Divine (15 page)

Mary looked over her shoulder at the social worker and then back to Evelyn. "When I'm older—after I find my grandma, when I can read and drive—I'm coming back." She hugged Evelyn again. "I want you to meet her because the two of you . . ." Her voice cracked. She pressed her lips together for a moment, then looked deeply into Evelyn's eyes. "The two of you would be friends."

Then, with her plastic bag in one hand and the cardboard box clutched to her side, she turned and followed Mrs. Campbell out to the car.

Into whatever the next chapter in her life might be.

Mary was willing to stop, but Emma didn't
budge.

"1 have nowhere to go, Mary." Emma stood and helped herself to a cup of water. The easy way she had about her now made her look more comfortable. "The girls were just lying down for a nap when I checked on them."

"Okay, then . . . tell me if you have to go." Mary shifted in her seat so she could feel more of the breeze. If Emma was willing to listen, she'd keep telling the story.

***

Ted and Evelyn had been right about the new family. Mr. and Mrs. Lake were younger, and they had two little boys—Trevor was six and Ty was four. The Lakes must've been rich because they had a pool and a two-story house, two cars, two televisions, and even two dogs in the backyard.

For the first couple weeks, Mary said little to them. She stayed in her room, working with the contents of the cardboard box—the flash cards and tapes. She could feel herself becoming a better reader every day. They invited her to the table for meals and talked about getting her enrolled for school in the fall, but they didn't push her. If she wanted to stay in her room, that was okay with them.

And that was exactly what Mary wanted. Every night before she fell asleep, Mary would reach to the bottom of her white plastic bag and find the little red-beaded purse. By the end of the second week there, when she pulled it out, unbuttoned the clasp, and took the note from inside, something amazing happened. She could read the words—or at least most of them. For the first time, she could actually make sense of what Grandma Peggy had written on the slip of paper.

The first part was something the Lord wanted her to know. That He had plans for her, plans to give her hope and something else, something that started with the letter/, and then a word that told her where she could find those words in the Bible. Mary wasn't sure, but she thought she understood. It meant God had hope for her not just today, but tomorrow and all the tomorrows she might ever have. The last part she could read without missing a word:
Mary, I will always be here for you. I love you. Grandma.

It was late enough that the Lake family was already sleeping, but Mary's joy filled her senses. She could read! She covered her mouth and made the softest squealing sound. She could really and truly read. Not only that, but the message was wonderful. Her grandma loved her, and she was waiting for her. Now all Mary had to do was find her way to the little flat in New York City where her grandma lived. Maybe she'd talk to Mrs. Lake in the morning.

She slipped the note back in the purse and hid it under her pillow. Now that she could read, she wanted it close by so she could take it out and look at it anytime she was missing her grandma and wondering how to find her. When the purse was safely tucked away, she turned out the light and thought about her grandma's voice, her face. Sometimes the memory of her seemed so distant that Mary worried it would disappear forever.

Maybe if she spent more time getting better at her reading, she could learn to write. Then she could write down all her memories of her grandma so she wouldn't forget them. She sat up and looked at the corner of her room where she kept her cardboard box of reading supplies. But the corner was empty. Her eyes followed the edge of the room around the entire perimeter. The box was gone.

Strange. The box was always in her room. Maybe Mrs. Lake had borrowed it for one of the little boys. She lay back down, and gradually thoughts of her reading box faded. She'd talk to Mrs. Lake and find it tomorrow. Sleep was beginning to find her when there was a noise at her bedroom door. She sat straight up, startled. Sounds in the middle of the night reminded her of the basement and the men who would sometimes make their way down later than usual. For a second she thought maybe she was back there, and maybe the past few months were nothing but a dream.

But then the door opened, and there stood Mr. Lake. He wore a frown and concern around his eyes. "Mary?"

She clutched the bedcovers to her chest, her eyes wide. "Yes?"

"Did you yell?" He took slow steps into the room and looked once over his shoulder. Then he shut the door very quietly, so it didn't make a sound. There was a streetlamp outside her window, so there was still enough light to see his eyes as they found hers. "Is everything okay?"

Mary pressed her back into the headboard. "I'm fine." She remembered her reading box. "Do you know where my box is? the one with my reading stuff?"

He laughed and leaned against the wall near her bed. "That's baby stuff. I found it in here this morning and threw it out with the trash. You're way too old for that."

Mary's mouth hung open. He'd thrown away her precious box of reading supplies from Ted and Evelyn? Now how would she get better with her letter combinations and with the words at higher levels? She folded her arms against her chest. "Those . . . those were special to me."

He brushed off her comment. "You don't need them." He sat at the foot of the bed. "I can teach you everything you don't know." Another glance at the door. His smile became thin and mean. "But you already know more than most girls twice your age." He paused, staring at her. "You sure you didn't scream?"

What was wrong with him? Mary studied his face. There was something familiar about the look in his eyes, and gradually she understood. His expression was sort of glazed over, and every few seconds he ran his tongue over his lower lip. He didn't look like Mr. Lake at all, but more like one of Jimbo's friends. She slid to the back corner of the bed, as far away from him as possible.

"Everything's okay."

He wasn't going to touch her, was he? Mrs. Campbell said these were nice people. Safe people. She swallowed hard. "Good night."

Mr. Lake let his eyes move from her face down to her feet and back again. "Can I ask you something?"

"I'm . . . I'm tired." She glanced at the window a few feet away and then at the door. If he made a move she would run—she'd have to. But how would she get past him? And where was her grandma through all this?

"What I want to know is this." Mr. Lake slid along the mattress until he was only an arm's length from her face. "They brought men to you every night?"

She was trembling now, and her stomach felt tight, like someone was punching her over and over and over. "Mrs. Campbell said I don't have to talk about it."

"Yeah, but you must miss all that attention." He leaned closer, put his fingers on the shoulder of her flannel nightgown, and ran them down her arm. "Pretty girl like you."

Mary jerked back. This wasn't supposed to happen. Her days of meeting men's needs were over. Wasn't that what Mrs. Campbell said?
"The Lakes are nice people, you'll do real well there."
But then why was Mr. Lake doing this? Why was he touching her? She pressed herself against the wall and whispered, "Please . . . don't touch me."

Mr. Lake frowned again. "I want to get to know you, Mary." He stopped his hand near the small of her waist and rubbed his thumb along her side. "This is what a girl like you wants from men."

"Not anymore." Her voice was low, the words trapped by fear. How could she explain that she'd never wanted that sort of life? She hadn't, right? Even though sometimes the customers said nice things, it wasn't what she really wanted. She shuddered. "Things are . . . different now."

"Girls like you never change." He came a few inches closer. "We can make it our secret. . . . You won't be sorry."

Mary felt herself gag, but she swallowed whatever wanted to come up. Was this how it was with the men who had visited her in the basement? Did they have wives and families at home, and was she their little secret? If so, then . . . then she was something awful and wretched. A horrible, horrible girl.

Mr. Lake was waiting. If she told him no, he could force himself on her. Some of the men had done that, and the bruises lasted for days.

She glanced around the room, but there was no way past him. If only she could get him out of her room. She could call Mrs. Campbell in the morning and get a ride back to Ted and Evelyn's house. If it came down to lying and acting, so be it. Whatever it took. She lowered her chin to her chest and forced the slightest smile. "I feel sick tonight."
Don't look scared . . . he'll see through you.
She willed her arms to relax. "Okay?"

Mr. Lake's expression eased. "Does that mean I'd have a better chance tomorrow night?"

"Maybe." A shy shrug. "If it's our secret."

That was all it took. Mr. Lake stood and gave her a mock salute. "Tomorrow, then." He was smiling, but his voice sounded ice-cold. "You won't be sorry."

After he left, Mary lay back down and stared at the ceiling. Her heart was pounding so hard the noise filled the room.
Ba-boom . . . ba-boom . . . ba-boom.
She watched her clock, watched the time go from 11:45 to 12:25, and only then—when she was sure Mr. Lake was asleep—did she creep out of bed.

She packed her clothes into the white plastic bag and buried the little red-beaded purse near the bottom. Mrs. Campbell had given her a small card with her phone number on it. "Use it anytime you'd like," she said. "If you're having a problem, I want to know about it."

Mary found the card in the top drawer of the nightstand, and she pressed it into the palm of her hand. Then she lay in bed, shaking and waiting for daylight. It was summer, so the Lakes expected her to sleep in past eight o'clock. Instead she used the phone in the office down the hall and called Mrs. Campbell.

"Social Services, how can I help you?"

She coughed. Terror and exhaustion fought for position. "Mrs. Campbell, please."

"Sorry—" the man at the other end sounded distracted— "she's out for the week."

"But. . ." Panic kicked her in the gut. "I need to talk to her."

The man sighed. "Can I get another social worker for you?"

Another social worker? Mary pushed her fingers into her long hair and shook her head. How could she tell another social worker what was happening? "No, that's okay." She was shaking so hard she could barely hold the phone. "I'll call back." She hung up the receiver.

If Mrs. Campbell was gone, she had one choice. She would take her things and run away, find a ride to New York City, and go to the nearest police station. The police who rescued her from Jimbo and Lou's basement had been so nice to her. Certainly all policemen would be willing to help. And once she was in New York, a police officer could help her find her grandma.

Determination welled up inside her and made her feel strong. She wouldn't stay another night with the Lakes, no matter what she'd done in the past. Her feelings before had been wrong. Meeting the needs of men wasn't love,- it never would be. But love was out there. It was at Ted and Evelyn's house and wherever Grandma Peggy was. She would leave, and she would find love if she had to spend the rest of her life looking for it. The fact that she had no money would make her search harder, but that was okay. She'd lived on the streets most of her childhood, and she'd survived. She could live there again if she had to.

She ate breakfast late that morning when she was sure Mr. Lake was at work. After Mrs. Lake and the boys left for the supermarket, Mary was ready. There wouldn't be a better time. It was hot outside, but she wore her jeans and a sweatshirt. She stepped into the bathroom and looked at the mirror. As ugly as she felt on the inside, her outside more than made up for it. But for a fifteen-year-old runaway, being pretty would only make life more dangerous.

Working quickly, she grabbed a ponytail holder from the top drawer—the one that held Mrs. Lake's things. She pulled her hair back tight and put it in a ponytail. Then she went to Mr. Lake's closet and found a baseball cap. It was big, but that was okay. The back band fit over her hair better that way. Near the front door, she grabbed her overstuffed plastic bag and left as fast as she could.

She never once looked back.

The Lakes' house was right off the freeway, so it didn't take long to walk to the boulevard and find a spot just before the on-ramp. She stuck out her thumb and made eye contact with every driver who passed by. She'd seen a guy do that in a movie she'd watched with Ted and Evelyn.

The third trucker swung his rig over and pushed open the passenger door of his cab.

"I need a ride to New York City," Mary shouted at the old man behind the wheel.

"Get in." He gave her a quick nod. "I'll pass right through it."

Mary's heart was thudding hard, but she ignored it. She pushed her things up into the cab and climbed in after them. Tough girl—that was her image now. She looked straight ahead.
Come on, Mary. . . sound old.
She cleared her throat. "Thanks." She shot him a look. "1 don't have much money."