The Lights of Tenth Street (25 page)

He hurried to the counter. As his purchase was rung up, he asked the teenager if he could use the phone.

From up near the rafters of the church, the angels watched the little group of three people in the front pew. Mr. Dugan and his wife talked with Linda and held her as she cried. They prayed for her, talked some more, and prayed again.

Mrs. Dugan went to make a phone call, and returned with a smile.

“It’s all set, my dear. Our daughter-in-law is making up a room right now. You’ll like her. She’s a guidance counselor at the high school. And since we’ll be out of town for a few days, I’ll feel better if you’re with her and her husband.”

“What if Seth—”

“For the moment, we won’t tell him where you are,” Mrs. Dugan said, “and there’s no way for him to find out. Let’s get you safe and healed up first, and then we’ll discuss the next steps. All Seth needs to know right now is that you won’t be coming home for a bit. We have some clothes you can borrow, so there’s no need even to go back to the house.”

Linda shuddered, as she had many times in the last hour. “But when I
do
come home, he’ll be so furious—”

“Linda, you have some new friends now,” Mr. Dugan said, “and we care what happens to you. And God is watching over you. Let’s let tomorrow worry about itself, and trust that God will work it out.”

Mr. Dugan noticed Linda’s fretful gaze settle on a pair of outstretched hands in a stained-glass window above the altar. The hands were battered and bloodied, pierced with the marks of nails.

Her anxious movements stilled and she sat for a long moment, staring at the window. Finally, she looked down at her hands and nodded.

“Linda.” Mrs. Dugan’s voice was gentle. “I also called over to the hospital.”

Her head jerked up and she started to protest.

Mrs. Dugan reached over and took her good hand. “My dear, you need help. You need to get that arm looked at, for one thing. The hospital has some very nice staff members who are used to dealing with women in your situation. Okay?”

“I don’t have health insurance. And no money.”

From up near the rafters, the angels noticed Mrs. Dugan give her husband an anxious look.

“Linda,” he said, “I believe that God brought us together, and He will provide. Let’s take one thing at a time, okay? Let’s get you to the doctor.”

There was another long pause. Then a small voice. “Why are you doing this? You hardly know me.”

“That’s an easy answer, Linda.” He opened a pew Bible and flipped through several pages until he found what he was looking for. “We’re followers of Jesus, and Jesus loves you. Listen to His heart here as He talks to His followers. ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father … For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

“Then the followers are a little confused, and they ask when they had ever fed or clothed Jesus! Here’s what He says: ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’ ”

He laid down the Bible and looked straight into Linda’s red eyes. “We may not know you well, but you are God’s creation, and precious to Him. You are our sister. And whatever we may do for you, we know we’re also serving Jesus, who loves you very much.”

Linda looked uncomfortable. “But I’m not very religious …”

Mr. Dugan gave a great bark of laughter. “Religious! Neither am I! It’s not about religion; it’s about a relationship with God.”

He fell silent, patting her hand. A church bell chimed.

“So, my dear,” Mrs. Dugan said “Shall we get that arm looked at?”

She and her husband helped Linda up and to their small car. Mrs. Dugan drove the car, while her husband followed in his decrepit pickup. The angels followed, their eyes watchful as the Lord cast an impenetrable barrier over the little procession. The entire mission must be sheltered from enemy eyes. They knew the forces of darkness had lost the woman’s track the moment she set out from the house that afternoon. And unless something unforeseen happened, they were never getting her back.

The social worker parted the curtains to Linda’s partitioned-off area of the emergency room. She hugged her clipboard to her chest and gave Linda and the Dugans a warm smile.

“The officer is here. Shall I bring him in?”

Linda nodded and watched the social worker hurry away before Linda changed her mind again. This was all moving so fast. How had these people persuaded her to do something she’d been terrified of for years?

She looked down at the fresh cast on her left arm. He’d never broken anything before. Well, nothing visible. He’d broken her spirit—and her daughter’s—years before.

She heard the social worker talking to the policeman, and her mouth grew dry. If she filed this report, Seth would kill her. Terror crashed in on her and she gave a violent shudder, clenching the flimsy bedsheets in her fist. Seth had always been able to find her at the shelters, at the homes of their few friends. And what had come next … her stomach wrenched at the pain of the memories. Her heart beat faster. She had no money of her own, no saleable skills; no way to get away, to start over. What made her think anything could change now?

Something touched her arm, and she jumped. Mrs. Dugan was standing by the bed, deep understanding in her face.

“Linda, it’ll be okay. You’ll be safe. And we’ll help you. There’s nothing to fear.”

Linda stared back into the clear eyes of a near-stranger who had dropped everything to help her, and saw … kindness. A deep kindness she had never known. It was as if the warmth of the sun shone through those blue eyes, straight into her frozen soul.

When the policeman finally entered, she was sitting quietly, waiting, holding Mrs. Dugan’s hand.

H
ey, girl.” Tiffany poked her head inside the break room, then gave a huge yawn. “I thought you’d left already.”

“Wish I had. Took me forever to close out tonight.”

Ronnie leaned deep into her locker, fishing for her things. She pulled out the folder bulging with college materials, still where she had shoved it after getting her acceptance days before. At this rate, who knew if she’d ever use them? She thought again—as she had all night—about her conversation with her mother. She never had been able to reach her.

Ronnie slid the folder into her shoulder bag and slammed the locker’s metal door. Then the two friends walked out the staff hallway and into the quiet club. The tables were empty, except for a small group huddled around a booth where the DJ and a few bouncers were relaxing.

Tiffany headed that direction, then glanced back over her shoulder. “Why don’t you wait for us? We’re going to hang out at Nicks once we’re done here. You should join us. It sounds like you’ve had a hard day.”

“Well …”

“I’ll just be a minute. C’mon.”

“You are just bound and determined that I’ll have a good time, aren’t you? Even if you have to drag me into it?”

“Kicking and screaming, babe.” Tiffany grinned. “Someone has to.”

Ronnie started awake to the distant sound of a telephone. She fumbled on her nightstand, knocking over a picture frame and a half-full glass of water before she dimly remembered that the phone was in the kitchen.

Her head was heavy, her eyes unfocused. She squinted toward her nightstand, shielding her eyes from the light blasting in the bedroom window, and cursed under her breath at the sight of the water dripping onto her bag and apron, in a jumble on the floor. She grabbed a tissue and dabbed weakly at the puddle. That was the last time she let Tiffany talk her into partying on a work night.

Work night! She batted the clutter aside from the clock on her nightstand, and
then groaned: 11:25. She was supposed to be at the club by noon. So was Tiffany.

She fumbled to her feet and headed for the door, taking it slow. It had been a while since she’d had a hangover this bad. Maybe she wouldn’t wake Tiffany up, just to get her back.

She opened the door and shuffled down the hallway.

“Boy, you look terrible.”

Ronnie squinted toward the kitchen. Tiffany was sitting in the nook, fully dressed, eating a piece of toast and reading the newspaper.

“You’re up.”

Tiffany raised an eyebrow. “Uh … 
yeah
. Gotta go to work.”

Ronnie closed her eyes. “In about fifteen minutes, I’m gonna be real mad that you didn’t wake me up. Right now, I’ve got to shower.”

“Have fun.” Tiffany turned back to the newspaper and took another bite of toast. “I wanna see how fast you can move.”

“Jerk.” Ronnie muttered under her breath as she turned back to her room.

“That’s jerk
ette
to you, babe.”

Ronnie groaned and steadied herself against the wall. At this rate, she wouldn’t get to the club until one o’clock, and Marco would dock her pay.

That thought sobered her enough to carry her through showering and changing, and a quick once-over of her hair. She’d have to do her makeup in the car. She glowered at Tiffany as her friend breezed out the doorway ahead of her.

Hadn’t Tiffany drunk as much as she had? She couldn’t remember. In fact … Ronnie stopped, momentarily confused. She couldn’t remember anything about the night before.

She drove toward the club on autopilot, her mind racing. What had she done? She didn’t mind a good buzz, but she hated being out of control.

As she entered the busy breakroom, she noticed Nick, the DJ, Brian, and several of the other bouncers elbowing each other. Maris glanced at her from beside her locker, then turned away. The men started applauding, hooting and cheering.

“Here she comes, Miss America!”

Ronnie blushed and tried to frown. “Cut it out. What’re you doing?”

The DJ sidled up to her as she worked the combination to her locker. “Yo, sis—I think it’s more a matter of what
you
were doing.”

“What’re you talking about?”

The DJ whipped off his shirt, put on a simpering face, and tiptoed across the floor. “Hi, I’m auditioning for Miss Naked America.”

Ronnie leaned against her locker with a thud. She could feel the blood rising in her cheeks. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The DJ grabbed her around her waist and pressed her into him. “Oh, baby, I wouldn’t kid about that. I just want to know when I get to see the next audition.”

Ronnie dug her fingernails into his chest until he broke off with a curse. She saw Nick sitting at one of the break tables, chuckling at the scene.

She turned back to her locker, forcing her voice to remain steady. “I’m not sure I believe you idiots, anyway.”

Nick rose from his table, took a last drag, and extinguished his cigarette. “Oh, we all saw you, Ronnie. And don’t take this the wrong way, but you looked good. There shouldn’t be anything that stops you from getting up there, now.”

“I can’t—”

“Look.” Brian stepped forward. “I know you’re probably nervous about it. Who isn’t, at first? But you already showed it to us. You might as well get paid for it.”

Ronnie pressed her lips together and turned away.

As she fastened her apron around her waist, she realized Maris was looking at her out of the corner of her eye. She gave Ronnie a subtle shake of the head, a strange look on her face, and glanced around as if she wanted to say something without the others overhearing.

Nick eyed his watch and gave Ronnie a parting slap on the back. “I’ve got to go open the bar. Maris, you’re opening, too. You coming?”

Maris straightened, and in an instant the strange look was replaced by her usual briskness. She clicked her locker shut and whisked out of the room without a backward glance.

Brian turned to Ronnie and shrugged, a brotherly smile on his face. “We aren’t trying to embarrass you, you know. We’re just looking out for you. Just think about it, okay?”

Ronnie kept her head down, trying desperately to remember her embarrassing actions at the party. What had she been
thinking?
She tried to dredge up the usual indignant thoughts that rose when someone suggested stripping, but they were nowhere to be found.

Marco stuck his head out the door and hollered down the hall. “Phone for you, Ronnie!”

Ronnie turned, confused. “For me?”

“Hurry it up!” Marco was gesturing her toward his office. “I’ve got a meeting in a few minutes.”

Ronnie headed back up the hallway and sidled over to Marco’s desk, staring at his face. She hadn’t given anyone the club’s number. If this was a setup …

“Hello?”

“Ronnie, is that you?” The voice was high-pitched, anxious.

“Mom! I’ve been trying to call you! Are you okay?”

There was a long pause. “Not really, baby.”

“What happened? What—”

“Honey, it’s too long to go into. But you can’t reach me at home, not for a while. I wanted to give you a number where I’m staying and … and ask you a question.”

Ronnie scrabbled on the desk for a sticky note and a pen, aware of Marco’s curious gaze. “Go ahead. What question?”