by Natalie Dean
She asked what he wanted like he was some kind of thug there to hurt her. He realized that, for all she knew, he was. But then she was asking about jail too, and suddenly, he didn’t understand why he was there at all or what he had hoped. He was so sure that there was no chance of running into the girl, that he hadn’t stopped and thought about what would happen if they did.
And it had seemed like they were going to fail at first. They’d searched all of the cool-down structures and that entire area of the park and come up only with trash. If it hadn’t been for Sal needing to take a wiz and insisting on using the nicer, refurbished bathrooms toward the center of the park, he never would have spotted her at all.
He’d been so shocked at seeing her in the daylight that he’d just stood there for a moment, taking her in. She was swaying slightly, her head rhythmically moving to a beat he couldn’t hear. She had a backpack on, but her outfit wasn’t appropriate for the weather. She was wearing tattered jean shorts with worn leggings under them and a long flannel. That was it. He was sure that she was cold, and yet she was standing there, filling up a thermos like nothing was amiss.
Her figure was womanly, of that there was no doubt, but there was a wavering sort of thinness to her, like she was just getting over being sick or had gone through a rough patch. Solomon knew that women came in all sizes, but there was something about her frame, her posture, that spoke of it being smaller than it would prefer. He saw it on his mom when her sister had passed away after a long struggle with cancer. He saw it on Sterling when his twin, Silas, had gotten into a car accident when they were younger and spent months in recovery.
His hands itched, like he had wanted to do something about it, but instead he’d just chased her.
In retrospect, that was probably dumb.
“Hello, earth to Solomon.”
Oh right, his brother had been speaking to him.
“She looked scared enough already.”
“Hah, you’re not kidding about that. You would’a thought we were coming at her with machetes with the way she reacted. Jeez.”
Solomon nodded, but his gaze flicked to the hoody in the backseat of the car. Her last words lingered with him, so incongruous to the rest of their conversation, and he found himself turning it this way and that again.
“I wonder why it’s so significant to her?”
“Huh? What is?”
“The hoody,” he said, gesturing to the back and taking his eyes off the rearview mirror to focus on the road.
“Well, it’s probably her only one.”
No, that didn’t make sense at all. “What kind of person only has one jacket?” It wasn’t even a good one. It was threadbare with ragged patches on the elbows. There were stains on it and more than a couple of rips. He’d checked the inside of it too when he’d first gotten into his truck on that fateful night, hoping for some sort of clue for who the mystery girl was, but all he’d found was worn, scratchy fleece.
He was surprised when his brother laughed, joshing him on the arm. “For being so smart, you sure can be dense sometimes. The girl only has one because she’s almost definitely homeless.”
Solomon’s eyes shot wide and his stomach did a funny sort of acrobatic flip. Homeless? But weren’t homeless people supposed to be druggies and alcoholics or crazies? People who, basically, deserved it? It didn’t make any sense for her to be homeless.
“How do you know that?”
“The signs were all there. Out in a public park in the middle of the day. No coat and wanted her hoody back. A real industrial backpack that’s definitely seen things. Her MP3 player is super old, she didn’t seem to have a phone, and her headphones were cheap ones from a gas station. Instead of having a trendy water bottle with a filter, she had an old soup thermos, like the kind you’d pack in a kid’s lunch if you were a parent who did that kind of thing.”
Solomon just blinked at his brother, surprised again by Sal in less than two minutes. “You noticed all that while coming out of the bathroom?”
“Well, yeah, if I’m going to chase down a skinny little girl, I want to know why.”
“Little girl? She’s probably your age.”
“Maybe. Hard to tell sometimes. But it was clear that she could use a good meal and she wasn’t just rocking a model look for funsies. I bet if she was fueled up, neither of us could have caught her.”
Solomon nodded absently, his mind still running a thousand miles a minute at the revelation. Homeless!?
“Anyways, she’s probably some girl with daddy issues who got into the system. From what I’ve read, they almost always end up on the streets.”
“Really?” Solomon asked, licking his lips. It was an anxious habit of his, and at the moment, he was definitely feeling anxious. “What exactly have you been reading lately?”
“Honestly, everything. I’m not just a muscle head, you know. I figured with Samuel basically abandoning the family for Aunt Annie and Uncle Douglas, that maybe I shouldn’t take everything for granted and should try to figure out some stuff for myself.”
“Admirable.”
“Really? Thanks. I like keeping myself informed.”
“Uh-huh.”
He was glad his brother was spreading his wings, but he couldn’t concentrate on that. No, all he could think about was the girl and the fact that she might have no home.
What did she do at night? And if he had her jacket, what would she do when it got colder? Was she safe? Did she have a place to rest her head where she didn’t have to worry about someone laying their hands on her? What did she eat? Was he wrong, and she was just naturally slender, or were those collar bones sticking out too much because she didn’t have enough to eat…
His thoughts whirled around him, consuming most of his thinking that wasn’t dedicated to driving the car. He had no idea what to think or any way to know if his brother was right. But suddenly, none of it sat very well with him.
So much for their little trip giving him some relief.
7
Frenchie
“Get out!”
Frenchie woke up with a jolt, her mouth blurting out words even when her vision was still hazy from sleep. She bared the box cutter she always kept on herself when she slept, sure that someone was invading her cozy little hiding place.
And someone was, but thankfully it was just a stray cat, and double thankfully one of the kitties that actually liked her and wasn’t completely covered in fleas.
“Hey there, little guy,” she said, laughing a bit giddily. She reached out, waiting for him to sniff her fingers and welcome her touch. She loved all the little strays and ferals that wandered around the area—even if most of them had fleas. She couldn’t feed them very often, as usually her food consisted of carbs or canned goods. But on the special occasion where she could score meat, she always tried to share with the sweet little guys.
“You scared the pants off me, you know that?”
Technically that wasn’t true. She didn’t own any pants. She had her shorts, two pairs of leggings—one of which she was wearing—and a skirt. That was the grand total of her bottoms. She was hoping that she could manage to get some sweats before winter set in, but the clothing charities around the area seemed unusually strapped for the time of year.
The cat let out a soft trill, coming up alongside her to sidle along her arm as a sign that she could proceed with the petting. He was a particular tomcat, one who only liked to be stroked on the top of his head, his cheeks, and the base of his tail, but he was a good boy. And a good hunter too, judging by the fact that he wasn’t entirely skin and bones. It made her feel a bit less guilty by how rarely she had treats to share. Especially since his warm little body gave her perpetually cold and chapped hands plenty of heat to leech off of.
She was tempted to curl up with him for a while and just stay in her little hiding spot; it was a good one after all—one that she’d had for a while—but she knew she needed to get up and go about her day. It was getting too cold to laze abou
t for long, and she hadn’t eaten at all the previous day.
And so, she went about putting on both of the tops that she owned and heading out into the cold air. It would warm up once the sun got higher in the sky and did its thing, but she really needed to go and get a jacket. She was tempted to nick one from a store, but she heard that the forecast was calling for mid-forties, and that meant all of the loss prevention personnel at the stores were going to be on high alert for winter apparel thefts.
She didn’t know how homeless people did it in really cold places, such as the East coast. She was pretty sure she would have long since kicked the bucket if she didn’t happen to have ended up homeless someplace warm. Sure, Texas could get to below freezing occasionally in the dead of winter, but she still had time before she had to worry about that.
…not a lot of time. But time, nonetheless.
Frenchie rubbed her arms as she headed toward the block to get her stale bagels. Her mouth watered at the idea of food, but her thoughts shot in a different direction, back toward tastes and memories from before the streets had been her home.
She remembered the luxuries of lox. And cream cheese. Honestly, just protein in general. She remembered what it was like to know that she probably was going to have food and that she had a bed every night. The only issue was that bed, that shelter, that food, came with unspoken conditions that she wouldn’t give in to. Given the choice, she’d picked the best option.
But goodness, what she wouldn’t do for a smoked salmon bagel.
She didn’t ask for that, of course, and wasn’t given one. She was pleased, however, to see that there were several everything bagels along with some sesame and poppy seed ones. Although she hated how they felt against her teeth, all those extra bits would be good protein and calories that would help her stretch them out longer. If only she could get something high in iron, then she might actually feel less like she was going to fall over.
There was always one of the shelters. She knew that, but with winter temperatures upon them, it was hard to find a space in one. And even if she did, she was a bit nervous about those two men being there.
Funny, she had avoided shelters at first because she didn’t want to be found, and she was afraid of being reported as both a runaway and minor. By the time she had aged out of it ever being a problem, it had just become so much of a habit that half the time she forgot that they existed. But now that she’d been hunted down and somehow caught at one of her hangouts, she found herself sinking into that old paranoia again.
Which was silly. She was twenty-three. Her “father” had no doubt long since forgotten about her, and her mother was probably still relieved at her absence. She’d been on the streets since she was sixteen, and after six years, she didn’t really have much of an excuse for being so scared of being caught.
And yet she was.
It had been a week since that chase in the park, and she always felt like those two men were going to pop out from behind her at any moment. Put her in jail or ship her back to the place that never was home. And even though the logical part of herself knew that wasn’t likely, that was still what her brain told her all the time.
She needed money. The beginning of winter was the worst. When the holidays were too far away to call upon all the charity and goodwill that was supposed to be in the air, and all the gigs that came from the spring and summer turned to mist. Panhandling wasn’t something she wanted to do, as there were fewer people outside, and those that were around generally wanted to get wherever they were going as fast as they could.
She needed to go to the park and see if she could sell some caricatures before it got too cold for people to sit still for them. Once it did, the only time she could do that was around the holidays, when people got particularly festive and romantic.
Ugh. Romance. Talk about a luxury for the rich. The few street kids she knew that had coupled up were only together for survival’s sake. Now that she was older, most of the homeless her age were too tired, too run down, and too suspicious for anything remotely like dating. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had seen a movie in the theater or sat in an actual restaurant. Plus, dating required some measure of trust. The only thing she ever trusted was money in her hand.
…which she had none of at the moment. The last of hers being spent on heat packets to keep her hands and feet warm during the longer and longer nights.
She really needed to earn some cash soon, and fast.
Wrinkling her nose, she changed directions and headed toward the park. Her heartbeat was kicking up and her stomach was twisting at the possibility of being cornered by those two men. Surely, they had to have something else in mind for her. Who chased her down twice and then let her go with a verbal warning? It didn’t make any sense. That wasn’t how the world worked.
Naturally, when she finally arrived at the park and scoped out the best spot, she was feeling more than a little nervous. She forced herself to settle down, however, because no one would sit for a caricature if they thought she was a tweaker, even though she wasn’t on drugs and never would be.
Easier said than done, but somehow, she managed, and as the hours passed, she got a total of three people to sit for her. It wasn’t going to break anyone’s bank, but the fifteen dollars in her pocket sure was nice. That would get her some fast food somewhere, a couple more of those insta-hot packs and then five dollars to save for if she was really desperate for transportation, food, or shelter.
She could only stay out for so long, however, and soon the light became too scant while her fingers grew too cold. She began to pack up her things when a shadow fell across her.
Frenchie stiffened, an entirely new type of cold shooting through her, and she turned to see it was him. The guy. She stared at him, utterly shocked despite the fact that her paranoia had been so sure that he would show up, and she tensed to bolt out of there like a bat out of hell.
But as she jumped to her feet, spilling the contents of her bag everywhere, she noticed something. He wasn’t coming toward her. He wasn’t even moving. He just had one hand stretched out, a familiar bit of fabric hanging from it.
…her jacket?
She swallowed hard, licking her lips and looking from her fleece-lined hoody back to him. “Are you serious right now?” she heard herself ask. It was a trick. It had to be a trick. There was no way he tracked her down a second time just to return a piece of clothing to her.
“It’s yours. It’s only right that I return it. I’m not a thief.”
She wasn’t sure if he was implying that she was a thief, but she didn’t quite care. Reaching out tentatively, she kept her muscles tensed in case he tried to pull something. But then her hoody was in her hands—did he wash it!?—and she was taking a step back without him having even moved so much as an inch.
“Uh, well, thanks, I guess. For returning it.”
“Of course.”
One of the reasons Frenchie had survived so long was because she could read people real well. And she could have been mistaken, but she was pretty sure that the guy was feeling just as awkward as she did—which was entirely his own fault.
“All right, I gotta go.”
“Right, right. It’s getting dark. I’m sure you have to get home.”
Home, right. She just gave him a vague shrug and bent to shove her things back into her bag. She was surprised when she stood and found the man still there, watching her nervously.
Normally, if any man kept his eyes on her for that long, she would assume he was after something. But the guy in front of her didn’t seem lecherous, or even appreciative. Just mostly… weird.
She hoped he wasn’t one of those serial killers. Weren’t they usually rich white guys though? She couldn’t remember if that was the case or if that was white-collar crime. Ugh, she needed to find a way to get a library card again so she could research these things. The old library had closed, and she was required to get a new one but didn’t have an address to do so.
“Hey
, are you hungry?” he asked.
Well that was just about the last thing that she had expected, so she stared at him a moment before realizing that she should probably answer one way or another. The truth would probably be all right, especially since he brought her the jacket back.
“Yeah, I’m always hungry.”
“You want to go get something?”
Huh, so he was one of those. Weird, because his face read as anything but attracted to her. No, he was looking at her more like he was afraid she would shoot him rather than someone to rent for the night.
“I’m not for sale,” she answered firmly. She’d long since learned that trying to let them down easy or being sweet didn’t do the trick. Sure, some guys got mad about it, but they rarely caused a scene beyond calling her things she’d heard plenty of times before.
But to her surprise, the man just turned a bright shade of red. “W-what?! No, not like that. I just—” He let out a breath and ran his hand through his hair.
She just noticed how thick it was, slicked slightly back with a product that probably cost three times more than anything that she owned.
He started talking again. “There’s a diner around that I wanted to try, but I don’t like eating alone. It’s depressing.”
Well… that actually made sense. She remembered when she was younger that she and her friends went everywhere together, including the bathroom. On the few occasions since that she’d had enough money to eat, she’d always tried to bring one of her allies on the streets with her.
But then again, it could just be another trick. It was amazing the lengths that some people would go through to hurt other people, and she wasn’t about to fall for the adult equivalent of getting into a windowless van marked “free candy.”
“Will I need to get into your truck to get there?”
Because that was a hard no. No matter how nice a warm meal from anywhere sounded, it wouldn’t be worth her life. She knew what happened to girls like her when they lowered their guards, and she had no desire to end up like one of those stories on the news.