Winter Flower

by Charles Sheehan-Miles

  I had to stop that. I had to stop the drinking, and if we couldn’t find Brenna while I was here, I needed to stop dragging myself through the muck so much that it destroyed my ability to be a parent. Sam was sixteen, and so alone.

  Somehow my children had always seemed like they’d been switched, that Sam was the gentler soul, and Brenna the more assertive and outgoing. But did she have the internal strength to survive whatever she’d experienced in the past two years? It was difficult to imagine or even comprehend what that might be.

  I sat up in the bed and turned off the alarm clock. Then I reached out and pulled the chain to turn on the dim lamp. The lamp illuminated a depressing hotel room, with faded wallpaper and a slightly dented steel door. The ceiling in the corner was stained, and the tile in the tiny bathroom was worn and faded. The room stank of mildew and cigarette smoke. I had never stayed in a hotel this disgusting before. But it was forty-five dollars a night, which meant I’d be able to stay in Portland longer. Right now, that was all that mattered.

  I checked my phone for messages. There was a text message from Cole from 3:15 a.m. It read, Good luck this morning. Please keep me in the loop. I love you.

  I stared at the message. He must have sent it right before leaving for work. Unexpectedly, the message blurred, the letters becoming unintelligible, indistinct.

  I wiped at my eyes then stood up to go to the shower. I couldn’t remember the last time he had said “I love you.” Such things were the currency of marriage: expressions and actions of love, doing things for each other, considering each other. We hadn’t even given each other birthday gifts this year. Or last? I couldn’t remember. A message like that was unsettling.

  I tapped the response: I will.

  I wasn’t ready to respond to the “I love you.”

  I didn’t wait for a response—it was eight o’clock in the morning in Alabama, which meant he was busy with the breakfast shift at work. Instead, I got up and went to take my shower and get ready. The shower was gross, with mold in the grout and unidentifiable stains on the shower curtain. Of course. There was no shampoo or soap, nor would there be any at the front desk. This wasn’t the sort of place you could call and ask for complimentary toiletries. I sighed and resolved to just take a shower in hot water. At least I would feel a little refreshed.

  I didn’t want to look like a slob when I went to the police station, but I also didn’t want to draw attention, so I settled for my softest jeans, a button-down blouse, and my walking shoes. No amount of brushing could bring any life to my hair though, after not using shampoo or conditioner. I would need to pick up groceries, at least bread and peanut butter or something, but in the short-term I needed to get some breakfast before I went to the police station.

  The motel lay in a blighted section of downtown Portland, less than a quarter-mile from the police station. Nearby were pawnshops and a rundown building with a sign that read “Girls Girls Girls Lingerie Modeling” not far away from a strip club. A block away was a small diner. I double-checked that my room was locked then began to walk. As I walked, I opened the online banking app for our bank so I could check and see if Cole’s deposit had cleared yet.

  I stopped cold, not understanding what I was seeing. That couldn’t be right.

  Our bank balance was $20,192.

  Not possible. Last night, after we paid for the ticket and the hotel room, we had $238 left. It had to be some kind of a bank error.

  The sky was threatening rain, so I walked quickly, getting to the diner just as fat drops started to drop from the sky.

  Inside the diner, it was nearly empty. A bored waitress stood talking with a cook behind the counter, and at the far end from the door a woman sat hunched over a cup of coffee. She had hair in her face, but I had a clear enough view to see an ugly bruise on her cheek.

  The waitress approached as soon as I slid into a booth. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please,” I said, scanning the menu. A moment later she returned with the coffee and I ordered, then went back to looking at the bank account.

  Last night. Electronic banking deposit of $20,000 even. There was maddeningly little information, just the one line that said, “ELN ID:408001 TRNSFR.”

  Well, that was helpful. I texted Cole: There’s a big deposit in our bank account from last night. Do you know what it is?

  I hit send, and that’s when my phone rang.

  Angela Gallo.

  My eyes widened and I stared at the phone in shock. It rang a second time. I almost didn’t answer. We’d barely spoken in years, and not at all since a few days after Brenna disappeared. My hand shook a little as the phone rang a third time.

  “Hello?”

  “Erin? It’s Angela.” Her voice sounded hesitant. As if she knew I might hang up on her any second. Which I still might.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Erin, I called … I … oh no. I knew exactly what I was going to say before I called, and now I’m losing it.”

  It sounded almost like she was crying.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She hesitated again. Then she said, “I just … I was looking at the calendar, and I realized it’s been two years since … since…”

  “Since Brenna disappeared?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” her response was quiet. “That and … well, since I screwed things up for our friendship.”

  I didn’t argue with her. I still remembered the hurt and anger of that day. Cole had been arrested—it was all over the news—and Angela called from London, where she’d been attending a conference. We’d talked about Brenna of course, and I’d cried. Then somehow the conversation moved to Cole, and Angela had said, If this doesn’t prove you should leave him, Erin, I don’t know what will. He savagely attacked that kid—

  I never found out what else she had to say. Ever since I’d turned down the job with Win Without War, she’d harped about Cole. What an asshole he was. How he was a throwback. How dare he try to control where I worked? And yeah, I felt that way sometimes too. But it got old. And right then, when my life was completely falling apart, when everything, everything was darkness, my best friend didn’t offer comfort, she offered judgment.

  I hung up on her mid-sentence. She called back and I ignored her call. She called the next day, and the next, and then a few days after that, then a week later, and then a long time passed.

  So I didn’t respond to what she said. I just listened as she awkwardly continued. “Anyway … I just … I called to … offer my apologies. I can’t imagine how difficult it’s been for you. I check the news for you all the time. I worry about you. And about Brenna.”

  Now I stayed silent, and she kept trying to fill the silence.

  “I, um … Erin, listen—” Then she sniffed, loud. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be such a shitty friend. I just wanted to ask if … well, if you’d forgive me. If it’s not too late. I promise I’ll never say anything bad about Cole again. But I want my friend back.”

  Damn it. I sniffed then had to wipe my face. “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, of course I forgive you.” Did I really? Could I so easily forgive her after all this time? I didn’t know. Maybe I just had to try. Because … I needed someone to talk to. I needed someone to listen to me. I was so sick of being alone.

  “Oh…” She broke down on the other end of the line. I waited and listened. Finally she pulled herself together and said, “I drove by your house, like fifty times. Then I got the courage to go up, and I knocked on the door, and someone else answered.”

  “Oh no,” I said. “We lost the house.”

  “Oh God, really? I didn’t realize. Maybe we can get together for coffee some time? Or—”

  “Angela, we live in Alabama now. But I’m actually in Portland, Oregon at the moment.”

  “Alabama? Holy crap. And … what are you doing in Portland?”

  “Yeah, um, the FBI called yesterday with a lead. Angela, Brenna’s still alive. She was here in Portland three weeks ago. I flew o
ut last night to look for her.”

  Three thousand miles away, Angela sucked in a breath. “That’s incredible. Do you think … I mean … how much…”

  I sighed. “I don’t really know anything yet. It’s just a lead. But it’s the most we’ve had since she disappeared.”

  The waitress approached, dropping off my food and refilling my coffee.

  “I was a lousy friend.” Her voice sounded sad.

  Had she been? I thought so at the time. We had grown more and more distant over the course of several years, mostly because of Angela’s unceasing campaign against Cole. But she’d been right, hadn’t she? Cole had been arrogant, bossy, and worst of all, unfaithful.

  “You were trying to look out for me.”

  “I pushed too hard. And it couldn’t have been worse timing. I promise I won’t ever suggest you leave Cole again.”

  “I’ve missed you.”

  Both of us were silent for a long time. I couldn’t help but think how ironic it was. Ironic that I’d broken off my friendship with her because she kept suggesting I leave my husband, but now, I wanted nothing more than to leave him. Actually, I didn’t know if that was true. I didn’t know what I wanted. I was still confused after Cole hugged me at the airport, not to mention him saying I love you in the text message.

  The truth was, I wanted things to go back to the way they were. Before Brenna’s kidnapping, before the affair, before our lives fell apart. I wanted to go dancing with the man I had fallen in love with. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to feel joy again.

  I just didn’t see how that would ever be possible with him again.

  “Angela, I’ve got to go. Can we talk this evening? I’d like to catch up.”

  We said our goodbyes just in time for my breakfast to arrive. I had just taken my first bite when the phone rang again. It was Cole. I answered immediately.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey. How was the hotel? Did you get any sleep?”

  “It was okay. The hotel room’s kind of gross, but I guess it could be worse. I’m headed over to the police station in just a few minutes.”

  “Okay. Let me know how that goes. I got your text.”

  “Any ideas? It’s got to be some kind of bank error right?”

  “I called the bank after I got your text. The money was transferred in as an electronic funds transfer, from another Bank of America customer. Did you know you can deposit money in anyone’s account if you have their account number? They wouldn’t tell me who did it, but I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

  “I don’t understand.” I pointed at my coffee cup as the waitress passed by. She topped it off.

  “I stopped and saw Jeremiah last night, on my way back from dropping you off at the airport. We talked for a while, and I updated him, told him you were headed out to Portland. If I had to take a guess, I’d say that he gave us the money. Or Ayanna did.”

  My eyes widened. His voice had started to choke up as he said the last words.

  I shook my head, feeling my eyes welling up. “Twenty thousand dollars?”

  “I don’t see how we can accept that,” he said. “We would never be able to pay it back.”

  “I’ll call Ayanna. Jeremiah wouldn’t tell you the truth if he’s the one who gave us the money.”

  “All right. And … Erin?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you for doing this. I’d do anything to be there with you looking for her.”

  Emotions too complex to get my mind around flooded through me. I didn’t trust him. He’d been just as solicitous when he’d been having the affair with that woman. At least some of the time.

  “I’m going to get going,” I said. “I’ll call Ayanna. Talk to you later.”

  “Okay. I love you.”

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I disconnected the phone, angry at his presumption. I didn’t know what kind of game he was trying to play, but now wasn’t the time. Still angry, I dialed Ayanna Walker.

  She answered on the third ring.

  “Erin, I thought I might hear from you.”

  “You deposited that money, didn’t you?”

  I heard a soft chuckle at the other end. “I guess I knew you’d figure that out pretty quickly.”

  Of course I figured it out. When Cole was in prison, Ayanna had given me some cash to help me get through. She’d refused to consider it a loan and just explained that they had too much anyway.

  “I can’t accept that, Ayanna. I can’t. It’s too much.”

  Silence for several seconds. Then she spoke in a firm voice. “Now you listen to me. I didn’t send it to you and Cole. I sent it to Brenna, all right? Jeremiah told me you were headed to Portland to look for her. You don’t need to be worrying about whether or not you’ve got a place to sleep, or can you afford to rent a car, or whatever. All you need to worry about is doing whatever you can to find that girl, okay? Because she must have been through some kind of hell.”

  “But, Ayanna—” I was fighting tears. Again.

  “No. Don’t let your pride do this. Listen, me and Jeremiah, we got plenty of savings. The Lord didn’t give us money so we could sit on it. He gave it to us to help others. You just take care of that girl. I don’t want the money back, not today, not tomorrow, not in ten years. It’s not a loan. Some day when you’ve got your life back together, you can pass it on to someone else who needs it. And if you run low, you call me. Okay? You call me. If a friend can’t help you with something like this, then what’s the good of having any friends at all?”

  Jesus Christ. Tears were running down my face. I sniffed then blew my nose on the rough napkin on the table.

  “Okay. Okay.” My voice choked, and I whispered, “Thank you.”

  We said our goodbyes and I leaned my face in my hands while trying to regroup. My nerves felt like they were on fire, jagged and raw, exposed to every possible stimulus. Between Cole’s weird behavior and an incredibly unexpected gift, I felt like I might never stop crying.

  The rain outside was coming down hard now, drumming against the roof of the diner and leaving deep puddles along the edge of the street. I stared out into the grey.

  My daughter was out there somewhere and I was going to find her.

  I checked the clock on the wall. 6:50 a.m. When I called last night, the dispatcher told me the precinct captain would arrive at the police station around seven. Time to go. I waved down the waitress to pay her and walked toward the door.

  “You going out in that? You ain’t walking, are you?”

  I looked back. The words had come from the forlorn-looking woman at the other end of the counter. She had lifeless brown hair and a gaunt face with sunken cheeks. Wrinkles around her eyes made it difficult to determine her age, but the black and purple bruise surrounding her left eye was unmistakable.

  “That’s okay, I just need to walk over to the police station.”

  The women shook her head. “You’ll catch your death out there. Take my umbrella.” Words that were slurred, though it was impossible to tell if it was from being under the influence or if she was just tired or sick. Whatever it was, the kindness from someone who was clearly way down on their luck nearly brought me to tears again.

  “Thank you. It’s not necessary, I’m going to get one later today anyway.”

  I had a sudden urge to ask her if she knew Brenna. After all, my daughter had been picked up in this police precinct for … prostitution. I didn’t know the circumstances of the arrest, but she might have been walking on this block. The thought put a golf ball in my throat, but I fought down the nausea and reached in my purse. I carried a four by six photo of Brenna everywhere I went. I took the picture out and said, “Are you from around here? Do you … do you know this girl? Have you seen her?”

  As I asked the question, the waitress slowly approached. The woman at the counter reached out her hand to take the picture. I passed it to her.

  The woman’s eyes peered at the picture. “Your daughter?”

  I nodded,
trying to hold back the tears that had been threatening me all morning.

  “She’s pretty. I used to be that pretty.”

  The waitress said in a warning tone, “Jasmine…”

  “It’s true,” Jasmine said. “Is your daughter working the track?”

  I flinched at the words. I recognized them from my research. Every city had a track. The track was where the streetwalkers worked. My hotel, the diner, and the nearby police station were all on the track. Late at night, or even during the day, cars would be circling the track. Men, looking for sex.

  I swallowed, then said, “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Jasmine frowned, deepening the already dark furrows on both sides of her mouth. “This is no kind of life for a young girl. Get her out if you can. I don’t know her. You seen her, Kristi?”

  The waitress took the picture. She studied it for several minutes. Then she slowly shook her head. “I don’t know. She looks familiar, sort of. Is this a recent picture?”

  I shook my head. “No. It’s two years old.”

  Kristi set the coffee pot down on the counter. “There’s a girl who looks kind of like that. But older. A lot older.”

  “If she’s working the street, that’ll age her quick,” Jasmine added.

  Her frank words made me want to lash out.

  The waitress continued, “Anyway, I’ve only seen her two or three times. Maybe a couple months ago? If it’s the same girl, and I don’t really know the answer to that. I don’t know if she is or not.” She looked up at me with sad eyes. “I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you for sure.”

  “Maybe I can get a newer picture.” I was thinking about the possibility of a mug shot. After all, Brenna had been arrested three weeks ago. “I’m going to go now. Thank you.”

  “Take the umbrella!” insisted Jasmine. “I’m not going out there anytime soon.”

  “At least let me pay you for it?”

  She shook her head. “Just take it.”

  I took the umbrella.

  I was grateful for it within sixty seconds of leaving the diner. If I hadn’t brought it, I’d have been drenched right away. As it was, I didn’t stay dry, but at least I wasn’t drowning. I walked the two hundred yards to the small police station and walked in the front door.