Memories of You

by Margot Dalton

  Three boys in baggy jeans and ragged shirts sat along one wall, their feet splayed casually on the floor in filthy running shoes, their baseball caps turned backward on their heads. The boys seemed to be playing a game that involved tossing wads of paper at a bundle of clothes leaning against an opposite wall.

  They exchanged guilty looks and stopped their game when Camilla entered the room.

  “Hey, Queen,” one of the boys called. “Long time no see.”

  “Hi, Zippy. Are you staying out of trouble?”

  He shrugged and looked down at the floor, toying idly with the untied laces of his shoes.

  Camilla regarded the boy for a moment. Then she knelt, put her hand under his chin and lifted his face, gazing directly into his eyes. He was about fifteen, with a thin, clever face and sensitive mouth. One of his eyes was swollen and surrounded by livid bruises.

  “Oh, dear,” she murmured, lightly touching the bruises. “When did this happen?”

  He shrugged again, the expressive gesture that all the street kids used to express a variety of emotions. “A guy nailed me.”

  “Why?”

  “He caught me stealing from his store.”

  “Why were you stealing, Zippy?”

  “I was hungry. I went almost four days with nothin’ to eat, and I got a little crazy.”

  “Zip got nailed for lifting a hunk of salami,” one of the boys said. “He’s the Baloney Bandit.” The others rolled around on the floor, pounding their feet and shouting with laughter. Camilla ignored them.

  “Why didn’t you come here?” she asked. “We would have given you something to eat.”

  “Simon kicked me out for fighting. I was on the street all weekend.”

  “Oh, Zippy.” Camilla sat back on her heels and looked at him sadly. “Have you eaten now?”

  “Yeah. Simon let me come by for supper. My suspension’s over now.”

  “Good. Come into the office later and you can have some fruit if you’re still hungry. I brought a lot of bananas and apples.”

  Zippy’s good eye brightened. He leaned closer to Camilla and jerked a thumb toward the ragged bundle on the opposite wall. “You better check on that kid, Queen. She’s in pretty bad shape.”

  For the first time, Camilla realized that the bundle of clothes was another child. She crossed the room and knelt to peel away the ragged hood, revealing a mass of golden hair.

  “Hi,” she whispered to the child’s bent head. “What’s your name?”

  A face looked up at her, then vanished again. Camilla caught an impression of frightened brown eyes, pale skin and a drift of freckles across a dainty nose.

  “Are you a girl?” Camilla asked, taking a chance. With street kids, gender wasn’t always easy to guess.

  There was a brief, almost imperceptible nod.

  “What’s your name?”

  The girl muttered something.

  “Sorry?” Camilla bent closer. “I didn’t hear you, dear.”

  “Tracy.”

  She settled next to the girl and put her arm around the thin shoulders.

  “So what’s happening, Tracy? I haven’t seen you around before.”

  More silence, but she could feel the child’s body quivering in her embrace.

  “How old are you?” Camilla asked.

  “I’m twelve,” Tracy whispered.

  Camilla felt a flood of weary hopelessness.

  These kids were getting younger all the time. And the story was almost always the same…beatings, abuse, an intolerable home situation that forced children to run away and take their chance on the streets.

  “Are you hungry?” Camilla asked.

  Tracy nodded.

  “Okay, come with me. I have some crackers and a lot of fruit in the office, and then maybe you can have a shower. You need to clean yourself up, dear, or you’re going to get sick.”

  The little girl got to her feet obediently and faltered behind Camilla into the office. Marty was there, sitting with her feet propped up on the desk, strumming softly on Chase’s guitar.

  She looked clean and happy, wearing new jeans and sneakers and a bright red pullover, her dark hair freshly washed and braided.

  “Marty!” Camilla said, bending to give her a hug. “I’ve been thinking about you all week. How’s everything going?”

  “Just great, Queenie. I’m working hard, even got a raise yesterday.” Proudly, the girl displayed a pair of chapped, reddened hands. “And the boss’s wife got me an interview for a job doing checkout at a grocery store. They pay really good.”

  “How’s Chase?”

  Marty’s face clouded. “He gets out tomorrow. I’ll know as soon as we’re together if he’s serious about staying sober.” She looked down at the floor. “I’m scared, Queen,” she muttered. “After a taste of the straight life, I don’t want to go back to the streets.”

  While Camilla talked with the older girl, she opened one of the sacks and handed a couple of bananas to Tracy, who snatched them desperately, muttering her thanks.

  “This is Tracy,” Camilla told Marty. “She’s new.”

  Marty wrinkled her nose and patted the child’s arm. “You stink, honey,” she said cheerfully. “You smell as bad as I did when I first came here. Come on,” she added when Tracy finished eating her fruit. “I’ll get you a towel and show you where the showers are. Maybe we can even find some clean clothes in the footlocker.”

  “Thanks, Marty.” Camilla sat behind the desk again, giving the older girl a warning glance that meant “be gentle, she’s really scared.”

  Marty nodded in understanding and led the ragged child from the room.

  Camilla took out a pile of student assignments and began to work, but it was difficult to concentrate on essays. The image of that terrified little girl kept haunting her.

  Many of these damaged waifs were far too small to survive on the streets, but unable to live in their own homes. And every one of them reminded her of herself as a child.

  Camilla could hardly bear to imagine what might have happened to her if Jon Campbell hadn’t encountered her on that desperate morning and given such gentle, loving assistance. If it had been anybody other than Jon who’d found her, Camilla’s life might have taken a completely different turn.

  She owed him everything….

  “Poor kid,” Marty said, coming back into the room. “She’s in the shower now, and I found her some jeans and a sweater.”

  “Did she talk to you?”

  “Not much. She’s not ready to talk yet. Got some nasty bruises all over her body.” Marty sank into the chair with a sigh of weariness and picked up the guitar again. “Somebody laid a whipping on her, that’s for sure.”

  “Should I have a look at her? Does she need a doctor?”

  Marty shook her head. “I think she needs a mommy and a daddy, but that’s not going to happen. Don’t worry, Queen. I’ll stick around and keep an eye on her.”

  “Thanks, dear. So, you’re enjoying your job?”

  “I love it.” Marty leaned forward with passionate intensity. “I love going to work every day and earning a paycheck, and buying the stuff I need without begging for it. God,” she added moodily, falling back in the chair, “I hope Chase is going to stay clean.”

  “Marty…” Camilla hesitated, weighing her next words. “Your fate isn’t in his hands, you know. If Chase doesn’t want to go straight, you can still choose to keep your job and live in dignity.”

  “But I love him,” the girl said simply. “If he can’t pull himself up, he’s going to pull me down again. I know it.”

  Camilla couldn’t argue.

  She was just beginning to understand the awesome power of love.

  “Hey, Queen,” Marty began, strumming idly on the guitar. “You remember how you were asking me about Zeke and Speedball?”

  “Yes,” Camilla said, suddenly tense. “Why? Have you heard something?”

  “Sometimes they come to the pizza restaurant where I work. Zeke heard I
was there, so he came back to the kitchen the other day and started bragging.”

  “About what?”

  “This big score they’re planning to make, using some rich kid as the patsy. The kid’s driving his car for them. Howie’s in on the deal, too.”

  “Howie!” Camilla exclaimed, horrified. “But that boy’s a monster.”

  “That’s for damn sure,” Marty said grimly. “Howie’s getting the guns for them.”

  “Oh, no,” Camilla whispered, staring at the girl. “They’re using guns?”

  “Zeke says he doesn’t want to take a chance on anything going wrong when he’s got this perfect setup. He says he’s going to be rich for the rest of his life.”

  Camilla leaned across the desk and gripped the girl’s hand urgently. “Do you think you can find out when they’re planning to do this? Please?”

  “I’ll try, Queen. I’ll see if I can corner Zeke and get the little bastard talking again.”

  “Thanks.” Camilla closed her eyes as Marty left the room. Suddenly the girl’s words, “they’re using a rich kid as a patsy,” echoed in Camilla’s head.

  Oh God, Camilla thought. They’re going to use Steven Campbell.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CAMILLA WOKE on Friday morning with a dark sense of foreboding. She stared at the ceiling, absently patting Madonna who had leaped onto the bed and was purring with noisy contentment.

  “Oh, God,” Camilla muttered when she remembered what Marty had told her. She frowned and moved restlessly under the covers, wondering what to do.

  If Steven Campbell was really involved in a group planning an armed robbery, she had a definite responsibility to speak with his father about it.

  But she’d given Steven her word. If she betrayed the boy now, he’d be more bitter than ever.

  Madonna edged closer, meowing piteously.

  “I know, I know. You’re starving, but you’ll just have to wait for a while. Maybe this is all a lot of childish bragging,” Camilla told her cat, getting out of bed. “I can’t believe Zeke would actually have the nerve to pull off something like this. And Speedball’s far too lazy.”

  But she knew Zeke. Though cowardly, the boy was greedy and impulsive, capable of any wrongdoing that he thought he could get away with.

  And if Howie was involved, the rumors were probably true.

  “Tonight,” she said firmly to Elton, who padded into the room and looked up at her with a hopeful expression. “Before I do anything about it, I’ll see if I can track down a couple of those boys and force them to tell me what’s going on.”

  She was relieved to have a plan, at least. But when she was in the steamy heat of her shower, other worries came back to haunt her.

  She thought of Marty’s fear that her love for Chase would drag her down again. Only somebody who’d actually lived that life could know what it meant to escape.

  After all these years, Camilla still dreaded her own past with an obsessive, superstitious fear. She knew if she was going to recover her equilibrium, she had to restore a sense of peace and safety before she could tackle those personal demons. Being with Jon brought them crowding back too quickly.

  So she had to terminate her research project with the twins. It was regrettable when the work was going so well, but she couldn’t bear the emotional risks of being with them.

  Finally, if the rumors about Zeke’s plans turned out to be true, she’d find an opportunity to talk with Steven and try to convince him of the danger he was in. But there would be no more intimate, friendly contacts with Jon Campbell. Never again, she told herself firmly, rummaging in her closet for something to wear.

  Her resolve lasted all morning, and continued when she entered her senior English class.

  Jon sat quietly in his desk at the back of the room, watching her. His rugged face was so dear and familiar by now that Camilla felt she’d known him all her life.

  In a way, she told herself, I guess I have. Almost all my life, anyway….

  But there was also something new in his expression these days, a kind of hungry, meaningful intensity that told her he hadn’t forgotten their embraces on the weekend. And he wasn’t going to let her forget, either.

  Her cheeks warmed slightly. She turned away and forced herself to address the class with her usual air of measured, pleasant calm.

  “Good morning,” she said. “I trust all of you are busy preparing for the midterm exam. We’ll spend this morning going over a sample examination booklet so I can .explain how I want the questions answered and how the marks will be distributed.”

  She handed out the booklets, smiling at Enrique as she passed his desk.

  He looked utterly different from the ragged, weary boy who’d started this class more than a month ago. Now he was confident and relaxed, dressed like the other students in faded blue jeans and a cotton T-shirt.

  Actually, Enrique Valeros was a very handsome young man, Camilla realized. He was also very intelligent and had a sweet personality. Vanessa Campbell might well be pleased one day that she’d chosen to befriend him.

  She approached Jon’s desk and gave him a booklet, painfully conscious of his hands on the desktop, his air of controlled power, his thoughtful gaze resting on her. He smiled up at her, blue eyes crinkling with warmth and humor.

  She forced herself to look away. His smile faded to puzzled surprise as she moved toward the front of the room. While he continued to watch her, the rest of the students opened their booklets and prepared to take notes.

  The hour droned on. When it was over, Camilla gathered her books and hurried from the room before Jon could approach her desk. Instead of going to her office, she escaped to the faculty lounge, poured herself a cup of coffee and settled in a corner to work until it was time to go downstairs and collect the twins for their daily session.

  “I THOUGHT WE’D GO to my place today,” she said as the children skipped along the hall beside her, chatting animatedly about their new motorized toys. “Is that all right?”

  “Cool!” Ari shouted. “We get to see Madonna and Elton!”

  Camilla’s heart ached as she left the arts building with them. She watched while they raced ahead of her down the tree-lined walkway.

  The thought of not seeing them anymore was so hard to bear. She loved these winsome, fascinating children with all her heart. Desperately, she tried to think of some way to maintain the relationship without endangering herself further. But her sorrow only made her see how deeply she was becoming entangled, and helped to strengthen her resolve.

  This break had to be accomplished immediately, or she and the children were going to suffer even more when it finally happened.

  “Let’s not bother with the flash cards today,” she said when they were inside her apartment. “Let’s just play, all right? And later, there’s something important I want to talk to you about.”

  Amy was already at the bookshelves, studying Camilla’s collection of little porcelain cats. She was always very careful with the costly ornaments, lifting and handling them with gentle reverence.

  “This is my very favorite,” she told Camilla, holding out a dainty white Persian who licked his front paw with a look of detachment.

  Camilla smiled. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he, dear? But I like the gray tabby, too.”

  “The one that looks like Elton?” Amy selected another figurine.

  Ari lay on the floor and drummed his heels against the carpet. Elton curled nearby, purring contentedly. Madonna watched the little boy through bright slitted eyes and pounced on his feet whenever he moved.

  “Look at her, Camilla,” he said. “She’s just like a lion in the jungle. See how she’s watching me?”

  “She has the very same hunting instincts,” Camilla said. “But she’s playing with you now. She doesn’t want to hurt you.”

  Amy left the row of china cats and came to lean against the chair, stroking Camilla’s hair. “It’s so pretty,” she said. “Like real gold.”

  Camilla gat
hered the little girl into her lap and hugged her. “Your hair is pretty, too,” she murmured, her heart breaking. “It’s so nice and curly.”

  Seeing the attention his sister was getting, Ari came and stood close to them. “Daddy says you’re a princess,” he told Camilla gravely. “Are you?”

  She swallowed hard. “No, dear, I’m not a princess. I’m a perfectly ordinary person.” She lifted him, as well, and settled him on her other knee.

  The children, always sensitive to her moods, both seemed to be aware of Camilla’s tension. They cuddled against her and looked up at her quietly, their eyes wide and questioning.

  “I have to tell you something,” Camilla said to them. She paused, then steeled herself to continue. “It’s about the tests we’ve been doing.”

  “Are we starting something different?” Ari bounced eagerly.

  “No, we aren’t. Actually, I’ve been thinking it’s time for us to—”

  The buzzer shrilled suddenly, announcing a visitor in the lobby.

  Ari wriggled off Camilla’s lap and ran to the intercom panel. He’d long since mastered the communication system but was still fascinated by it.

  “Can I answer?” he asked.

  “All right, dear.”

  The buzzer sounded again. Ari pulled down the switch. “Apartment 2E,” he said in his deepest voice. “Who’s down there?”

  “It’s Daddy. Let me in, Ari.”

  Camilla looked up in alarm while Ari signed off and activated the entry door.

  But there was no escape. In a moment Jon’s knock sounded, Ari opened the door and his father appeared in the foyer. Both children flung themselves on him with affectionate greetings, then returned to stand by Camilla’s chair.

  “No flash cards today?” Jon asked, addressing the children but gazing at Camilla with that same troubling look of grave intensity. She rubbed her arms nervously and busied herself straightening the collar on Amy’s blouse.

  “Not today. We’re just playing,” Ari said. “Camilla was going to tell us about something new we’re doing next. Daddy, watch how Madonna jumps on my feet when I lie down on the floor.”