," the driver said. He hadn't opened the doors yet, and that scared Jesse a little, but not too too much, because she could just see over the dash—and right beyond it was her Uncle Fin, waiting to cross the street toward the parking lot. "I can't just leave you out here without making sure you know someone—"

"We do. That's my uncle right there." Jesse pointed out the window and tried to get Fin's attention with a big wave. "Hey, Uncle Fin!"

The driver squinted at the windshield. "Uhh, kid, I don't think that man can be your uncle."

"Why not? Because he's a cop? Well, both my mommies are cops, and my older mommy is the boss of him and the other cops, so yes he can." Jesse figured it was okay to correct him on that, since her moms did not like it when someone got their ranks wrong or didn't believe they were police officers. And Fin was too her uncle; he always signed birthday cards to Jesse and her siblings as "Uncle Fin," and you didn't do that if you weren't someone's family. "Can you please open the door now? We really need to talk to him."

Reluctantly the bus driver pulled the lever that opened the door, then called out to the girls as they hopped down onto the curb, "You go straight to your uncle. I'll wait till you get there, but I'm no babysitter, so—"

Whatever else the man said was drowned out by Jesse's excited shouts as she charged up the sidewalk with Jillian doing her best to keep up. "Uncle Fin, wait! It's me: Jesse. Jesse Eileen! Will you take us there? We've been riding around for hours and hours, but the bus doesn't go that far. And if Jilly moves away, we won't be married anymore! We'll be— we'll be . . . de-forced!"

Out of breath and too worked up to notice the holes in her presentation, she stood there panting in front of the sergeant, who stared down at her and Jillian like he had never seen them before in his life. In Jillian's case, he hadn't, but it was Jesse he looked most surprised by, and for a moment she worried he had forgotten her. It had been a while since she'd visited her mommies' work, and Uncle Fin was pretty old. Maybe his memory was going bad, like Great-grandma Laidee's (she kept getting confused and calling Jesse "Mandy" during their visit last summer). Old people were kind of like baby Sammie—they needed a lot of help with things.

"Jesse Rollins-Benson," she pronounced slowly, taking Fin's hand. It was pokey because he was holding a set of keys.

That seemed to do the trick. Fin snapped out of his stunned silence and bent down on one knee. "Oh, kiddo, am I glad to see you," he said. Then he did something really unexpected: he pulled Jesse into a hug that made her bones crunchy and took her breath away. "We got a lot of people out looking for you, little girl. I was just about to go myself. How the hell— heck did you wind up here?"

Jesse grunted. "Bus."

"But why?" Fin stood her back, his hands heavy on her much smaller shoulders. She felt like she was sinking, or maybe it was just what he said next: "Your moms are scared shitless. Called me up crying and thinking they were never gonna see you again, except on the back of a milk carton maybe."

Whatever that meant. Jesse got the gist, though. She had done the ultimate bad thing, a thing she always tried so hard not to do—she'd upset her mommies. Uncle Fin said they were both crying! Mommy cried a lot anyway, but Mama hardly ever cried, unless she was really, really mad or really, really sad. Shit, Jesse thought, even though she wasn't supposed to use that word. Big fat stinky poo-poo shit!

"Jesse doesn't like milk, unless it's chocolate," said Jillian, but she was looking down at her feet, too shy to say it very loudly, and Fin didn't seem to hear. Sometimes she did that in school, and Jesse had to speak up for her because A) Jesse always understood what the other girl was trying to say, and B) She had a much stronger voice than Jillian.

"Yeah, and only the syrup kind," Jesse agreed for her friend's benefit. To Fin, wearing her sincerest expression, one she had it on good authority was hard for adults to scold or say no to—they often told her so—she spoke in the most solemn tone she could produce. "We didn't mean to scare nobody. Honest. My mommies know I take good care of Jillian. Just like how I take care of my little sisters. And I helped Noah beat up those big kids that one time! At Coney Island, we could play games and ride rides and I could hold Jillian's hand all the time, so she won't be sad or scared anymore! And then she won't have to go away either."

Slowly Fin nodded along, as if he understood the point Jesse was trying to make, but she could tell he didn't really get it. She began to wish that her mommy was there to listen and talk about her feelings with; both her mommies were good listeners, but Mommy always knew exactly what was bothering Jesse and how to make it better. And when Jesse got in trouble with Mama, it was Mommy who always figured out why Jesse had misbehaved and discussed it with her so it didn't happen again (usually).

The more Jesse thought about it, the more she wanted her mommy there to hug her and tell her everything was going to be okay—she wasn't going to lose her best friend, and they didn't have to run away from home to stay together. She wanted her mama there too, saying just the right thing to make them all laugh, and keeping everybody safe from men like Jillian's daddy.

When she glanced at Jillian and saw the tears in her hazel eyes—just now they were the color of the Georgia forest where Jesse and Noah had played over summer break, deep green and a warm oaken brown—Jesse's own eyes filled as well. Like her mama, she didn't make a practice of crying too often. But this time it couldn't be helped: the tears came flying out of her without warning, like the water jets that shot up from the ground at the fountain in Battery Park. Suddenly she was sobbing so loudly, even Jillian stopped sniffling and watched in amazement.

"It's okay, Jess, please don't cry," Jillian said, patting Jesse's arm and her long blond hair. But Jesse was inconsolable, no matter what her friend and her uncle said or did to calm her down. She cried until Fin picked her up and carried her against his shoulder into the police station, guiding Jillian along with his free hand.

"Them the two missings?" someone asked inside the building.

"Hey, Sarge, where'd you find 'em?"

"Somebody notify the captain ASAP."

"Poor little tyke. Ask her if she wants a donut."

Blocking out the noise and questions surrounding her—she most definitely did not want a donut—Jesse kept her face hidden from view against Fin's soft jacket. It smelled nice, like perfume, only not the girl kind, and it was snuggly warm. None of the strangers could see her tears there, either. Right then it felt like the safest place in the world to Jesse, and she refused to leave it until they were firmly established at Fin's desk, and a girl named Tonie brought over some coloring books. Twenty minutes later she had used almost all of the green crayon on her picture of The Little Mermaid when her mothers finally arrived, Jillian's mother following a step behind.

None of the three women looked too happy. In fact, each was red-faced and frazzled, as if she'd just taken shelter from a big storm.

Jesse was pretty sure, for her, the storm was just beginning.

. . .