Nick began to pace and then stopped in front of her.
“Okay, yes. I did lie to you, but only because I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“So you just made up something about her being sick? Are you saying she has been dead all day?”
She went to the bookshelf and ran her hands across the spines of her mom’s books—wanting a connection. A sob escaped before she bit down hard on the knuckle of her index finger to stop herself. She paused to compose herself.
“Even when I got up this morning you knew, and you just let me go to school without saying a word?”
“Look, kiddo,” Nick was seemingly unruffled. “We did everything we could.”
“Who’s we? Did you call an ambulance? Did she go to the hospital?”
“We … me … what difference does it make?”
“It makes a big difference. Did you call an ambulance?”
“Yes, an ambulance was called, but she was unresponsive.” Nick ran fingers through his hair, and Claire suddenly noticed that he looked ashen, as if maybe he hadn’t slept since the day before.
“Where is she now?”
Nick hesitated, and she could tell he didn’t want to answer her.
“She’s at the morgue.” He sat down, leaned back in the chair he’d pulled away from the dinner table—defeated.
“Let’s go. I want to see her.”
“No,” Nick said definitively. “I’m not taking you. Listen, Claire: we have to stay away from the police, the morgue, the whole thing.” He tried to take her hand, but she shook him off.
“Claire,” he said her name again, trying to get her to look at him. “Your mom was doing something illegal. I’m not sure what, but …”
“What? I don’t understand. What do you mean, illegal? Besides doing drugs?” The emptiness Claire felt was like a chasm. She wanted to disbelieve, but knowing her mother’s history, she couldn’t deny the possibility.
“Listen, I don’t think you should tell any of your friends about what happened. We should keep it just between us.”
“Why? She died. Death is not a crime.”
“She was involved in illegal stuff, Claire, so, yeah, there would be problems. But you don’t have to worry,” he looked at her with stoic, tired eyes. “I’ll take care of you as if you were my own.” He smiled wanly, as if it were just the two of them together against the world. “Trust me,” he said and put his hand on her shoulder. Against her better judgment, she let it stay there.
She had never in her life been at a complete loss as to what to do. She took a few steps toward the door, her instinct telling her to go to the police for help. But then what if they took her away? What if she ended up with strangers? Wasn’t being with Nick better than that? She stood, hand on the knob, unsure, hesitating, and then she turned and walked to her bedroom.
It was a moment she would relive over and over as the years passed. If only she had walked out then. Her life would have been … what? She wondered. But she would never know because she hadn’t gone to the police to find out exactly what had happened. She had been too afraid.
“I’m going in my room now,” she whispered instead, voice almost inaudible.
She walked in and closed the door behind her, wishing the cheap metal knob had a lock. She leaned her back against the door for a long moment and then slid against it, down to the floor, arms wrapped protectively around her knees.
The dark night seeped through her thin, ragged curtains and entered her fragile torn heart. Her arms were limp by her side as she lay in bed that night. Her eyes, wide open, felt as heavy as the world.
Chai
Chai’s life was currently one of contrasts. Hope House was the allure. The thought of Simone’s green flecked eyes and quick smile, her loose curls pulled back into a hasty ponytail; the smell of fresh, strong coffee; seeing Suda safe and slowly putting on weight brought him a sense of contentment. It was a feeling he hadn’t had in a long time. The haunted look in Suda’s eyes was gradually abating, and he felt honored to have been allowed into the small circle of women. The trust they had given him was a privilege not to be taken lightly.
These thoughts contrasted with the feeling of the weight of his gun resting at his back, hidden from plain sight; the fact that he hadn’t made more progress on gathering hard evidence to arrest the real players of the smuggling operation; his hunger for a more normal existence. He was weary of it. Especially of being undercover. He had become a cop because he wanted to help people, but too often he now felt he served simply as a spoke in a damaged, rickety wheel wobbling over a rutted, cobbled road.
In the five weeks since Chai dropped Suda off at Simone’s apartment he and Nittha had quickly become fixtures at Hope House. He often found himself smiling at his sister—proud of her for jumping in wholeheartedly when he had needed her. The two had always been close but watching her in action with Suda and acting as a go-between with Grace and Simone had made him appreciate her more. They all become a part of each other’s new reality that was surprisingly easy and comfortable.
Yet one evening when Chai showed up at the apartment near dinnertime, his lips were pressed, and his eyes showed tension. They knew immediately that something had gone wrong.
Chai pulled a chair up to the table where Suda was chopping vegetables under Grace’s tutelage.
“What is it?” Simone asked while turning from the counter. She set down the head of lettuce she was about to clean.
Before explaining, he began with a question in Thai to Suda.
“Do you know a guy named Aanwat?” he asked, knowing it was time to tell her about his arrival.
“Yes,” she hesitated, not sure how much or what information he was looking for. “He works at the karaoke back in Thailand,” she told him, unable to meet his eyes. She stared at her hands, color in her cheeks as she remembered her life there, standing in line, waiting to get chosen. The humiliation of it. “Why?”
“He’s here.”
“What?” she looked up. “How can that be?”
“Gan sent him to find you.” He told her as gently as possible, but he saw the fear immediately jump to her eyes.
Simone and Grace saw the expression on Suda’s face and exchanged a look of concern between them.
“What is it?” Simone asked.
“Remember the guy I told you was being sent here to look for Suda?”
“Yeah.” Simone tilted her head to one side.
“He’s here now. I wanted Suda to know.” He paused. “I didn’t want to frighten her by telling her before, but I know how easy it is to start thinking that because nothing has happened, nothing will. And with the weeks passing, I realized she could start building a false sense of being secure. We need to make sure she stays cautious and out of sight.”
He tapped his fingers on the table and furrowed his brow. “There’s something more going on than the regular drugs and trafficking. Usually there wouldn’t be this much effort put into finding one girl. It wouldn’t be worth the time. But Gan, the guy who runs Suda’s brothel, has something to prove. He wants in, in a bigger way, and things have gone wrong. I think he’s trying to regain trust.”
“So now what?” Grace asked.
“Unfortunately, there’s nothing different to do. You keep Suda hidden. I keep working from the inside. That’s about all there is to it for now.”
For his part, Chai watched Aanwat’s every move and had redoubled his efforts to make sure not to inadvertently lead him to the safe house. He spent more time at his undercover apartment and less at his real home. He backtracked obsessively when he moved from one place to another to ensure that he wasn’t being tailed. Staying on top of Aanwat’s progress gave him a sense of assurance. Aanwat was on the hook with his boss in Thailand and was genuinely afraid of repercussions. But there was something else, too, and Chai wanted to understand what it was.
<
br /> The bakery was empty the next time Chai stopped in. Simone looked up as the door chimed, and Chai, arms laden, walked in and stopped in front of her at the counter.
“These are for Suda,” Chai said, foregoing the usual greeting. Simone came from behind the counter as he held out a large shopping bag of clothes his sister had picked up for Suda. He allowed himself to say her name aloud only when they were alone in the bakery. He was cautious when it came to protecting people. “And these are for you.” He took a small shoebox-size wooden crate from under his arm and passed it to her.
His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and she noticed the lower part of an intricate tattoo on his muscular forearm as he handed it over. She had noticed that tattoo previously and wondered what it was that he felt strongly enough about to have permanently marked on his body. Although she didn’t see herself ever getting a tattoo, they did fascinate her. It was the permanence of them that gave her pause. Her practical side couldn’t help but wonder how the tattooed would feel about having the mark on his or her body twenty years down the line. She didn’t want to ask about his, though. It seemed simultaneously an invasion of his privacy and like a pickup line, which was not her intent. She did wonder though.
She lifted the lid from the box, and inside were three rows of perfectly ripe white peaches.
“For me?” Simone bent forward and deeply inhaled the heady scent of the fruit. She pulled one out and cut into it, freeing the sweet scent. She sliced it up and handed two wedges back to him, which he took, popping one into his mouth.
“I’m a sucker for a farmers market,” he said after he swallowed, “but don’t let the word get out or it will ruin my reputation,” he jokingly mocked himself. “I saw these and thought you might like them.”
“I do! Thank you.”
They each put wedges into their mouths. Chai closed his eyes for a moment as if he were seeing rows of peach trees in the sun.
“Mmmmm, so good. I love white peaches.” She chewed for a moment. “And, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think your “bad guy” cover is already blown with me.”
“Yeah, well,” he wiped his juice-streaked fingers across the leg of his jeans. “How is our charge?”
“Doing really well, actually. I started her in the kitchen, and she’s in love with it. I don’t blame her; I am, too. And, she’s looking a little bit less gaunt, which makes me happy. It’s been a relief to see her transformation from emaciated to just plain skinny. I’ll admit, her sustenance is pretty much composed of bread, so I feel like I’ve been a little bit of a bad influence, but still, she’s eating.” Simone paused for a moment. “I need to get a bit more variety into her body, though. Some protein and veggies wouldn’t hurt. Maybe these will entice her.” Simone pulled another peach out of the box and felt the weight of it in the palm of her hand. “They’re gorgeous. Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” he looked at her and hesitated as if he wanted to say something further.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes … yes. Everything’s fine. Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“You’re sure?”
“Nothing new. I would tell you if I had any news.”
“All right,” she breathed, realizing she’d been holding her free hand over her heart. She moved it back to rest on the counter and decided not to press him. She would do her job and let him do his. She had to believe that he would be able to make an arrest soon.
In the meantime, she was determined to make sure Suda wasn’t seen, prayed that Chai wouldn’t be discovered, and did everything in her power not to freak out about the legal ramifications of harboring someone undocumented who was a victim of a crime—assuming it was illegal, which she believed it must be.
“I trust you,” Simone said. And it was true. She did trust him, although she ruminated constantly about why exactly she did. He was, after all, connected to the very region of Thailand where Suda came from and could easily be playing her. He could be in the trafficking ring itself and posing as an undercover cop. So, what was it about him that she trusted? She wasn’t sure and prayed she wasn’t being taken in. Could she be that foolish? Could her instincts be that wrong? She knew it was a possibility but didn’t think so. There was just something she trusted about him. And Nittha, too.
She focused on the fact that he wouldn’t have brought Suda to a safe house if he had a nefarious intent. That didn’t make sense. So, it must be that he was trying to save her. Right?
Simone picked up another wedge of peach and popped it in her mouth, savoring the flavor.
“Oh, hey, I have something you might like,” Simone told him, visualizing the bowl of sticky rice she had in the walk-in fridge. “Be right back.”
She spooned a portion of sticky rice into a to-go container and dashed back to the front.
“Suda made it,” she told him as she handed it over. “It’s delicious, and I couldn’t help but add it to our menu. I think it made her happy.” Simone smiled at the recollection of the look on Suda’s face when she told her how good the dessert was.
He tried to pay her, but she waved him away.
“We’re past that now.”
Chai smiled. “I guess we are. And thank you for this.” He lifted the to-go cup of coffee she’d poured for him to take along with the sticky rice in a salute.
“Keep me posted,” she said as he turned for the door.
“You’ll be the first to know anything,” he said and raised his cup of coffee in farewell.
“Well, well,” Grace said appearing beside her.
“Well, well, yourself,” Simone intoned. “What’s on the docket today?”
“I just got back from taking Hailey to her therapist’s office,” Grace told her.
“You have that look on your face that tells me you got some surprising news.”
“What gave it away?”
“You raise your eyebrows, and your face looks extra animated.”
“Those are my tells?”
“There could be worse ones,” Simone smiled at her friend. It still amazed her on occasion to realize that the young girl who had been her first success story had become not just a co-worker but also a close confidant and friend. She thought of it as a miracle.
“Anyway, what’s the news?”
“Her therapist thinks she’s ready to move to a less-restrictive environment. She thinks she’s gotten to a healthy emotional level and that she can move to transitional housing. Still work here, but live there while she tests the waters.”
“Really?” Simone asked. “I’m surprised. It seems to me that Hailey’s been making progress, but ready to leave? I’m not so sure. Did you talk with Hailey about what she thinks?”
“We talked about it the entire ride home. I can tell she’s still processing, but she seemed enthusiastic. Nervous but excited at the possibility.”
“I don’t want to move her out of here if we’re not absolutely sure.” She paused, closed her eyes and thought for a moment. “I worry.”
“I know you do, Mama Bear.” She wrapped her arm around Simone. “That’s part of what I love about you.”
At the sound Hailey’s name being spoken, Claire, working in the kitchen, stopped kneading the bread she was elbow deep in and lifted her head, suddenly tuned in and alert. If she stood still and held her breath, she could just make out what they were saying. She silently inched toward the door to hear better. Was Hailey’s therapist nuts? Her ears tried to catch every word over the hum of the convection oven.
Claire closed her eyes and dropped her head when she heard they were thinking of letting Hailey move out. Was Hailey ready? Claire knew the answer was an emphatic “No,” but she had never told Grace and Simone what she had seen. And not just once.
At least two months ago, Claire had spotted Hailey acting a bit strangely when a certain guy came into the bakery. Cla
ire couldn’t tell whether he was going for the grungy hipster look or if he was just plain old grungy, but she did notice Hailey noticing him. At first, she thought Hailey had a crush on the guy. After all, in spite of the greasy-looking dishwater blond hair and a skinny physique, the twenty-something guy was pretty cute. But then, one afternoon while she was steaming milk for a cappuccino, it caught her eye when he passed a small white envelope to Hailey who was at the register. Claire managed to turn a gasp into a deep intake of breath, so she didn’t call attention to herself, and surreptitiously peeked out of the corner of her eye, watching as Hailey slid the packet into the front pocket of her jeans. When she made change for his scone, she saw her palm an extra twenty-dollar bill or two, folded into a small square, and slide it into his hand. It was subtle, Claire had to give her that, and she wondered how long that little exchange had been going on.
That afternoon, Claire’s mind replayed the exchange nonstop while she methodically made coffee drinks, brewed gourmet tea, and seethed.
“What’s eating you this afternoon?” Hailey had asked, when Claire slammeWd the small pitcher of steamed milk too hard against the counter once again before pouring it over the espresso waiting at the bottom of the cardboard to-go cup.
“What do you care?” Claire had retorted. She jutted her chin out and pulled her Giants baseball cap lower on her forehead.
“Um, I guess I don’t.” Hailey stammered her response, surprised and hurt at Claire’s tone. She thought the two had become friends.
Hailey picked up a small white towel and began wiping the counter while she gave Claire the side eye and wondered if she’d done something to make her angry.
“Did I do something wrong?” she finally asked, after a few minutes of stilted silence.
Across the Deep Page 12
