Love In Plain Sight

by Jeanie London

  The foster people didn’t stop them. They didn’t care about me or Papa’s sketches. I told Debbie how I had seen Mama’s friend again when we were hiding from the hurricane and went to be with her. But she didn’t want me, either. She took me back to the foster people, but they gave me away, too.

  I had hated those strangers the most. The man had scared me. He screamed at the woman and the kids. He slapped the oldest boy when the boy stood up to him.

  But he had never hit me. Not like I had told Debbie.

  I sobbed in her arms and admitted I had lied. It was my fault she had to leave the old uncle, and I owned it. That was what Papa and Mama would have wanted.

  Debbie didn’t get mad. She didn’t yell. She only held me and let me pour out my heart.

  Then she told me she had seen the way the strangers had treated me and all their foster kids in the church for all those weeks, and she hadn’t liked it one bit. When I ran away the first time, she brought me back because it was the right thing to do, and she always tried to do the right thing because that was what God wanted. She warned the man to be kinder or else she would tell the police. She said she would pray for him, too, because Debbie was kind and knew God would help the man be kinder.

  Debbie told me that after I followed her on the bus, she knew I must have been scared of the stranger for a reason. God brought us together because he wanted us to be together. And sometimes doing God’s will was more important than doing what seemed to be right. We had to trust that He would work it all out. He had given her a chance to help, so she would do her best to give me a good home and an education because she loved me as much as I loved her.

  I never felt guilty after that. Not ever.

  God wanted us to be together, so we were together, and Debbie did exactly what she promised. Even though we had to hide, she helped me develop my art so I could carry on my family talent. She helped me learn in school so I would have a good career to make the money to find Mama and Paolo.

  When Debbie had been sick, she worried about what would happen after she died. She knew eventually someone would notice, that the money would stop and they wouldn’t let me live in the apartment. I told her not to worry because we had prepared. I knew what I would need to do to keep up my schooling.

  I told her I wasn’t scared. I had been fearless at eight, and I was much older now, much better prepared.

  But for someone who lived with an emergency bag packed, I was terrified. I knew in my heart it was time to run when I saw the man on the corner across from me, knew seeing him again wasn’t coincidence.

  I had been so wrong. Being prepared didn’t mean I wasn’t scared. I was terrified.

  He had come into the Venue that morning while I was dropping off a sketch for Kyle’s next performance, even though he still hadn’t spoken to me since that night.

  I had gone early because I knew he wouldn’t be there. This sketch was a peace offering because I missed him so much.

  It was also an excuse to check on my art. A quarter of my portfolio hung on the walls, and I had to keep my eyes on it even though I trusted the directors. I would never have left so much of my work with them if I hadn’t.

  The man had come into the Venue with a woman, so I hadn’t thought anything of him. I wouldn’t have even noticed him if it hadn’t been for the cane and the limp. But I was standing at the coffee bar, so it was hard to miss him.

  He struggled to get through the door and hold it open for the woman. She had such pain in her face. I knew she loved him. But she didn’t try to help. She walked through as if knowing she would only make him feel like less of a man because he had such stubbornness. I had seen that same look with Kyle.

  Pride.

  He thought I didn’t trust him, and it made him act even more proud. I understood. But when the man and woman stopped to admire my work, I couldn’t think all men were stupid, not when I felt so much pride of my own.

  I grabbed my cup of coffee. Ryan had offered it to me for free. He said being a gallery artist meant I got perks. I took a hot sip and thanked him. Then I grabbed my case that contained my easel and supplies and headed out. Today was a workday.

  “I’ll make sure Kyle gets it,” he told me.

  I wove through tables to get to the front door, catching the woman’s gaze as I passed. She was looking at Debbie’s favorite watercolor. I had named that painting Glad. Not because I had painted gladioli, but because they were Debbie’s favorite flowers. They might not smell as beautiful as a gardenia or a hyacinth, but she was never happier than when she would pinch the tops to coax tight buds to bloom all the way up the slender stalk. Each blooming bud had been a triumph.

  I smiled at the lady. She looked surprised at first but smiled. The man turned, too, greeting me with a nod. “Good morning,” he said in a throaty voice.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  He had been admiring an acrylic of the victory arch in my neighborhood when I had been a normal girl with a family. Before life had gone wrong.

  Papa had told me the arch had been built so everyone who walked by would see the names of the people who had died in the great world war and remember the sacrifice they made for freedom. I had felt so sad, so I painted that memory in case I never saw the arch again. My way of remembering.

  Then I left the Venue and got about my busy day. I wouldn’t have thought about that couple again, except that I noticed the limping man a few hours later. I wouldn’t have seen him except that when Faffi had dropped by to say hi on her way from school to the library, I had put her in charge of watching my pitch so I could go grab a soda and use the bathroom.

  I saw him then, braced against the brick wall with the cane beside him. He wore a hat and played a saxophone. A street performer like me. I realized he had been playing the music I had been listening to all day. He was a really good musician. Way better than the usual street performers. Except Kyle, of course. The songs had made me think of home. My real one.

  Maybe that’s what gave me the weird feeling. The limping man had been looking at my painting called Always Remember, and now I listened to him and thought about home again.

  I couldn’t remember when the music had started. I didn’t know how long he had been there because I couldn’t see him from my pitch—the angle of the building blocked my view. But I was pretty sure he could see me over the cars.

  The woman wasn’t anywhere around, but I had the feeling I shouldn’t take chances. I had intended to get a drink so I could pee and work a few more hours, but I turned back around and told Faffi I would go with her to the library.

  “Give me a few minutes to pack up,” I said.

  She slipped the sketches I had for sale off the rack, which folded up neatly with the easel. I arranged everything into the travel case. I was glad Faffi was with me, because we talked the whole way and I kept my worry down.

  But I paid attention to see if anyone followed us. When I got to the library, I signed up for computer time, so I could stay in the common area and see the door. I hadn’t brought all my school stuff, only my AP art history to read in between customers. But I could check my virtual school and Debbie’s account to make sure everything was in order in case I had to hit an ATM on the way home to get my things.

  I always knew running was a possibility, had prepared for it, but deep down inside, I must have thought it wouldn’t really happen. As the afternoon passed, I used up my time limit on the computer, then curled up in a chair where I could still see the front doors. I didn’t see the man or the woman.

  Faffi decided not to leave until the library closed, but I didn’t want to run into dark. I told her goodbye, then left. I’d catch the bus from here, which would force me to transfer once. I usually sat in the front of the bus near the driver. Much safer for traveling alone. But today I grabbed the very last seat so I could see everything behind the bus, see if I n
oticed anything weird. I was still close enough to the back exit if I needed to hop off in a hurry.

  The bus drove through town, stopping at every single stop along the way as it headed toward the transfer station. I paid attention to all the cars around, most going the same way since we were all inching through rush hour, never pretty.

  By the time we pulled into the transfer station, I was convinced I had gotten spooked for no reason. Maybe I was keyed up because of my fight with Kyle, my excitement about having so much of my art out there. I was probably just jumpy.

  I made my way onto the bus that would take me to my stop, but I sat in the back again, just in case. I’d already blown half the day being paranoid. Wouldn’t make sense to stop now. It wasn’t dark yet, but day was fading. By the time I got home it should still be light, which meant a long night ahead.

  The driver finally closed the doors and took off. We left the transfer station, but I noticed an SUV with tinted windows pull into traffic only a few cars behind the bus.

  I was on immediate red alert.

  I had seen this car when I had been on the other bus. I was pretty sure it was the same SUV because I had noticed the shiny rims. Not the normal hubcaps that would fly off cars when they hit a curb accidentally, but the expensive kind.

  I shrank against the seat, not sure how easy it would be to see through the bus windows. They looked tinted, but...I tried to make out who was driving. I thought I could see a woman. The woman? No good. The SUV was too far away. So I just watched, heart thudding dully in my chest. I had to get off this bus.

  Think, think!

  I knew the drill. I had to stick to the plan. That meant I had to think clearly, get to safety.

  If I was being followed, I wasn’t about to lead anyone home. I forced myself not to panic. As long as I was on this bus I was safe.

  For right now.

  Think, think!

  I had seen the couple at the Venue this morning.

  I had seen the same man playing the sax after Faffi had gotten out of school, so that had been midafternoon.

  I had noticed the SUV on the bus from the library.

  I tried to remember which leg had given the limping man trouble. I couldn’t, so I closed my eyes to visualize him—my brain was wired to work that way. I could finally see him trying to get through the door of the Venue.

  His right leg. He had struggled to walk, so he might not be able to drive. Was the woman driving that SUV? I needed to get someplace safe.

  I didn’t have too many options, because with every passing minute, the sun went down. I didn’t want to be caught in the dark toting my portable studio, which slowed me down.

  There was only one place to go. I would be safe there, and more importantly, my stuff would be safe there if I had to run.

  And that couple already knew that place.

  Okay, I had the start of a plan. I felt a little better. The SUV was still there, a little farther back maybe, as if another car had pulled in front.

  Perfect. Luck was with me because the bus that ran to the stop nearest my house passed the Venue, too, so I knew all the stops. But I couldn’t get off at the Venue. That stop would leave me way too visible.

  Think, think!

  If I passed the Venue and got off at either of the next two stops, the cross streets were really busy, and it was still late rush hour. If I waited until someone else got off, I could hide between the cars on the street and the buildings, duck into a store to see what the SUV did before circling back on the next block to get to the Venue. At the very least, I could ask Ryan to store my gear in his office, which he kept locked.

  I hung on to my gear, prepared to move, feeling better, more in control.

  I could handle this.

  The driver noticed me in his overhead mirror, probably thought I was about to pull the bell. I forced myself to relax. I had a plan, it was all good.

  We cruised past the Venue. Tonight was open mic so the place would be packed. That worked for me. Meant all the directors would be there. The skate park would be jammed, too, because it was half-price admission. More people meant more places to hide.

  Kyle might even be there. God, I hoped so. If Ryan had given him my sketch, I felt pretty sure he would at least say thanks. I could give him a big hug and tell him I was sorry.

  For not being able to be honest with him.

  And for dropping out of sight.

  He wouldn’t know I was leaving yet. I had to see him again, not leave with bad feelings between us. The thought of him being angry at me hurt so much.

  Several people prepared to get off at the next stop. An old lady tucked a big purse safely under her arm. A hood rat stood, hanging on to his waistband, so his pants didn’t wind up around his ankles. I decided to go with them. I could get into the record store with only a few steps, and there was a big window. I should be able to see what the SUV did.

  “Excuse me,” I said to the guy holding his pants.

  He shot me a dirty look as if he didn’t understand why I didn’t get off behind him at the back exit since I was already there. I made my way to the front with the old lady.

  We got off the bus and I bolted for the outside foyer of the record store so I wouldn’t be seen. I got inside just as the bus was preparing to take off again.

  The car in front of the SUV went around the bus, but the SUV slowed almost to a stop to let the bus into traffic. It was the law.

  Or the SUV could have assumed I was still on the bus.

  I waited until I was clear, although I’d drawn the attention of the clerk behind the counter, who glared at me as if I were there to cause trouble.

  I left. I didn’t head down the street, even though that would be the fastest route to the Venue. Instead, I stuck close to the building and down the alley to the Dumpster. From there I could cut to the next street and come at the Venue from the skate park.

  I cased the street but didn’t see the SUV. I resurfaced and hurried toward the skate park, clinging close to the building. There was still enough light to see me, but I made it.

  I was barely through the door when I ran into Kyle.

  He was coming from the hallway where the classrooms were. He looked so handsome with his wavy hair and dark eyes that I swallowed hard. I could only stare at him like I would never see him again, when I wanted to so, so much.

  He stopped short when he saw me, obviously surprised, and for one terrible instant I thought he was going to keep walking.

  Instead, he rushed to me and demanded, “What’s wrong?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “MARC, SHE GOT off the bus,” Courtney hissed, speaking into the hands-free device. Pulling against a curb, she willed the rental car to blend in with the other cars parked along the street and waited to see if Araceli emerged. “She waited until the stop after the Venue but then she ran inside a record store. I think she was onto me.”

  “Sounds like it,” he said. “One thing’s for sure. This isn’t the place for a confrontation. I’ll try to blend in until I can get out. It’s not easy, to tell you the truth. Everyone is young around here. Even management. I’m noticeable.”

  Anxiety was making her nauseous. Or maybe that was because she hadn’t eaten anything yet today, hadn’t had a thing since a cup of coffee at the hotel before they’d left this morning. She didn’t know. She only knew they had found Araceli alive, but now had to get her so she couldn’t run.

  “Marc, we can’t lose her.”

  “She’ll either look for help here or be back,” he said. “Her work is hanging on these walls. I’ll see if she goes for it, and if she does, she won’t be carrying all this stuff anywhere without help.”

  Courtney wanted to feel reassured. She only felt frayed from spending the day playing hide-and-seek.

  And extre
mely grateful Araceli was still alive.

  “What should I do? I thought I would be able to see both streets from here, but she must have headed toward you.”

  “If she marked us, then she knows we’ve already connected her to this place. She’s either not expecting us to pick her up or she thinks we’ll be deterred by all the people.” He hesitated a moment, considering. “Head this way and park somewhere you’ve got a vantage to see if she leaves.”

  Courtney could cope as long as she stayed in action. “On my way.”

  She wasn’t sure what the plan would be from here. They had hoped to establish Araceli’s routine and discover where she lived. Then they were going to figure out how best to confront her without panicking her and driving her underground.

  Epic fail on all counts, because their plan had been moot when they had unexpectedly run into her this morning.

  Courtney had known the instant she had seen the beautiful girl with the warm eyes and dark chocolate hair this was who the snaggletoothed child in the school proof had grown up to be. Not so much because her features were recognizable, but because the earth had shifted when their gazes met, as if on some gut level Courtney and the girl had registered that the search was over.

  And not worst-case scenario. Yet.

  They had clearly underestimated Araceli.

  Courtney didn’t know what the best thing to do was. She didn’t want to call the police, because then the situation would roll right into Agent Weston’s jurisdiction. But Courtney also knew that confronting Araceli wasn’t likely to be productive. The girl had moved heaven and earth to get away from foster care. To expect her to simply agree to return to New Orleans wasn’t realistic. She had a few ideas, but to even present them, she needed to talk with the girl, try to reason with her.

  Courtney found a place to park in the lot between the Venue and the skate park. It wasn’t exactly a space, but she had no problem hopping a curb and making a place in the bushes.