The Scarlet Thread (35 page)

“I’m back,” Arlene said from the doorway to the corridor. Her

bright smile died when she saw Ron’s hand over Sierra’s. Arlene’s

expression registered shock and embarrassment as she looked between the two of them. “Excuse me,” she said, the disturbing

question clear in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. . . .”

“You didn’t,” Sierra said, snatching her hand from beneath

Ron’s. She fumbled, banging the file drawer open. “I just had a

disturbing call,” she said, grabbing her purse.

“Sierra,” Ron said, a wealth of feeling in his tone. “Wait a minute. Let’s talk—”

“I’ve got to go,” she said, stepping around him. She couldn’t

look into his eyes. Arlene stepped back so she could go into the

hallway.

“Can I do anything to help?” Arlene said, following her. “I

don’t think you should drive when you’re this upset.”

“I’ll be fine. Really.” She pushed open the front glass door with

the words Los Angeles Outreach printed in bold black letters.

Fumbling with her keys, she ran across the parking lot to her car.

Alex’s birthday present to her. Audra’s words still rang in her

ears. She found the right key and opened the door. Sliding in, she

slammed it, turned the ignition, threw the car into reverse and

then back into drive. She gulped for air, not even bothering to

stop to look before she pulled out of the parking lot. Someone

blasted their horn just behind her.

Running the yellow light, she turned onto the main thoroughfare and headed for the freeway entrance. The BMW revved

loudly as she sailed up the ramp. Another horn blasted, but she

was crying too hard by then to notice. She darted between two

cars into the second lane, then moved into the third and pressed

down even harder on the gas, shooting into the fast lane.

“Oh, God,” she said, gripping the wheel. “Oh, God,
God!
I

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didn’t mean to make such a mess of things!” Choking on a sob,

she slammed on her brakes so she wouldn’t plow into the

Mercedes in front of her. She whipped around to the right,

passed it, and shot back into the fast lane.

Where was she going?

What did it matter?

She felt like driving straight off a cliff. Where was the closest

one? Mulholland Drive? Maybe the canyons on the road to

Malibu would be better.

She wanted her mother, but remembered with a sharp pain

that her mother was dead. She needed Alex. No, not Alex. He

was gone, too.

“Jesus, oh, Jesus,” she cried, dashing tears out of her eyes.

She wanted to dump everything at his feet and give up the fight.

But how could she do that? What right did she have to ask God’s

help
now?
“Oh, Jesus, what can I do?”

She could hear a siren but paid no attention, not until a

black-and-white highway patrol car pulled up alongside her,

lights flashing. Her heart stopped when the officer jerked his

thumb for her to pull over.

“Great! Just what I need!”

He slowed, moving in behind her. Traffic gave way as she

moved over, lane by lane, until she was driving slowly along the

shoulder. She rolled to a stop, put the car in park, and shut off

her engine. Then, gripping the steering wheel, she rested her

forehead against it and sobbed.

The officer tapped at her window. She had to turn the key before she could lower it. The roar of freeway traffic was deafening. Only the lane closest to them had slowed at all. Just enough

so everybody could get a good look at her as they drove by.

Could a person die of humiliation?

Leaning down slightly, the officer looked at her face.

“I’m sorry I was speeding,” she said, tears running down her

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she was a drunk on a crying jag.

“Your driver’s license and registration please.”

Fumbling through her purse, she found her license. The registration was in her glove compartment. As soon as she handed

them over, he stepped back, his hand resting almost casually

over the handle of his gun. Did he think she was dangerous?

“Get out of the car, please, Mrs. Madrid.”

“I haven’t been drinking. I swear. I’m not smuggling drugs or

firearms—”

“Get out of the car, Mrs. Madrid.”

She obeyed, trying to get hold of herself as she did so. She couldn’t

stop crying. When the officer put his hand firmly beneath her elbow

as he closed her car door, she wondered what he thought she was

going to do. Try to run away? Where could she go? Into the ice

plant? Or was it ivy growing alongside the freeway? She couldn’t tell

through her tears. It was
green
whatever it was.

Sierra could just see the headlines: “Woman Has Nervous

Breakdown on Hollywood Freeway.”

She could see herself being hauled away in cuffs.

She cried harder.

Opening the back door of the squad car, the patrolman told

her to get in. She had thought things couldn’t get worse, but

now, on top of everything, she was getting arrested and hauled

off to jail for reckless driving! She did think of running into traffic then and putting an end to everything. The officer’s fingers

tightened slightly as though he read her thoughts and had no

intention of letting her get off that easily. “Get in the car, ma’am.”

Her thoughts went ballistic as soon as she was in the backseat.

Who’d bail her out? She couldn’t call Ron. Who’d take care of

the children while she was moldering in jail? Alex? Oh, not Elizabeth Longford!

Hunching over, she covered her face and hiccuped more sobs

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as the officer got into the front seat and reached for his radio. He

said her name and several numbers and then put the speaker

back. While he waited for a response, he had her take an alcohol

breath test.

“I clocked you at ninety-five,” he said, making a note of the test

results on his clipboard.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’ve had a
very
bad day.”

The officer pushed his sunglasses down and looked at her over

the rims.

“I know,” she moaned. “You’ve probably heard that excuse

a million times, but it’s true.” She let everything pour out. She

told him about nursing her mother through her last weeks of

cancer and how much she missed her. She told him about Alex

leaving her for another woman the day she got back from

northern California. She told him about Clanton getting into

fights at school and Carolyn turning into a basket case over

her grades. She told him about Audra calling to say it was all

her fault.

“Ron was the last straw,” she said, sniffling.

He didn’t ask who Ron was. In fact, he didn’t say anything at

all. He just looked at her and listened with that frown on his face.

What was the use? The highway patrolman knew she wasn’t

drunk, but she’d convinced him she was crazy.

Would he call an ambulance and have her taken away in a

straitjacket? Where would they take her? Bellevue? Where
was

Bellevue? His radio crackled. He picked up the speaker. She felt

some relief hearing the information given. At least he knew now

she had no prior tickets or outstanding warrants for her arrest.

She wasn’t armed or dangerous, unless flooding his patrol car

could be held against her.

Rummaging through her purse, she tried to find a Kleenex,

muttering under her breath when she couldn’t find one. Her

nose was running. Her eyes were running. Her face was a watery

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blew her nose into it.

Grimacing, the patrolman pulled a clean handkerchief out of

his pocket and handed it over the seat to her.

“Thanks,” she muttered, dabbed her eyes, and blew her nose.

She started to hand the handkerchief back.

His mouth tipped up on one side. “You can keep it.”

She blushed. “I’ll wash it and return it to you.” Maybe she’d be

working in the laundry section of the jail. Or would she be making license plates? She felt better for having purged herself of everything that’d happened over the past few months, but she

doubted that was going to change the consequences of barreling

down the highway like a bat out of Hades. She could’ve killed

somebody, not to mention herself. “You can take me in now.”

He tipped his sunglasses down again. “Take you in?”

“To the slammer.”

His mouth twitched. “I’m not taking you in to the slammer,

Mrs. Madrid. I just thought it’d be wise to calm you down before

turning you loose on the freeway again.”

“But you
are
giving me a ticket.”

“Yes, ma’am. I am giving you a ticket.” He handed the pad to

her and gave her a pen. Sighing heavily, she signed her name at

the bottom and handed it back. He tore off the yellow copy and

gave it to her. “Sorry to add to your grief.”

She sighed. “My first ticket,” she said, looking at it dismally.

And it was going to cost her plenty. Folding it, she tucked it into

her purse.

“Feeling any better?”

She gave a shuddering sigh and smiled. “Yes, but that’s not

saying much. I’ll keep it at fifty-five. I promise.”

“Good.” He studied her for a moment longer and then got out

of the patrol car. Opening the backdoor for her, he offered his

hand to help her out.

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Shouldering her purse, she looked up at him. He was young,

probably no more than thirty or thirty-five. He had kind eyes.

“You know what I was doing when you pulled up beside me,

Officer?
Praying.
So much for divine intervention.” Shaking her

head, she started back toward her car.

She had just put the key into her ignition when the patrolman

walked up to her car window again. He handed her a small slip of

white paper folded in half. “My wife and I’ll meet you on the

front steps at quarter to ten. Bring your kids. Oh, and pull into

traffic easy, Mrs. Madrid. I’ll put my lights on and clear the way

for you.”

“Thanks,” she said, confused. She watched him in the side

mirror as he walked back to his patrol car.

Opening the slip of paper, she read the name and address of a

church.

The trail is clearly marked ahead by the great rock

formations.

We passed one a day back that looked like a

courthouse with a jail beside it. The one ahead

is like a giant funnel set upside down on the

prairie.

We ate dust all day. It was our turn to be at the

back. Tomorrow we will be at the head.

Water and grass are plentiful. So are the mosquitoes.

I had words with Oren McKenzie today. He was

talking about Aphie again and crying with every

word he uttered. I lost patience with him and told

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