“Sarah-Mary. Don’t you see? It would be so much better if I could fly into Richmond and stay in a halfway-decent hotel. Think about it. Think about how much better that would look.”
“He’s only eleven.” I shoved my tray toward her. “I mean, I understand leaving me. I don’t really need you. But he does. His dad is dead, and you’re his mom.”
I was being foolish, doing the very thing I knew better than to do. I was trying to make her feel bad. It’d never worked before, and I don’t know why I was thinking it would work now. But to my surprise, she winced. She rubbed the back of her neck.
“He’s got you,” she said. “I would never leave him if he didn’t have you.”
I wasn’t enough. Of course I wasn’t.
She sighed. “And you’ve both got Jenny. Don’t act like you’re in some prison camp. I know she’s a little rigid, but you’ve got a roof over your head and enough to eat.” She held up her hands. “You may think you have it rough, Sarah-Mary. But you’ve got everything you need.”
I shook my head. “You can’t make yourself feel better because we’re not going hungry!” A man at another table turned around, but I didn’t care. Let him look. “You have no idea what Berean Baptist is like! I don’t have any freedom! You understand? None!”
She didn’t have anything to say to that. And I’d said all I could. We sat in silence for a few minutes, not even looking at each other. A woman started to sit at the table connected to ours, but when she saw my face, how mad I looked, she backed right up to go find a different table. Just then, it occurred to me that Caleb had been in the bathroom for a long time. I turned around, craning my neck, but the bathrooms were down a hallway. I couldn’t see the door to the men’s room.
“You think he’s okay?” I asked. I didn’t wait for her to answer. I was thinking of highway pedophiles, and how little he was, and the idea of him all alone in a bathroom while his mother and his sister weren’t paying attention. I got up and hurried across the lobby, dodging people coming through with trays. The hallway was empty, the doors to both bathrooms closed.
I knocked on the door of the men’s room. “Hello?”
A toilet flushed, but no answer. I knocked again, louder.
“Hello?”
A man in a baseball cap opened the door.
“Hello,” he said, and laughed a little. I got the joke. I was standing there with my fist raised, ready to knock again, and it was like he’d opened the front door to his house. But when he saw my face, he stopped laughing. “What?”
“Did you see a boy in there? Around eleven?” I used the flat of my hand to show how tall Caleb was. “He’s wearing a gray coat?”
“Uh . . .” The man turned around and looked. I ducked under his arm and moved past him. Another man coming out of a stall, still buckling his belt, looked at me like my head was on fire. I moved to the side to let him through.
“Caleb? Are you in here?”
“Yes.” It was his voice. He sounded mad, and a little choked from crying, but it was him. “Sarah-Mary, get out of here. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Okay,” I said. “Sorry. I was worried.” I nodded at the belt-buckle man, who was at the sink, washing his hands. “Sorry,” I said again.
I felt pretty stupid, coming out of the men’s bathroom. I’d embarrassed Caleb, made him feel like a little kid, when that was the last thing he needed. Also, those poor men had just been using the bathroom, and I’d pretty much accused them of being creepers. I kept my head down as I moved across the lobby, so I was almost back at the table before I saw my mother’s empty chair.
Her tray was still there, and ours too.
“Miss?” A McDonald’s worker in a polo shirt pointed at the table. “Are you done here? May I clear the table?”
“Hold on.” I turned back to the counter. There was a line, but she wasn’t in it. She’d gone to the bathroom? I glanced back to the hallway, and just as I did this, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the dented Subaru backing out of the parking lot. I stood there like a fool, openmouthed, with the girl in the polo shirt still standing beside me.
“Oh my God,” I said. The Subaru was already rolling forward. I could see the red sleeve of her jacket. She was really doing it. She was leaving us here. I’d never catch her, even if I ran. And if I did catch her, and said everything I could say, it would make no difference.
“Are you all right?” the girl asked. “Is everything okay?”
I nodded, sinking into my chair. “We’re still sitting here,” I said.
I’d been stupid. I’d been so stupid to believe. But to my credit, even before I looked down, I knew my purse was gone.
3
WHEN CALEB CAME out of the bathroom, I was standing by the exit, my coat zipped, my mittens on, my backpack strapped to my shoulders. I told him we had to go out to the parking lot.
He looked over at our table, where the man in the baseball hat was now sitting. “Where’s Mom?”
“We need to go around back,” I said, already moving to the exit. I knew I was making it sound like she’d be out there waiting for us, but that was for his own good. On the other side of the parking lot was a little grassy area with two picnic tables set back from the road. I figured we’d go out and sit at one, away from everybody else. If he started to cry when I told him, he at least wouldn’t have to be embarrassed.
But he didn’t cry when I told him. He sat at the picnic table and cradled his belly, his eyes shut tight like he had a stomachache, and really, that was worse than seeing him cry. I reached across the table and patted his shoulder. I didn’t know what to say. The sky was gray and heavy looking, and I could smell car exhaust from the drive-thru. Still, I just wanted to sit out there with him for a while. I didn’t want to have to go inside and call Aunt Jenny. Life was feeling hard enough without bringing her in just yet.
And we were actually in kind of a pretty spot, if I looked in the right direction. Behind Caleb, there was the McDonald’s, with the dumpster mostly hidden by a fence, and then a parking lot that stretched out to the truck stop. But if I turned my head to the right, away from the highway, there was just a big, winter-dead field, with nothing but wooded hills on the other side of it. The trees didn’t have any leaves, but they looked so peaceful, their branches black against the gray sky. I’ve always liked the way trees look in winter, like arms and hands reaching up for something, or like they’re trying to get bigger than they are. I guess that’s what’s really happening, even if they don’t know it.
“When did she say she’d come back?” Caleb asked.
“Does it matter?” I laughed a little, picking at a loose thread on my mitten. A drop of rain fell on my forehead, and then another. I pulled up my hood and checked Tess’s watch. It was after four, too late to try to fix things. Aunt Jenny was already losing her mind.
And Tess was in Puerto Rico. I couldn’t even go borrow someone’s phone to call her for a ride. Or advice.
A white car rolled into the parking lot, and Caleb sat up straight, though it wasn’t even a Subaru. When he saw it wasn’t her, he folded his arms on the picnic table and rested his head on the sleeves of his coat. I blew into my mittens, looking back at the trees. Aunt Jenny would have a lot to say to me tonight. There would be the scolding, especially because I’d taken Caleb along, but worse than that, there would be her barely disguised smugness that she’d been right about our mom. I wouldn’t tell her about the money. She would love that too much.
“She didn’t even say good-bye,” Caleb said. He still had his head down against his arms. I couldn’t see his face, just the gold whorl of hair at his crown.
“I’m sure she wanted to,” I said. “She just wanted my purse a little more.”
That was a bad enough thing to say to him. I don’t know why I had to say what I said next. I was just so mad, thinking about what an idiot I’d been. And before I could get ahold of it, the mad turned into mean.
“And if your plan is to sit around and wait
for her to love us like a normal mom?” I leaned across the table. “And come back? I’m sorry, but you’re just being stupid.”
When he lifted his head, I could see it in his eyes, how much that hurt him. Before I could say I was sorry, he jumped up and ran out of the picnic area, straight out into the field. I called out his name, but he didn’t stop, and he was moving fast. I could see the soles of his shoes as he ran. By the time I gave up shouting at him to come back, he was about a quarter of the way across the field. Still, I sat there for a few more stupid seconds. I was thinking he’d get tired and stop, or at least slow down.
But when he was about halfway to the trees, not slowing at all, I realized I might have a situation. The trees didn’t have their leaves, but there were so many of them, so close together, their bare branches entwined.
“Caleb!”
I’m a fast runner usually, but I was still wearing my backpack. Also, the boots I’d changed into had low heels, and the field was uneven and muddy. After stumbling and almost falling, I looked up just in time to see him slip in through the trees.
“Goddamn it, Caleb!” I tried to sound scary, but now I was scared. I didn’t know what was in those woods. Somebody’s property? I didn’t know. My hood had fallen back, and cold rain seeped through my hair to my scalp. “You come back here right now!”
He scurried up a little rise in the land, and then over it, and I couldn’t see him anymore. I shook my head, like I could refuse what was happening. I was so used to him being good.
“Caleb, I’m sorry! Come back!”
I reached the trees and hurried up the rise. It was steeper than it looked, and I had to turn and dig the sides of my boots into the slick grass so I wouldn’t slide back down. When I made it to the top, no Caleb. I could hear the hum of the highway behind me, but in front of me there was nothing but wilderness, so many shades of brown and gray. Faded leaves carpeted the ground between trees, and more trees, as far as I could see.
“Okay,” I yelled, “you win. I’m scared now, Caleb. I’m going back, and if you’re not with me by the time I get to the McDonald’s, I’m gonna have them call the police.”
I waited. Branches creaked overhead. It seemed the best thing to do was just wait where I was, perched up like a resting hawk. He couldn’t get back across the field without me seeing him. And it wasn’t like he was going to try to spend the night in the woods. His coat didn’t even have a hood.
I waited, and waited. I didn’t see or hear him.
“Caleb?”
The sky started to change, turning a deeper shade of gray, and the darkness of the tree trunks was getting harder to pick out against the darkness of the earth in between. If I ran back to the McDonald’s to call the police, they might come out with dogs and searchlights. I didn’t want to think about that. I didn’t want that story to start.
And for all I knew, he was just hiding behind a tree, watching me. I stood with one foot in front of the other, my hands tight on my backpack’s straps.
“Caleb, I’m sorry!” My teeth were chattering. “But if you don’t come back to me right now, I have to go call the police. I mean it. You’ve got five minutes.”
I moved farther into the trees, listening. There was the tapping of raindrops against the ground and the trees, and a squirrel skittering across my path. But other than that, quiet.
I kept walking. Rain started to fall in earnest, cold against my cheeks and forehead. I didn’t pull up my hood. I wanted to be able to see all around, and to hear him if he called out. The air seemed to grow dark before my eyes, but the farther I walked, the faster I walked, the harder it was to give up and turn around, to admit that he had really vanished. My backpack thumped against my back like it was pushing me forward with every step, and then I started to run, calling his name, my voice getting louder, again and again, until I was out of breath.
I almost stumbled when I came to a dirt road cutting through the trees. Nobody was on it, and my armpits pricked with sweat. Someone could have been driving through. Someone could have picked him up.
“Caleb?”
I heard the tremble in my voice. I’d called him stupid. I hadn’t meant to.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please let him be okay.”
I don’t know who I thought I was begging. Anyone who thinks they can yell up to God for sympathy or help in times of need doesn’t pay much attention to the news. Little kids die in the hospital, whether people are praying for them or not. People die horrible deaths in coal mines and earthquakes and tornadoes and wars and airplane crashes and convenience store robberies, and you know some of them had time to guess they were dying, and to pray as hard as they could.
But knowing all that didn’t stop me, now that I was really scared. I kept saying please, over and over, as if I were begging someone who might change their mind. “I promise, if he’s okay, I’ll be so nice to him,” I whispered. “I’ll never be mean to him again.” I looked at Tess’s watch. I’d been looking for him for almost forty minutes. It felt like hours.
“CALEB!”
The trees on either side of the road stayed silent. All I could hear was soft rainfall. I called his name again, shouting so loud my throat hurt, my mittens cupped to my mouth.
And then he was up in front of me, just before a turn in the road. He held a big umbrella, lime green, but it was him, his gray coat zippered up to his chin. I started toward him, and he held up his hand like STOP.
“I’ll run again!” he yelled. “I’ll run again, and you won’t catch me. You stop right there, Sarah-Mary!”
I stopped. He wasn’t that far away—maybe two hundred feet—but it was uphill. If he ran again, I might lose him. Even in my relief, I felt unease creeping back. I didn’t recognize the umbrella.
“Caleb. I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry. I was just mad. Mad at her. Not you. Come on back. It’ll be okay. I’m sorry for what I said.”
He didn’t move, and he kept his palm raised in front of him.
“I need you to promise me something.”
“Okay, sure.” I stepped forward, just one step. But he stepped back, ready to run. I went still.
“Anything,” I said. “You name it.” I was just so happy to see him. He wasn’t dead, chopped up somewhere, or stuffed inside somebody’s trunk. He was fine. I would never be unhappy about anything again.
He glanced back over his shoulder. “There’s someone over here who needs help. I need you to promise to help her. And to not get her in trouble.”
It took me a moment to get what he was saying, but once I did, I had to work not to smile. I could guess what he meant. Even when he’d been so upset, realizing his mom had left him again and his sister had called him stupid, he’d found someone to help. I figured it was a homeless woman, living in the woods. Of course he would want to help her. That was just him all over.
But it also seemed dangerous, talking to a stranger out here.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I said.
He shook his head. “No. You promise me, Sarah-Mary. You promise you’ll help her. You make a promise to me right now.” He had his jaw set; the hand that wasn’t holding the umbrella was clenched in a tight fist. “Promise.” He moved the umbrella to his other hand.
I nodded. Whoever she was, she couldn’t be that bad. She hadn’t murdered him yet, and she’d apparently given him an umbrella. And in this particular circumstance, Aunt Jenny might actually be of use. She sometimes volunteered at a soup kitchen with other people in her church. She would know how to help.
“Say it,” he said. “Say you promise to help her. Say you promise not to get her in trouble.”
“I promise,” I said, not even thinking about it.
And that’s what sealed my fate.
I was expecting him to lead me to a little tent, or some kind of lean-to made out of branches and a tarp. But when I saw a dark red car parked a few hundred feet from the turn in the road, I wasn’t that surprised. People lived in their cars sometimes, when they didn’t
have anywhere else to go. She had the engine running, probably for the heat, so right now she was better off, or at least warmer and drier, than I was.
But as we got closer, coming up on the passenger side, I saw the car was pretty nice and new looking. The windows on the side were tinted dark, and there weren’t any dents or chips in the paint. I didn’t know what kind of car it was, just some kind of sedan, but it looked newer than my mom’s, and newer than Aunt Jenny’s. If this woman was living in it, and it was hers, she should have sold it. She would have had rent for at least a year. She could have put a down payment on a mobile home.
I slowed my steps. “Caleb. What’s going on with this person?”
“She’s nice,” he said. He’d been walking next to me, letting me hold the umbrella over both of us, but now he jogged ahead. “Come on and get in.”
He opened the door to the backseat of the car. I threw down the umbrella and shouted his name, reaching the car just as he closed the door.
“Get out of there!” I grabbed for the door handle, slick with rain, just as I heard the click of the lock. I stood there, looking at my freaked-out reflection in the dark window, my hair wet, and some of it stuck dark against my pale face. Nothing in me could believe he’d just done what he did, but I was looking down at the proof.
“Caleb!” I stomped my foot. I could see from my reflection that I looked like a cartoon villain who’d just been had—I only needed steam coming out of my ears. But I really wanted to throttle him. I pounded on the glass.
“Damn it, Caleb!”
Finally, the back window moved down a little. But even if I could get my hand through, he’d scooted just out of my reach. “Get in the other side,” he said. “Up front.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t believe how he was acting, giving me orders like that. It was like he’d turned into a different person, just because he’d decided, in his eleven-year-old brain, that this woman needed his help. Through the half-open window, I could see the back of her head clearing the top of the driver’s seat. She was wearing a knit blue hat over dark hair that almost reached her shoulders. But that’s all I could see—she was facing straight ahead, and she didn’t turn around. Which was weird.
American Heart Page 5
