Three Little Words by Harvey Sarah N.

trusted him—a ten-year-old child! We had a big argument—didn’t talk until the next time he took off. She called me to ask if he’d come to my house. I told her again to call the police. Phil told her the same thing. But by the time she called, he had turned up. That happened a few more times. Always the same thing: he and Devi have a fight, he disappears overnight and comes back the next day.”
    â€œBut this is the longest he’s been gone?”
    â€œYes. By far.”
    â€œSo what’s different?”
    Elizabeth doesn’t have to think very long. “Devi. Devi went off her meds. Trashed their house. He’s never seen her like that—out of control. Violent.”
    â€œViolent?” Sid asks.
    Elizabeth’s face is ashen. Sid wonders if this is the first time she’s considered that Devi may have hurt Wain. He wishes he could reassure her, but he has seen too many abused kids come and go at home. Parental abuse is as common as dirt, Megan says.
    â€œSo he’s probably gone where he always goes,” Sid says slowly. “He’s just staying away longer because he’s afraid to come home.”
    â€œBut he must know how worried we are. And Devi hasn’t come back.”
    â€œBut he doesn’t know that, does he?”
    â€œI suppose not.”
    â€œSo we have to find him and tell him,” Sid says, although he has no clear idea how this will happen. He puts the teacups back on the tray and takes the tray into the kitchen.
    â€œJust leave the dishes,” Elizabeth calls from the living room. “I’ll take care of them later.”
    â€œI got it,” Sid says, nestling the cups into the top rack of the dishwasher. It’s a familiar task, and it calms him.
    When he goes back into the living room to say goodbye, Elizabeth is asleep, so he leaves her a note on a page torn from his sketchbook: Gone back to Phil’s. See you tomorrow? He signs it with a tiny drawing of himself riding across the bridge on Wain’s bike. Blue bridge, green bike, red hair, yellow sun.

What the Fuck
    F or the next few days, Sid follows the plan: papering downtown with Wain’s picture, sometimes with Amie, sometimes alone. At night he stays home and draws or watches TV while Phil drives around downtown, talking to hookers and cops and drug dealers. No one has seen Wain.
    One morning, after almost a week in Victoria, Sid wakes up in Phil’s loft, a cat on his head, another on his feet. He looks up at the cloudless sky. It’s a beautiful day and he can’t bear to go back downtown. Besides, he’s had an idea that’s worth exploring, although he’s not ready to share it with anyone yet. First he has to call Megan.
    When she answers, he updates her on the search for Wain and reassures her that he is all right.
    â€œYou have a friend down here, right?” he asks. “Wanda? Wendy? The one with the sailboat. Do you know where she keeps her boat?”
    â€œWendy,” Megan says. “As far as I know her boat’s still in Oak Bay Marina. Why?”
    â€œI thought I’d go visit her,” Sid says. “What’s the name of her boat again?”
    â€œ Delirious . Shouldn’t be hard to find. Just ask for the crazy lady with the purple boat.” Megan laughs. “Tell her I said hi. Ask her to stop in if she’s ever up this way.”
    â€œOkay. Gotta go. I’ll call later, maybe talk to Fariza.”
    â€œI miss you, Sid. We all do.”
    â€œMiss you too,” Sid says. “Bye.”
    After breakfast he says goodbye to Phil, who is ankle-deep in sawdust, and walks down to the marina where the cement killer whale guards the parking lot. Phil told him that there used to be an aquarium next to the marina, with live killer-whale shows and seals that took showers and “talked” to the tourists. You could even brush the whales’ teeth. It makes Sid feel sick just to