Down To The Needle

by Mary Deal

  June dropped her gaze and picked at dirt under her fingernails. She dropped her hands to her lap when she realized she was being watched. “Who wants to know?”

  “We know someone who thinks he recognizes you.”

  “Don't think anyone knows me.” Her response was blunt, like she had given up hope.

  Several ragged men gobbling down meals and, watching them in the corner, talked among themselves. They looked curious but angry and Abi knew why. Oftentimes, a homeless person was singled out with interviews airing on TV, but the shows drew little aid and the plight of the homeless persisted.

  Edith sat beside Abi, across the table from June. “What's your last name?”

  “Guess it doesn't matter, does it?” She looked away and swallowed hard.

  “Please, June.” Abi would plead if necessary. “We're trying to help you.”

  “Why? Why me?” She looked around the room and motioned. “All these others.”

  Edith leaned over to hug a child who had come over to say hello. She motioned to another server and instructed her to bring some fruit for the child's mother to take with them. Edith sometimes sent food away. Most of what she received for the kitchen was not real fresh. Apples were not usually crisp but edible, and saved to be baked into pies. She also gave them away, especially to children.

  Abi returned her attention to the homeless woman. “Do you know your last name, June?”

  “No, I don't.”

  “Can you tell us how you ended up on the street?”

  Tears came to her eyes and she blinked them back. “It's a hard life. I'm sure I didn't choose it.”

  “You mean you don't know how you ended up like this?” Edith almost reached to touch June across the table.

  “Guess I don't.” She sat up straight, proud and stoic, and pinched her lips together.

  Abi waited, letting Edith ask questions since June was more familiar with her. Abi didn't want June to feel she was being grilled.

  “How long have you been wandering?”

  “As far back as I can remember, a few years, I'm told.” Her shoulders slumped. She smiled sadly.

  “Before that, where did you come from?” Edith had a quiet patient way about her that seemed to help June relax a bit.

  “I just told you, as far back as I can remember, I've been this way.” No bite sounded in her voice, only resignation.

  “Has DeWitt always been your friend?”

  Her eyes moved back and forth as she tried to remember. “Had another before him. But he… he….”

  “What was his name?”

  Again her eyes flicked back and forth. “Tony… something. Can't remember.” The dead look in her eyes said her memory was just as cold.

  Abi and Edith exchanged quick glances. Another man. Abi couldn't hold back. Edith was gentle but at the rate they were progressing they could be there all night. “Did you meet him here, in this town?”

  “Oh, I remember.” Then June drifted off momentarily. “We came from… from somewhere.”

  “From where? Can you remember?”

  “No, and I don't like to think about him.”

  “Why not? Who was he?”

  “Don't know. Sometimes I can't remember his name. Some people out there…” She thumbed over her shoulder toward the street. “They knew him, talk about him and me, sometimes.”

  “Why don't you like to think about him?”

  June hunched her shoulders and scooted down inside her coat and looked at them as if remembering something frightening. “He hurt me.”

  Abi flinched and looked at their reflection against the night through the side window. She had already heard gory details and other rumors about how women on the street were brutalized. Too many of them were showing up for meals wearing herpes sores around their mouths and noses, an affliction that ran rampant among the homeless. Many of the women were forced to provide sexual favors in exchange for food, and the after-affect was often disease. At that moment, Abi felt helpless and tired.

  A server interrupted them and placed a tray of food in front of June who immediately sat up straight and clasped her hands together. Her hands were beautifully shaped with long graceful fingers, but the skin on the backs was weathered and coarse, the nails jagged, some dark and crusty.

  “I'm so hungry. May I eat?”

  “Of course.” Abi felt this woman's pain. “Do you mind if we stay and finish our coffee?”

  June had already taken a bite of the mashed potatoes. Very politely, she held the meat patty in place with a fork and cut it with a knife. Then she laid down the knife, switched the fork to her right hand and brought the food up to her mouth. She did not hunch over her tray like most hungry people. She lifted the food upwards to her mouth, prim and proper. She put her fork down while she chewed the meat, swallowed and then picked up the fork again to sample one or two of the string beans.

  Edith smiled her approval. “Where did you learn such proper eating habits?”

  June ignored the question. “Why did you tell DeWitt that you wanted to talk to me?” From the beginning of their conversation, though some of June's speech contained street colloquialisms, her diction and enunciation were almost perfect. Wearing tattered and worn clothing, she could well have been an actress playing out a part from a script.

  Abi wrapped her hands around the warm Styrofoam coffee cup. “Can you tell us anything about your life before the years you became homeless?”

  “I guess I can't remember.”

  The remark sounded like an excuse not to talk. Joe's comment about something severe forcing Margaret into this condition had some merit.

  “Do you remember anything at all, June, before finding yourself on the street?”

  “No, but sometimes I have nightmares.”

  Abi pulled a piece of paper from her apron pocket. She carried the photo all evening hoping this woman would show up. “June, I want to show you something.” Just two days earlier, Abi had studied the photo with apprehension after it slowly made its entry into her life from Joe through Velma, via the fax machine. Abi's first thought was that no one could possess that much beauty. She felt a twinge of envy that Joe had loved someone more beautiful than her. Now she unfolded the paper and laid it flat. “Can you tell us if you know this person?”

  June pressed a bony finger on a corner and drew the paper across the table. Her eyes widened as she stared at the face of a woman with flawless beauty. The smiling heart shaped face with its two soft dimples expressed a naturalness no makeup could produce. Her hair was soft and light. Her eyes sparkled. The jubilant expression seemed that of a person who had it all. June smiled and looked up. “Who is she? Why are you showing me this?”

  As a young woman, Margaret had been so beautiful that surely people stared at her like they would an actress with whom they were enchanted. The thought occurred to Abi that if June really was Margaret, life had exacted a dreadful toll on her. Just the thought of Margaret actually being the person inside that crinkly shriveled skin sent a mild shock wave through Abi's nervous system. Joe would be devastated if he was to confirm this weathered crone with a muted twinkle in her eyes was his former love. Abi felt great sadness for Joe as her own emotions plummeted again. “It's an enlarged picture of the woman we're looking for, when she was younger. Do you recognize her?”

  “No, I don't.” She continued staring at the image. “For a moment I….”

  “What, June? For a moment, what?”

  “I don't know. She looked familiar, but I don't know.”

  Abi felt panicky at the prospect of Margaret coming back into Joe's life. Still, she was excited that Joe might have been right about this woman. If anyone could help her, it would be him. Simultaneously, the strings of both success and dread were being pulled taut, as Abi's haunting feelings returned.

  Long ago, when Joe told her about Margaret, Abi felt twinges of jealousy and wondered how Joe might react if Margaret came back into his life. If this woman was really Margaret, then Joe would have
to see this situation through regardless of any feeling of intimidation she might experience. She had always wondered how Joe would react when she and Becky Ann were reunited. Abi had always hoped that Joe would be a part of her reunion. Regardless of either situation, she was committed to Joe and would stand by him. At the moment, so much was coming to the surface in both of their lives that she hadn't had a chance to sort things out.

  Edith broke the moment of silence. “Take all the time you need, June.”

  Abi pushed the paper closer to her.

  June finally looked away from the image and resumed eating. “Where did you get this?”

  “From a friend, someone who thinks he knows you. It's a fax copy of an enlarged photo.” Edith spoke respectively, as if talking to a business candidate across a meeting table. Then she turned to Abi. “Are you all right?”

  “I need to calm down. Didn't think something like this….” She fumbled with the pill bottle and finally stuck a nitro tablet under her tongue. “So much is happening.”

  June watched them but continued to eat in her slow methodical way without saying a word. She kept glancing at the woman's image on the paper lying next to her tray.

  “Abi, I've seen you popping an awful lot of those pills lately. When's the last time you got yourself to a doctor?”

  “Guess it's time for a checkup. This bottle's almost empty.”

  June finished the last bite of bread pudding and then took another sip of coffee. “You two seem like nice ladies. I always thought people in these places looked down on street people.” Her frightened demeanor had softened. She smiled warmly. “And you…” She shook a scrawny finger at the pill bottle Abi held. “In a way, you're just like us. You've got your problems too.” She smiled sympathetically.

  “I guess I do.”

  “Is that it, ladies? You just wanted me to look at that picture?”

  “Well, no.” Abi dropped the bottle back into her pocket. “The man who thinks he knows you wants to meet with you.”

  “Is it that important? This isn't some kind of a game, is it?”

  “Oh, June.” Edith finally reached for June's arm. She took hold of her wrist and June seemed surprised that anyone would want to touch her. “We wouldn't play games with something like this.”

  “Well then, who is he?”

  “We were hoping you'd recognize this woman.” Abi hid her disappointment. “The man who gave us this picture might be someone from your life before you found yourself on the street.”

  “I can't remember a thing.”

  “Why not just meet with him?” Then an idea came to her. Abi brought out her wallet and opened it to a small close up photo of her and Joe together. She slid the opened wallet across the table but kept hold of it. “This is him.” She pointed to the photo. “Do you recognize him?”

  June leaned close and studied the photo for quite a while. She sipped her coffee even as she continued to stare at the photo. Then she looked upward and rolled her eyes back and forth, the way most people do when they're trying to remember something. “Who is he?” Her voice pleaded.

  “Do you recognize him?”

  June studied the photo again. When she looked up, she still looked to be searching her memory. “Amnesia.” Her moment of excitement at seeing the picture faded. “People tell me I have amnesia. I can barely remember things.”

  “If you know what that means—”

  “Knowing what it means, and remembering, are entirely different.” June spoke in a calm matter-of-fact way. So she still must have some comprehension of events.

  “June, would you like to know the life you came from?”

  “How can I say I'd like to know? I'd have to have memories of something else.” She grimaced. The corners of her mouth hung downward. “What I had before might not have been better. All I know is the street. Maybe that's all I've ever known.”

  “All people had lives before they ended up on the street.” Edith seemed doing her best to keep the conversation going.

  “That's right, June. What if you had a life similar to ours, maybe much better?” If June were on the street because of amnesia, she would need a lot of help. “Wouldn't it be worth finding out?”

  “I suppose so. I don't like this life. None of us out there who have any part of a brain left like this life.”

  “Then meet with Joe.”

  “Joe.” June said the name quietly to herself “Joe?” She looked down again at the man's photo in the wallet. She had almost taken another sip of coffee and stopped with the cup pressed to her lips. She looked straight into Abi's eyes and slowly lowered the cup.

  Something showed through her gaze that even June may not have been aware of expressing. “Please say you'll meet with him. If you're the person Joe thinks he recognized, anything would be better than being on the street.” The plight of Megan Winnaker came to mind. “Almost anything.”

  “I'll think about it. May I keep the picture?”

  Her request took Abi by surprise. “Sure.” She pushed the fax photo closer June.

  “Not that one, the one in your wallet.”

  Abi could not believe her ears. Maybe the picture had sparked something in June's memory. “Okay.” Abi wouldn't hesitate. She removed the photo from the plastic window. “Take them both. If they help you remember, please come see Edith or me, okay?”

  “Thank you.” June's voice was soft, grateful. She simply accepted the photos, rose from her chair, and walked out into the night.

  Chapter 9

  That evening, a rustling came from outside the front door, then a quiet knock. Not expecting anyone and, not having dressed since stepping out of the shower, Abi wore only a lounging robe. She peeped out from behind the drapes in the foyer. Joe stood at the entrance loaded down with photographic gear. The gray at his temples gleamed under the entry light. He carrying his gear meant only one thing. He planned to spend the night and did not wish to leave his expensive equipment outside in the Range Rover.

  “Joe!” She smiled warmly as she opened the door wide. “I didn't expect you till tomorrow.”

  He stood still, feigning surprise. “Should I go away and come back in the morning?”

  She grabbed him by a sleeve. “Get in here.”

  He dropped the gear in the foyer then went to retrieve another load, which he placed beside the rest and then closed and locked the door. He took her into his arms and breathed deeply. “Ah-h, Abi, I've missed you so much.”

  His deep voice soothed her. She smiled into his shoulder and breathed in the scent of his skin. She never really doubted him, despite him finally admitting his preoccupation with thoughts of Margaret over the last few weeks. It felt good to be in his arms again. His loyalty and truthfulness had withstood all tests, had given her courage to fall in love again. Her fear of desertion, strong after Preston walked out, and after having her daughter taken, had kept her out of serious relationships, until she met Joe. But now, perhaps, what she had to tell him would prove to be the greatest challenge of all. “We have a lot to talk about.”

  “It's been a long, hard drive.” He kicked out of his boots and left them beside the gear. He wrapped his arms around her again, slipped a hand inside her dressing gown and found her breast and gave it a playful squeeze. “I guess you didn't have any plans for this evening, did you?”

  “Dressed like this?”

  His jovial mood and expression suddenly went serious. “I guess you'll want to talk.”

  “Yes, I've got some news for you.”

  “Wait.” He pressed a fingertip against her lips. “I don't want to talk about anything tonight. Not about anything or anyone, except us.”

  “But Joe, I need to—”

  “Sh-h-h. It's just you and me tonight.” Then he smiled broadly. “You weren't planning to tell me all your secrets till tomorrow, so tonight is ours.”

  They made their way to the living room with Joe still snuggled behind and nearly straddling her. It was another of his little gestures that told her wha
t was in store for the evening. With the importance of events unfolding in both his and her lives, why was he delaying discussion of the issues at hand? That was not like Joe who, without hesitation, dived into a project head first. His reluctance said he might be clinging to the routines they had established for themselves, perhaps dreading any approaching changes that could disrupt their present peaceful existence together.

  “Let's sit here.” He motioned to the cozy area on the floor in front of the fireplace, then threw a thick log onto the fire. He poked at it long enough to see it catch fire.

  How well she knew his innocent little gestures when he was preparing for intimacy, like building a raging fire so he wouldn't have to be interrupted to stoke it later.

  Easing the coffee table to the side and then dropping to the thick carpeting, he stretched out his legs and moaned a sigh of relief. Smiling contentedly, he patted the carpet for her to join him. As soon as she sat, he leaned over and kissed her, slowly at first, then hungrily. It seemed he didn't want to let go.

  Finally, she pulled away. “I don't know what's gotten into you, Joe Arno!”

  “Every day I wake and think of you and fall in love all over again.” He gently pushed her back so they were lying on the carpet. “It's you, Abi. You are what's gotten into me, into my heart and soul.”

  Abi hid her face so he wouldn't be able to read her expression. They were not alone. Thoughts of Megan Winnaker and Margaret Griffin and what she and Joe needed to do flooded her mind. She had not thought of anything else, nor could she turn it off at will. “Joe, wait.”

  “Unless you're going to say you love me, I don't want to hear anything else.” He stroked her hair. Sighing, which he sometimes did when extremely fatigued, subsided.

  “We need to talk.”

  “Abi, I'm serious.” He pulled away slightly. “I know what you want to talk about, but this time I've got to have my say.”

  “You mean you'd rather wait till tomorrow to hear what I've done?”

  “I've done nothing but think about us all week.” He passed his fingertips across her cheek. “Some things going on right now could pull us in separate directions.”