Say No More
Page 44
He frowned, biting back a cutting remark of his own. It was amazing how quickly the calm in his heart had been replaced with an acerbic attitude. This was one of the reasons he’d gone to Eden. People were kinder there. Unless they were a Founding Elder, of course. Or one of their wives. Or the healer. All of them could apparently do what they pleased.
Which was not the fault of this young person, so he reined in his temper. ‘I’m sorry to have troubled you.’
He returned to their table, sliding into the booth with a sigh. ‘I think we need to go somewhere else to find a phone, Abi-girl.’
‘Um, excuse me.’ Amos looked up to find an older woman standing next to their table. She looked to be about sixty but wore the uniform of a McDonald’s employee.
Which boggled his mind. Senior citizens, working at McDonald’s? The average employee age used to be sixteen and a half. Amos had been the ‘old man’ at nineteen.
‘Yes?’ Amos said, remembering his manners. ‘Can I help you?’
She smiled at him, then at Abigail. ‘I overheard your question and I want to apologize for the rudeness of my co-worker.’ She shook her head. ‘Teenagers these days. I’m Edie. Do you need a phone?’
Amos couldn’t hide his relief. ‘Yes, ma’am. And a phone book.’
Her expression cycled from puzzled, to understanding, and back to kind. She was studying their clothing now. Both he and Abigail wore plain clothing. Homespun fabrics. No frills. Abigail’s old-fashioned dress was standard for Eden but very out of place here, and Amos’s full beard stood out among the mostly clean-shaven men around him. Abigail’s pigtails were mussed from sleeping in the truck, but still neat enough to give her a Little House on the Prairie look.
‘Are you Amish?’ Edie asked.
Amos wasn’t sure how to respond. It took his brain a few seconds to find ‘Amish’ in his memory. But then he nodded. It was an easier explanation than that he’d been living in a cultish commune for thirty years. ‘Kind of, yes. It’s been a while since I’ve been to a city.’
‘Ah. Well. Give me a second.’
Edie disappeared from view and Abigail turned to him, eyes wide once again. He hoped she didn’t pull an eye muscle, because wide-eyed had become her permanent expression.
‘What’s Amish, Papa?’ she whispered.
‘They live in small communities like Eden,’ he whispered back. ‘They don’t drive cars, just horses, and they farm the land.’
‘Like us,’ she said. ‘Okay.’
Edie was back, smiling big, holding two coffees stacked in one hand and a little brightly colored box in the other. ‘Here you go!’ she said cheerfully. She pulled up a chair. ‘Can I join you? It’s time for my break. If you want, I can help you find what you need.’
Amos started to rise, but she waved him back down. ‘You’re fine.’ She sat at the end of the table and gave him one of the cups of coffee. ‘On the house,’ she said, then opened the box.
Abigail was watching Edie’s every move. ‘What is that?’
‘Ma’am,’ Amos corrected. ‘What is that, ma’am?’
Abigail flashed him an embarrassed glance. ‘Sorry, Papa. What is that, ma’am?’
‘Happy Meal toys for you.’ Edie emptied the toys on the table and Abigail’s delighted, if a little confused, smile brought back memories of all the excited kids begging their parents for a Happy Meal toy when he’d worked the counter.
Abigail looked to him for permission. ‘May I, Papa?’
‘Yes, you may. But what do you say first?’
Color flooded Abigail’s cheeks. ‘Thank you, Sister Edie.’
Edie looked taken aback. ‘Miss Edie is fine, sweetheart.’ She showed Abigail how to open the plastic packaging, then gently flattened the Happy Meal box. ‘And here are some pictures for you to color.’ From her shirt pocket she pulled five crayons, gently used. ‘I have grandchildren,’ she explained.
Abigail was staring at the toys with awe. ‘These are all for me?’
‘Yes, sweetheart,’ Edie said.
‘Thank you! My papa used to work here,’ Abigail added, carefully taking one of the crayons. ‘Oh, this is lovely.’
Edie’s lips twitched. ‘I think so, too. Blue is my favorite color.’ She turned to Amos. ‘You worked here? In this store?’
He shook his head. ‘Not here. I worked at a McDonald’s outside LA. But that was many years ago. We don’t have . . . a lot of restaurants where we lived.’ He’d been about to say any, but hesitated to reveal too much information.
Because if DJ managed to find him, he didn’t want this lady to know anything that would put her in danger.
Edie nodded. ‘I worked at McDonald’s too, back in the early seventies. Kind of tough to have to come back to it now at my age, but you do what you gotta do to pay the bills, am I right?’
‘You are indeed.’ He checked on Abigail, who’d picked up the art of coloring with the speed with which she did everything else, the tip of her little tongue visible as she concentrated. ‘Thank you for helping us. I have to say that I was relieved to see a McDonald’s. So much has changed in the time that I’ve been away, but the golden arches are the same.’
‘When were you last in a city?’ Edie asked.
He made a rueful face. ‘A long, long time ago. Let’s see. Bush was president and pay phones were everywhere.’
Edie’s eyes widened just as Abigail’s had. ‘Which Bush?’
Which Bush? ‘Um, George?’
‘I mean, father or son?’
It was Amos’s turn to stare. ‘Son? Wow.’
Edie gave a low whistle. ‘You have been gone awhile. This is . . . well, this is fascinating. It’s like one of those movies where you fall asleep and wake up in the future, huh?’
‘Very much, I’m afraid. I take it that you don’t have a phone book or a pay phone here?’
‘Or anywhere,’ she said. ‘Sorry. I mean, you might be able to find one somewhere, but I haven’t seen one in . . . a decade at least.’ She pulled her little phone device from her pocket and put it on the table. ‘Everything’s in here.’
Amos had to fight to control his urge to touch it. It was so sleek and shiny. That everything could fit in there was too incredible. He’d heard about the Internet from people who’d joined Eden in the last twenty years, but only in whispers. Discussions of life outside Eden’s walls were prohibited. Such that even children are punished for mentioning telephones. ‘I don’t have one of those.’
‘I figured not.’ Edie’s brow scrunched. ‘Where do you come from? After LA, I mean.’
‘North of here,’ he said vaguely, because, in truth, he had no idea. ‘If I want to get a phone like that, how would I go about it?’
She gave him a long, hard look, then turned to Abigail. ‘Where’s your mommy, sweetheart?’
Abigail didn’t look up from her coloring. ‘In heaven,’ she answered, matter-of-factly. ‘My papa takes care of me.’
‘Her mother died in childbirth,’ Amos said softly.
Edie’s face fell. ‘I’m sorry. I just . . . well, I need to know that she’s really yours. That you didn’t just grab her from the mall or something.’
He stared at her, angry for a moment, and then he remembered the stranger dangers of the mall and felt a swell of gratitude. And relief, because even though Abigail had her mother’s gray eyes, she had his dark hair and one other identifying feature. ‘Abi-girl, can you show Miss Edie your birthmark?’
‘I have a birthmark here,’ Abigail said, setting the crayon down to tug the collar of her dress aside and point to the little red dot. ‘Papa has one, too.’
Amos mimicked Abigail’s action, showing Edie his identical mark, then rubbed at it with his thumb to show her that it was part of his skin. ‘She’s my daughter.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Edie said. ‘I needed to ask.’
Edie’s expression changed, wary once again. ‘The community. Like a cult?’
Goodness. For a moment, Amos could only blink. How had she guessed? His shock must have shown, because Edie nodded grimly.
‘I’ve read about this,’ she said. ‘People leaving when the cult endangered their children. Is that what happened to you . . . Sorry. I don’t know your name.’
‘He’s called Brother Amos,’ Abigail chirped. ‘I’m Abigail.’
Amos opened his mouth to reprimand her, then sighed. ‘Yes. I’m Amos, but not Brother. Not anymore.’ Never again. ‘And . . . yes, to your other question.’ He glanced meaningfully at Abigail, then met Edie’s eyes, hoping she’d understand. Yes, my child is in danger.
Edie drew a breath. ‘Well, then. A phone. You can get one at Walmart. You know about Walmart?’
‘I remember the store, yes, but I’ve never been to one.’
Edie shook her head. ‘You’re in for a wild adventure, Amos.’
‘It’s already started,’ Amos said. ‘How much money does a phone cost at Walmart?’
‘At least fifty dollars. Plus you have to pay for a plan.’
Amos winced. Buying a phone would make a huge dent in the cash that he’d brought with him. And the truck needed gasoline. He’d nearly fainted at the prices on the gas station signs. ‘That’s a lot of money. And then I need to buy a . . . plan?’ What did that mean? ‘And then I can find a telephone book?’
Edie sighed. ‘Look, you might want to start at the library. They have computers and you can look things up there probably faster than on one of those cheap burner phones. You can use the online white pages.’
‘Burner phone?’ he asked, then waved the question away. ‘Never mind. It’s okay. I can look things up for free at the library?’
‘If you have a library card. Do you?’
He shook his head. ‘I did, but it expired in 1990.’
Edie dropped her gaze to her hands and tapped the screen of her phone, revealing the image of three smiling children, all about Abigail’s age. The screen also displayed the time, which Amos supposed was handy for Edie, as the woman didn’t wear a wristwatch.
‘My break is over,’ she said, ‘so I have to get back. Look, I have a library card. I can’t give it to you, but I have some time between this job and my shift at Smith’s. If you can wait till ten, I’ll meet you at the library and help get you started.’
Amos exhaled in relief. ‘Thank you. Yes, we can wait. I’ll meet you there. Where is it?’
‘I’ll look it up.’
Then, as he watched, she held the phone in front of her face, then cradled it in her left palm. Gone was the image of the smiling children, replaced by . . .
‘Is that a map?’ he asked, wonderingly.
‘It is. Very handy for the directionally challenged like me.’ At his blank look, she laughed. ‘I get lost everywhere I go.’ She typed in library near me with one finger, tapped the screen again, then nodded. ‘They don’t open till ten, anyway, the public libraries.’ She grabbed a napkin from the table and a crayon, then quickly wrote a list of directions. ‘It’s only twenty minutes from here. Or you can stay here until ten if you want, and you can follow me.’
Amos looked at Abigail, who was back to coloring with a vengeance. ‘She’s occupied with her crayons, so waiting here sounds fine.’
Edie pushed back from the table. ‘If she gets bored, they have coloring books at the Smith’s across the street. It’s a grocery store. Gotta get back. See you later, Amos and Abigail.’
Abigail smiled up at her. ‘Thank you, Miss Edie!’
Amos slid from the booth to stand, bowing his head slightly. ‘Yes. Thank you, Miss Edie. You can’t know how much I appreciate your kindness.’
Edie gave his arm a friendly pat. ‘You’re welcome. I have three young grandchildren. I’d hope someone would help them if they and my daughter were stuck and alone. Sit down, hon. Drink your coffee. It’ll be all right.’
Amos watched her go, hoping Edie was right. It’ll be all right. Settling back into the booth, he sipped at his coffee and watched his little girl play.
Sacramento, California
Tuesday, 18 April, 9.15 A.M.
‘Wake up, sleepyhead.’ Rafe put a cup of coffee on the nightstand next to Mercy’s side of the bed. ‘Here you go.’
With a yawn, she opened her eyes. ‘Already?’
‘You’re the one who wanted to go to Santa Rosa today.’
The boxes with the lockets belonging to her and to her mother were on the coffee table, next to his wallet and keys. He knew what the lockets contained. He hoped he didn’t have to look at the photo of Mercy with Ephraim Burton, but he knew he probably would because they planned to show it to Ephraim’s mother, in the hopes that they would spark some kind of memory.
‘True.’ Stretching her arms over her head, she sat up with the headboard at her back, looking sleep-tousled and gorgeous. ‘You made me coffee. How long have you been awake?’
‘About forty-five minutes.’ He’d already done his PT exercises, showered, and checked his messages. ‘I hope the coffee’s okay. I added enough sugar to make your teeth hurt.’
‘Just the way I like it. Thank you.’
He dropped a kiss on her smiling mouth. ‘You’re welcome.’ He sat on the edge of the bed, content to watch her as she reached for her phone and began scrolling through her messages. She hadn’t slept much the night before. Neither of them had. But they’d both slept soundly after that make-out session.
Rafe wanted to repeat the experience. The make-out session, not the sleep. He couldn’t imagine any man preferring sleep to making out with Mercy Callahan. Kissing her lips, fondling her breasts. Watching her face as she came apart.
He shuddered, wondering if they had time for another go. Just to feel her hands on him again. He wouldn’t even have to come.
But then thoughts of pleasure slid from his mind when she went still, her jaw going slack. Her eyes had focused on her phone, her shoulders gone rigid.
If it’s that damn video, I’ll . . . He’d what? Finish what he started Sunday afternoon when he’d been tempted to knock Jeff Bunker’s head off his neck? Mercy had been right. It really wasn’t the kid’s fault. It was the fault of the editor of that slimy rag Bunker had worked for.
‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘What’s wrong?’
She looked up, seeming startled to see him there, even though she’d just spoken to him not even two minutes before. ‘It’s an email from Daisy. With a message from Jeff Bunker.’
So the kid had upset her. ‘He has no right to contact you just to help his conscience.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s not like that. Well, not entirely, anyway. He’s written a retraction.’
‘Of what?’
‘Of everything he wrote about me.’
‘So he’s sorry,’ Rafe snarled quietly. ‘So fucking what? That doesn’t help you.’
‘But that’s the point. He does want to help me – me and all the other women who’ve been victimized, then ignored or worse.’
Rafe forced himself to calm down, for Mercy’s sake. ‘How does he want to help?’
‘He’s giving up his blog and his YouTube channel to survivors of sexual assault. Women and men. The first article going viral pumped up his subscription numbers, so he has an audience for the moment. Survivors can tell their stories on their own terms. And he’ll read them if they don’t want to be on camera themselves. All identities kept confidential.’
Rafe’s ire receded. ‘I wasn’t expecting that.’
‘Neither was I,’ Mercy murmured, then met Rafe’s eyes, hers troubled. ‘Daisy says they won’t publ
ish his article until I approve it, because he specifically mentions me. He’s already run it past Daisy and your mother.’
‘My mother?’
‘Yeah. Apparently Jeff called your house and talked to Zoya.’ She smiled. ‘She told him to use his talent to do good.’
‘She’s a good kid,’ Rafe said affectionately. ‘Being the baby, she could have ended up spoiled rotten – and she is, but not in a bad way. What do you want to do about this?’
‘I want to let Jeff run with the article. Daisy forwarded Jeff’s message at five thirty this morning, but she just sent an update. He’s at the studio, talking to the coordinator for one of the rape crisis centers here in town.’
Rafe blinked. ‘On the radio?’
‘No, not yet. The crisis center coordinator is on the radio, but Daisy said she’d contacted the coordinator about the show on Sunday morning. After Jeff’s article was posted.’
‘That sounds like Daisy. She couldn’t help you directly, but she couldn’t sit still, either. That girl has too much energy.’
‘And she uses it well.’ Mercy handed him her phone. ‘Read it. Tell me what you think.’
Rafe read Jeff’s most recent article and had to admit it was really well done. ‘I like this one better than his last one, that’s for sure. I like this angle better than his last one, too. And that he’s letting survivors tell their own stories is admirable. I suppose the downside is that it will stir things up for you. If we left it alone, the hubbub would die down and nobody would remember his first article.’
‘It would die down,’ she agreed quietly, ‘but it wouldn’t disappear. It wouldn’t even be refuted. And I did want to use this situation to help in a bigger way. Jeff’s idea is a good way to start. He’s also enlisting therapists so that anyone watching will know where they can get help. It’s what I wanted to do, but I didn’t want to go on camera to do it. The thought of being in the spotlight makes me kind of sick, to be honest.’
‘If you want to say yes, Mercy, then say yes.’
‘I do. Daisy says she also has a few reporters lined up to talk about Jeff’s channel on the TV news and in the newspaper. They’re just waiting for my go-ahead. They think they can whip up some positive attention.’