Back in Kansas

by Debra Salonen

  He studied Claudie’s sketch a minute longer. Wedged between Wesley and Valery was a word he’d overlooked. A name. A surname. “Anders.”

  This might be the break he needed. Bo buzzed his secretary. “Mrs. K., try my cousin again, please. And see if you can get me on a flight to New York. Tonight.”

  AS HER CAR joined the easterly flow of traffic on Interstate 80, Claudie heaved a sigh and let her thoughts drift to Bo—where they seemed content to stay way too much of the time.

  “Bo’s head over heels crazy about you, Claudie,” Sara had said last Tuesday as they’d relaxed on the bench of the BART train during their ride back from San Francisco. An array of fancy bags—trophies from their shopping expedition—encircled their aching feet.

  “If he is, then he’s just plain crazy, Sara. I’m not the girl next door, you know.”

  “He knows who you are, Claudie,” Sara had protested. “He’s seen you turn your life around these past seven months and he knows how hard you’ve worked to help other women get off the street.”

  Sara’s praise had a way of making Claudie squirm—it felt good but somehow undeserved. “I’m no saint, Sara. I’m not the kind of person who deserves a happy ending. Life just doesn’t work that way for people like me.”

  Sara’s eyes had filled with tears. “You are so wrong about that, Claudie. And if you think Bo believes that then you don’t know Bo.”

  Their conversation had been interrupted by the train’s arrival at the Pleasanton station where Sara’s Explorer was parked, but Sara’s words had stayed with Claudie during the drive home. Claudie did know Bo. He was a kind, decent man who’d always treated her with respect.

  He’d never judged her or questioned her about her years on the streets. The more she came to know him—they were often thrown together thanks to Ren and Sara’s situation—the better she liked him. But that was as far as their relationship should go. They needed to keep things superficial.

  Friendly. Bo was a friend. Period.

  So maybe you’re hoping your friend will come looking for you, a little voice said.

  “No,” she said aloud, startling herself by the volume of her denial. “I can do this myself. If I’d have wanted his help, all I had to do was ask.”

  But that would have meant telling him about her past. That was nobody’s business but hers—and Garret Anders’s.

  A sign announcing a truck stop caught her eye and Claudie impulsively took the exit. The clock on the dash read: three-thirty. She was less than twenty miles from Cheyenne. Her brother probably had a job, which meant Claudie would have to time her arrival. She knew she could call first, but she wanted to surprise him. Perhaps just to see if he still recognized her. She was curious herself—was there any of the old Claudie left to see?

  She parked near a bank of phones and got out of the car. The wind sliced through her sweatshirt, but the clean, brisk air felt exhilarating. She sat down at a picnic table partially sheltered from the wind and mentally catalogued all that she’d left behind to undertake this quest.

  First and foremost: One Wish House.

  Back in July when Ren first suggested using his partially renovated Victorian home in Folsom, California, as a halfway house for prostitutes, Claudie had laughed in disbelief. But somehow the project had become a reality.

  The name had come from her friend, Keneesha, a former prostitute who’d turned her life around and was now living in Georgia, raising the son she’d abandoned years earlier. “When I was hookin’, I can’t tell you the number of times I’d find myself thinking, ‘If I could have one wish, I’d ask to start over,”’ Kee had said when she’d returned for Sara’s wedding.

  The home’s current residents ranged in age from nineteen to thirty-three. While linked to various bureaucratic agencies, the halfway house was a volunteer residence program.

  Claudie feared her absence might undermine all she’d worked so hard to create.

  “You know what people are going to think, right?” Davina had fretted as she watched Claudie pack. “They’re going to think you abandoned us or something.”

  “It’s dangerous out there, Claudie,” the world-weary Maya had added. “I’ve been across this country more than once—bad things can happen. And this is a terrible time of year to travel. Storms. Snow this high,” she’d said raising to her tiptoes to hold her hand above her head.

  “Sí,” Davina had concurred, “you shouldn’t do this alone. Meester Bo would go. I know he would. He likes you.”

  A foul epithet had introduced Rochell’s opinion. “She don’t need a man to do this. She got off the street on her own, didn’t she? Why do you always act like men are the answer?”

  “Bo’s at a gadget fair in Vegas until Monday,” Claudie had interjected. “This can’t wait. I’ll call him from the road and let him know I’m okay. Besides, we’re just friends, you know.”

  Sally Rae, a willowy blonde and youngest member of the group, made a snorting sound. “Yeah, right, like we believe that.”

  Claudie had grabbed her jacket from her closet and faced the group. “Hey, this isn’t a best-case scenario, but I’ve got to go, and you all know why. Babe Bishop’s going to check in on things from time to time.”

  Their simultaneous groans summed up their feelings about that topic. Claudie flinched. “Sorry, but she’s on the board of directors. If you need any help, call Sara.”

  Davina, the most spontaneous of the group, surged forward, clasping Claudie in a hug. “Don’t worry. We will be okay, Claudie. And I will pray for you and your little sister.”

  The women walked Claudie to the door. A sober stillness hung in the foyer as she opened the door. Beyond the porch, a steady drizzle fell, cold and un-inviting. Claudie feared she might not make it over Donner Pass without chains. She’d debated about waiting until morning to head out, but the weather report showed a big storm approaching from the northwest.

  Maya spoke softly. “You are a warrior on a quest, Claudie.” Her obsidian eyes had seemed capable of viewing the core of Claudie’s heart. “Find the truth and it will release the pain you keep locked away.”

  A warrior on a quest, Claudie silently repeated, gazing across the windswept vista. Bo would love that one, wouldn’t he?

  Guilt made her grimace, but she closed her mind to Bo’s image. She couldn’t think about him right now. She had to stay focused.

  She rose and started toward her car, but detoured at the bank of phones. She counted her remaining coins—only enough for one call. If I call Sara, she could give Bo a message.

  Coward, a voice whispered. A cowardly warrior on a foolish quest. Yep, that about sums things up, she thought, shaking her head to keep the wind-induced tears at bay.

  BREATHLESS FROM her run to catch the phone, Sara croaked, “Hello.”

  The voice on the other end triggered a flood of emotion. “Claudie! Thank God you’re okay. Tell me you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine, Sara J. Don’t get all worked up. That can’t be good for the babies.”

  An immediate sense of relief made Sara’s knees weak. She sat down on a stool and caught sight of the notepad and pen Bo had left beside every phone in the house. Notes. Bo said I’m supposed to concentrate and take notes. Impressions. Background noises. “Where are you? Why’d you leave without telling me? You are coming back, right?” Sara asked, picking up the pen. It was hard to be a sleuth and talk at the same time.

  Claudie’s small laugh sounded sort of lonely and sad. “I’m a bad penny, remember? I keep turning up.”

  Sara’s eyes misted over. “You’d better come back soon. Brady’s missing you, and Bo’s going nuts.”

  “Bo’s one of the reasons I left without telling anyone. You know Super Snoop—he’d have his nose in this up to his eyebrows. I have to do this on my own, Sara.”

  “But we’re your friends, Claudie. Can’t we help? That’s what friends do.”

  “Between keeping up with Brady and getting ready for the new babies, you’ve got your h
ands full at the moment, remember?” Her friend was obviously not going to reveal much, so Sara tried to focus on the noises coming through the line.

  She hastily jotted down “Trucks? Freeway? Interstate?” Sara decided to gamble. “Does this have anything to do with your family?”

  In the moment of stunned silence that followed, Sara heard a tinny voice give the call letters of a radio station. She wrote them down. “How do you know that?” Claudie asked, her voice tense.

  “You left a piece of paper in Brady’s backpack. There were names. Brady said they were your brothers and sisters.”

  Claudie blew out a breath. “I keep forgetting how smart that little guy is.” Sara added the notation: She misses Brady…and us. “Well, all I’m gonna say about it right now is that I’m trying to find my half brother. Hopefully Yancy can put me in touch with the rest of the bunch. A regular old-home week,” she said her voice sounding less than pleased by the prospect.

  Sara added a few quick notes to her list. “That sounds wonderful. I’m happy you’re reuniting with your family.”

  Claudie’s chuckle didn’t sound encouraging. “I haven’t seen any of these people since I left home ten years ago. I doubt they’re going to be thrilled to see me, but that’s just tough. This is something I gotta do. Period.”

  Sara recognized the determination in her friend’s voice. “I know you, Claudie. You’ll do whatever you set out to do. I just wish we could help. We’re family, too, aren’t we?”

  “You’re my California family, Sara, and I know you want to help, but this is the past. My past. Believe me, it isn’t pretty. And I don’t want my future god-children exposed to any of it.”

  Sara swallowed loudly. “Then Bo. Couldn’t he help?”

  “No,” Claudie responded. “This is something I ran away from a long time ago, and if I learned anything from you and Ren it’s that the past has a way of catching up with you. I have to deal with it. I can’t sit by in my safe little world and let Garret ruin another girl’s life.”

  “Who…?” Sara tried to ask, but her question was interrupted by a mechanical voice asking for more money.

  “My stepfather, that’s who,” Claudie snapped. A second later, she sighed, as if regretting her disclosure. “I’m outa change, Sara J. Gotta go. I’ll call again soon. Tell Brady I haven’t forgotten his birthday. I’m going to send him something. And tell Bo he can yell at me all he wants when I get back. Bye.”

  The line went dead and Sara replaced the receiver. She walked into Ren’s office and turned on the computer. Within minutes she was online; seconds later she’d found a page dedicated to the call signs of radio stations. She pushed the button to access the other phone line and hit the speed-dial number of Bo’s office. As soon as he picked up, she said, “Hi, it’s me. I think she’s in Wyoming.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  KNOCKING ON the door of her brother’s house turned out to be harder than Claudie expected. Her heart pounded in her chest as she forced herself to take a deep breath. The raw Wyoming wind penetrated through her Sacramento Kings sweatshirt making her shiver. The November sun was already sinking below a stratum of thin, horizontal clouds—eye-catching ribbons of tangerine and magenta.

  The hollow tinny sound her knocking produced didn’t seem substantial enough to magnify past the wooden inner door. She looked for a doorbell but found a piece of frayed duct tape over an empty hole.

  Her hand was poised to rap again when she heard a loud, hollow thump. A moment later the inner door opened with a swoosh. A tall, trim man in a worn plaid shirt greeted her with a curious, “Yeah? What can I do for you?”

  The lanky auburn hair was familiar even if the long handsome face wasn’t.

  Claudie swallowed. “Yancy?” she asked in a small voice.

  He bent down slightly and put his face closer to the screen. “Do I know you?”

  “It’s Claudie,” she said, suddenly realizing her wind-combed, Meg Ryan hairdo probably bore little resemblance to the girl with long dark hair that he’d last known.

  He stepped back as if someone had yanked him by the collar. His mouth dropped open and he shook his head. “My sister Claudie? Really?”

  Claudie’s heart galloped against her ribs. She’d visualized this moment a dozen times. She just hadn’t expected to feel so…tearful. “Yeah, it’s me.”

  Yancy stepped forward again, this time fumbling with the latch on the metal screen door. “Well, I’ll be…It’s been ten years, ain’t it? Good Lord, I’d never have recognized you. Come on in.”

  Gratified to find her legs still worked, she stepped over the threshold and moved in enough for him to close the door. Once inside, she was struck by conflicting odors: overly pungent male cologne and the too-sweet stench of chlorine. He must have noticed her nose crinkling. “We’re bleaching the toilets,” he said apologetically. “We all had the flu since Sunday, but everybody’s better today.”

  Claudie smiled—not sure what to say. Yancy seemed just as tentative. His big, coarse-looking hands made start and stop motions as if he wanted to hug her but wasn’t sure how to do it. Finally, he indicated the room to her right. “Let’s go sit down. This is just too weird. I can’t believe it. Zach and me were sure you’d died or something.”

  Claudie picked her way past an assortment of shoes, toys and old newspapers, which Yancy apologized for with another reference to their recent illness. The couch was a plush navy sectional adorned with a dozen throw pillows in a rainbow of hues. She nudged aside a plump square of sunshine yellow and sat down.

  “I’ve been living in California. Sacramento, mostly,” she said.

  “Really? I been through there. I used to drive long hauls but I’ve been with a cement company the last six years. Closer to home. Wife likes it that way.” He lowered himself to a dusty piano bench across from her. Behind him sat an electric keyboard enveloped in an opaque plastic cover.

  “You’re married,” Claudie said, looking around. A brass frame on the end table held an eight-by-ten photo of a woman with long blond hair and two young boys, one dark, one light. “Is that your family?”

  “One of ’em,” Yancy said, making a wry face. “My first wife, Becca, lives in Denver with our daughter Darcy—she’ll be seven in January.”

  “Wow,” Claudie exclaimed, mentally doing the math. Yancy was two and a half years her junior. “You started young.”

  “Yeah, you think you know everything when you’re seventeen. Hell, I didn’t even know enough to use a rubber. Becca was six months along when we got married. It was a mistake from the start.”

  Claudie nodded as if she understood.

  “You married?” he asked.

  “No.”

  He opened his mouth as if to speak but just then a small child burst through the front door then slammed it resoundingly. Yancy poked out one long arm and grabbed the boy before he could escape.

  “Slow down, Pika. Your Aunt Claudie’s here to visit. Say hi.”

  The child, who looked a year or two older than Brady, squirmed like a fish on a line. “Hi,” he said, not making eye contact. From what Claudie could see, he was the spitting image of his father at that age—wavy auburn hair, all legs and arms.

  Yancy let him go and the boy dashed down the hallway.

  “What did you say his name is?”

  “Pika. As in Pike’s Peak. Renee says that’s where he was conceived when we were on a camping trip. Hell if I know. I was probably stoned or drunk.”

  Claudie kept her expression blank. She’d known plenty of men who wanted sex when they were stoned or drunk. If she’d been the dishonest type, she could have ripped them off when they passed out. But she wasn’t a thief.

  “Who?” a woman’s voice asked in the distance. “Yancy, is someone here?” she called out a moment later.

  “Yeah, Renee, my sister’s here.” Yancy shook his head once more as if the idea still boggled his mind.

  A shuffling sound preceded Renee’s arrival. Curious, Claudie sat forwar
d. The woman who appeared in the doorway looked far different from her photograph. Her bleached locks hung limp beside her long sallow face. Her pale skin was blotchy and a large cold sore festered at the corner of her lip.

  Dressed in baggy red sweatpants, heelless mules and a paint-splattered Mickey Mouse T-shirt, she attempted to fix up her hair and clothes but gave up with a sigh, “Oh, hell,” she grumbled, extending her hand. “I’m Renee.”

  Claudie rose and shook her hand. “Claudie.”

  Renee’s chin turned abruptly toward her husband. “That one?”

  Claudie’s hackles rose until Yancy said, “Yep, my long-lost sister who ran away from home when she was sixteen.”

  “Seventeen,” Claudie corrected. “I was sixteen when Mom died, but my birthday’s May 7, and I didn’t leave home ’til the fifth of June.”

  He nodded. “That’s right. We were still in school, which was how come Val’s teacher offered to take her in.”

  Renee motioned for Yancy to move over so she could sit down beside him. Claudie sat back down, uneasily. She hadn’t talked about that time in her life for ten years, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to do so with a stranger present.

  “How long have you been married?” she asked, stalling.

  Renee shrugged. “Four years next week. Pika was six months old when we tied the knot. We’da done it sooner, but his divorce from the Barbie doll wasn’t final.”

  Yancy’s grimace told Claudie his ex-wife was a sore spot in his current marriage.

  “And you have a second son,” Claudie said, nodding toward the photo.

  “Laramie. He’s three. He’s over at his grandma’s—my mom’s house. She lives across the alley. He still ain’t feelin’ too good.”

  “Oh.” Claudie looked at her brother. “They’re pretty close together, aren’t they? Like you and Zach.”

  Yancy frowned. “Yeah, but that’s all we’re having. Two, not ten. I already went in and had the operation just to make sure there weren’t any accidents.”