Along Came the Rain

by Alison R Solomon

  Shit. I was really hoping to get some jewelry finished for the juried competition I’ve entered. It’s the first time I’ve done anything like this and with Barker being away, I thought I could just focus exclusively on getting something really beautiful and dramatic created. In fact, I was planning on putting the phone on silent, but of course, I forgot to. Driving to Pelican Beach and back will take over two hours out of my day.

  “Can’t they get a taxi?”

  “Right now, the county is still responsible for them. I need to set up the ride. These poor girls. I can’t even tell you what they’ve been through. It would be such a shame if they couldn’t get to the condo—”

  “I’ll do it,” I interrupt her. I don’t need all the details. All the kids have been through a hard time, thanks to their damn mothers. And aging out of the system, that’s awful. I’ve heard people minimize aging out by comparing it to joining the army, or getting married, but that’s totally different. Eighteen-year-olds who do that have the support of the military or their families. They don’t just get dumped on the street. If these girls can have the vacation of a lifetime, who am I to prevent it? “Go ahead and give me the info.”

  “The owner’s name is Damien. And he doesn’t want them to know that he’s the benefactor. So when you meet him there, just tell the girls he’s a friend of yours. He said he has an errand to run, so if he’s not in the condo when you arrive, he’ll leave the door unlocked”

  “Anything I need to know about the girls?”

  “We want to surprise them. So don’t give them any information until you get there. They’re both shy, so it’s not worth trying to engage them in conversation. By all means, tell them how great Pelican Beach is, and what a great time they’re going to have. It’s hard to believe that even though they live in North County, some of these kids never get to go to the beach.” Oh Parminder, you’re so green. When you’ve been in the business as long as Barker, nothing will be hard to believe. “I’m so happy you’re going to do this,” she continues. “No one deserves a break as much as these two.”

  “Happy to oblige. So you’re off to catch a plane?”

  “Yes, I’m going on an amazing adventure, it’s—” I hear a noise, like a car door slamming. “—I have to go. I just pulled up at the house. Oh, and since you’re connected to Barker, don’t tell them who you are, okay?”

  ****

  I told Parminder I’d be there to pick up the girls before she had to take off, but of course, it ends up taking me a longer to get myself organized than I expected. As usual, I haven’t yet taken the dogs out, so I have to run them around real fast, and this is one of those mornings when Latifah takes forever to decide where she’s going to make her deposit. Parminder told me if she had to leave, the girls would be on a bench opposite the bus station and sure enough, as I pull up I see two young girls sitting demurely on a bench. They’re both medium height, one has short blond hair and the other has dark black curls that cascade down her back. Blondie’s wearing cutoff shorts and a ripped tank top. She’s all muscle and I can’t help thinking she looks like a very cute baby dyke. Curly is a little taller, and she has on a striped sundress. Surprisingly, they’re both carrying tennis rackets along with their suitcases. They look like true vacationers and I’m so happy for them. I look at the scuffed suitcases and wonder whether these are all the possessions they own, or whether someone is storing more of their stuff. I try to think back to what it was like to be eighteen and starting out alone in the world, but I was never alone. Yes, I went off to college, but I knew my mom was just a phone call away. What would it be like to go to college and never have a home to go to at Thanksgiving, never have a parent to call in time of need?

  I open the trunk for their belongings and they fling them in. They both look so young, it’s hard to believe they’re eighteen. Then again, that’s the problem with getting older. Everyone looks so young, even my doctor looks like he’s in high school.

  I drive them over to the address Parminder gave me. I’d love to get into a conversation with them—find out where they’ll be going after this, ask them if they’re glad to be aging out of the system, or scared—but I remember Parminder’s instructions and keep everything simple, reiterating what a great time they’re going to have in this condo.

  When we pull up, I see it’s an older high-rise building that has probably seen better times. But it overlooks the water, so the views must be stunning. Rich foliage surrounds a very private entrance around the side of the building. If I owned a beachfront condo, this is definitely the type I’d want. Not one of those newer ones with grandiose entryways that demand keypad entries just to get inside and have slimy doormen who pretend as if they’re there to help you but really they’re just keeping tabs on who’s coming and going.

  The girls and I go up to the eleventh floor. I’m as excited as they are to see the condo. They chatter excitedly and when we open the front door, they can’t believe their luck.

  They look at me in wonder.

  “You deserve this,” I tell them. “This is going to be an experience you’ll never forget.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kallie, June 19

  Today’s the day we have to get out of here. The food’s all gone and our stomachs are starting to hurt. If we don’t do something today, we’re not going to have any brainpower or energy left to think of anything. It has to be today.

  “There’s only two ways out of here. The front door or the living room window,” I say to Mikki as if we’ve never had this conversation before. We have it every day but today I’m not going to drop it.

  We’re sitting on the sofa, looking out at the gorgeous, hateful view. Mikki sits with her knees tucked under her chin, her arms wrapped around her legs. I am splayed out on the love seat, my arms and legs at whatever odd angle they fall. I’m wearing a pair of new shorts Mrs. Clark bought me and a striped tank top. Mikki is wearing the same clothes she’s been wearing for three days now. I try to get her to go through her suitcase and wear something clean, but she just asks me, what’s the point?

  “Let’s just break the window,” Mikki says wearily.

  “And do what? It’s way too far to jump. We’re not going to risk breaking our necks.”

  “But if we could shatter the window, someone would see us.”

  “What if they don’t look up? Then we’re stuck with a broken window letting the hundred-degree hot air in, and I don’t think I could bear that. We have to break the front door down.”

  “How? We don’t have any tools. We’ve tried bashing the furniture into it and it didn’t splinter. We’ve tried jumping against it and nothing happened. It’s obviously not wood, and it’s obviously reinforced.” I wrack my brains. There has to be some other way.

  “It has to be the window,” she repeats. “Even if nobody looks up when we first do it, if we can throw the glass all the way to the street, someone’s gonna step on it or get a flat tire from it. That will make them look up to see where it came from.”

  “Why would they think it came from up here? Why wouldn’t they just think someone was carrying glass into the building and smashed it?” Still, I know her plan is the best one and I think today’s the day we have to go through with it. “You’re right, Mikki. Let’s do it. What shall we smash the glass with? We need to get big pieces to fall, not just little ones.”

  Mikki looks around, but then she starts shaking.

  “What if he’s here somewhere?” Mikki says. “What if he sees us, or hears us before anyone else does. What if he gets mad and hurts us?”

  We’ve had this same conversation for days. We come up with a plan and then nix it because we’re too scared we’re gonna get in trouble if it doesn’t work out.

  “We don’t have a choice. If he hurts us, he does. If we do nothing, we’re hurting ourselves.”

  There’s no balcony and the dividers between the windows are vertical, so we’ll have to be really careful how we break them as there’s nothing to stop us fa
lling right through. We head into the kitchen to look for something to smash the glass. We realize right away that the knives and forks, the plastic spatula, the pasta server, and all the other utensils we’ve been using, won’t do a thing.

  “The microwave!” Mikki yells, and it’s the most animated I’ve heard her voice in days. “We can throw the microwave out the window.” She’s right. She’s so right we both start laughing gleefully.

  “Not only will they see the glass, they’ll also wonder where the heck the microwave came from.” I tell her, “You’re a genius.” She looks pleased and for the first time in a week, gives me a hug. Now that I think our ordeal may be over soon, I decide to take a chance and ask her something.

  “What happened that first night?” I ask as I unplug the microwave. “What made you embarrassed to even look at me? Did I do something awful to you?”

  The smile fades from her face as quickly as it came. “No. You didn’t.”

  “Then why wouldn’t you look at me?”

  “Because you did do something, but it wasn’t awful.” Now I’m sorry I asked. I feel ashamed, embarrassed. My face feels like it’s flaming red and I turn away from her. “They asked us to put on a show, you know, girl-on-girl. Nothing freaky, they were too high to even pay that much attention. We just danced real close and acted like we were into each other.”

  “What part wasn’t awful?” I whisper.

  “The feelings you gave me. I’ve been with guys and had those feelings, but I never thought I’d have the same feeling with a girl.”

  “It doesn’t mean anything…” I’ve been telling myself that for so long, and I know I still don’t believe it.

  “I’m not saying I’m gay. I know you are—no, don’t try to interrupt. Everyone knows you’re gay, Kallie, except you. I mean, look at how you dress, what you like doing, who you’re attracted to. Accept it. There’s nothing wrong with it. What I discovered for myself is that I may be bisexual. I liked what you did.”

  “Better than John?”

  “I can’t even tell you how I felt with John. I was too drunk and the day was too weird. I know I’m attracted to dudes. I just think now I’m ready to admit that I’m attracted to girls as well.”

  I listen to what she’s saying, and I feel lightheaded. It may be because we’re trapped together and starving, but it may also be that I think perhaps she’s right. That I do have to accept myself for who I am.

  “Barker’s gay,” she says to me. “Why don’t you ask her what that lifestyle is like?”

  “How do you know she’s gay?”

  “Everyone knows. Only you don’t, because you’re so busy denying who you are that you can’t admit anyone in the whole world is gay, let alone the social worker you look up to and admire. I dunno, maybe you even have a crush on her.”

  “Nah,” I say, and it’s the truth. “She’s too old and too frumpy. Those shapeless dresses and flat shoes? That dyed hair in a style from the last decade? She’s a great social worker, but I’m definitely not attracted to her. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’d be much more my type than she is.”

  “More than John?” she asks.

  “Nothing happened with him. I thought I wanted it to, but I guess even he knew about me.”

  “You’re a great human being Kallie. You’re fun, you’re smart…and yes, you’re sexy. You’re gonna make some young chick very happy!”

  We both laugh. “Thanks Mikki.” We have a long hug and then I say, “Let’s go unplug that microwave. I have so much energy right now, I can’t wait to put it right through that sheet of glass.”

  Mikki removes the cooking tray, and then I pick up the microwave, stand a couple of feet back from the window, then chuck it at the window. It hits the glass. And bounces right off.

  “What the heck?” Mikki looks at me in horror.

  I’m confused, and then I remember the ads I’ve seen on television. “It must be that hurricane glass.” Who’d have fucking thought? It looks just like regular glass and I can’t believe that we won’t be able to shatter it. “Let’s try again. We’ll stand farther back and both throw it really hard.”

  We swing the microwave back and forth and then on the count of three we hurl it at the window. I hear the glass shatter and think, thank god. But that’s all it does. It shatters but it doesn’t break or fall. It stays right where it is. Mikki runs out of the room and I know she’s flinging herself on her bed and sobbing. I’m too miserable to even go comfort her. I’ve used all my energy trying to throw the microwave, and now I feel completely defeated. I sit back on the sofa and I start punching myself in the forehead. “Dumb fuck, dumb fuck. What did you think? You were smarter than whoever left you here?”

  I never seriously thought we might die here, but for the first time, I start to get really scared. I keep thinking about Barker. She’s been there for me for ten years. Surely she’ll come through now?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Barker, June 20

  The call comes in at two in the afternoon.

  “I’ve got good news and bad news about your girls,” Detective Gordon says. “Come to my office.”

  I’m so nervous, I throw the truck into reverse instead of drive and almost hit the car behind me in the parking lot. News. It’s what I’ve hoped for, and also what I’ve dreaded. I roar down the highway, figuring if anyone stops me for speeding, I can toss Detective Gordon’s name at them.

  “Tell me,” I say when I charge into Gordon’s cubicle. I’m breathing so heavily, I’m panting, having taken the steps up to the station two at a time and then practically run down the corridor to his office.

  “The good news is that they’re alive and in good shape. Or at least they were when these were taken.” He motions to a pile of papers on his desk and I realize they’re photographs. I spin them around so they face me, and then I almost wish I hadn’t. The first picture I see is Kallie, half-naked with a bottle between her legs. I feel sick to my stomach.

  “How…?”

  “Somebody mailed them to her mom in jail.”

  “They…what?”

  “I’m guessing it was one of the guys in the pictures.” He moves the top photo to reveal several more. There’s Kallie again, this time posing on a bed with red satin sheets. There’s a man standing behind her. You can’t see his face of course, just his arms around her. The next one is Mikki, in a state of undress, with part of a man on top of her. There are several more pictures of the girls, including one where they appear to be making out with each other, and it looks to me like it’s not always the same guy in the photograph, though it’s hard to tell, especially as I’m trying not to look too closely. In most of the pictures, the girls look drunk, and Mikki even looks like she may be passed out.

  “But why would they mail pictures to Kallie’s Mom?”

  He pulls out a piece of paper and pushes it across the table. There’s a message typed up in large font, bold characters. “YOUR KIDS WILL GO DOWN THE SAME PATH YOU DID IF YOU DON’T LET THEM GO. SEE WHAT HAPPENS TO THEM WHEN THEY DON’T HAVE GOOD, SOLID PARENTS WHO ARE THERE FOR THEM ALL THE TIME?”

  “Kids? Did they send them to Mikki’s mom too?”

  “Yeah. The pictures were mailed days ago. But Mikki’s mom is homeless so we only tracked down the ones sent to her after we found out about the ones received by Kallie’s mom. And the reason it took so long for us to get those is because of the extra time it takes for mail to be processed.”

  “It shouldn’t have taken that long,” I say.

  “True. When the officer who was screening the mail saw these, she put them aside for her supervisor. But the supervisor wasn’t due to report for work until two days later and then she forgot about them. Guess she doesn’t read the papers or watch the news, so she didn’t see when we broke the story yesterday. It was only when some of the guards started talking about Kallie’s mom and what she must be going through, that she put two and two together.”

  “So now what? Do you know where they were
taken? Can you figure out who the man is?”

  “That’s where we were hoping you might be able to help us. Can you think of anyone who would do something like this? Sounds like this guy has some kind of gripe against women whose kids end up in foster care.”

  “Well that doesn’t exactly narrow it down. You only have to read the letters to the editor of any newspaper to know how most people feel about so-called Welfare Moms.”

  “Yeah, but this seems like it’s a lot more personal. Someone who knows the girls’ moms, or the girls, or someone who was in foster care themselves.”

  I read the message again. “Not that I’m any kind of detective—that’s your job—but presumably there were no fingerprints on this?”

  “Right. And we can’t get any information from the printing either. We’re trying to rule out people who have been in foster care. Do you know if Mrs. Clark was in the system?”

  “Mrs. Clark? But that makes no sense. Why would she take the girls in and then do this? She’s a great foster parent.”

  “Yeah, but right now we only have her word for it that someone from your office took the girls. She couldn’t even give us the social worker’s name. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

  “Yes, I thought that myself. But then when she told me more details, I knew it was my intern.”

  “And how clever is that—to choose someone who wasn’t going to be available for us to check up on her?”

  Everything he says makes sense. It all started with Mrs. Clark. Actually, it all started with me being out of reach at the retreat. Usually if I go on vacation, I tell my clients they can still call my cell phone in an emergency. This was the first time I’ve been completely unavailable to them. And she knew that. It seems as if with cunning planning, she could indeed have set this whole thing up. But it still makes no sense as to why she would have done so.