The unexpected apology seemed to drain the tension out of Hannah’s body. Her shoulders sagged. “No big deal.”
“Hannah, do you want me to try and talk to your mom?
About her boyfriend, I mean?”
Fear widened Hannah’s eyes and pinched her mouth. “No. There’s no problem.”
“Hannah, you said—”
“I made it up.”
“You did not.”
“I did so!” Hannah balled her fists so tightly that Camille thought the girl might snap the handle of the feather duster she held.
“If he’s done anything to you—”
“He hasn’t. I wouldn’t let him.”
“It’s not always a matter of ‘letting’ a guy do anything,” Camille warned. “Your mother should be protecting you.” She paused. “Does she even know about the library stuff? Or the Knit Lit Society? Or your coming here after school?”
Camille hadn’t asked the questions to hurt Hannah, but she could see past the heavy makeup to the pain in the girl’s eyes.
“It wouldn’t make a difference if she did. She doesn’t care.”
Camille could hardly argue with that. “Will you promise to tell me if you need my help?”
“I promise to think about it.”
Camille knew that was as good an agreement as she was likely to get. “I hope you’ll do more than that.” Pursuing the matter anymore, though, was unlikely to improve the results.
“Now, you’d better get started with the dusting. We close up at six.”
Hannah’s eyes widened. “You think it will take me two hours to dust this place?”
“To my satisfaction?” Camille asked. “Probably.”
“I should have stayed at the library,” Hannah grumbled, but she did as she’d been asked, and for the next two hours Camille could take comfort in the fact that at least for that amount of time, no one would hurt or bother the girl.
What happened after they left the shop at closing time was another matter entirely.
The phone rang next to Merry’s head, waking her as it sent her pulse skittering and shortened her breath. She looked to the other side of the bed and saw Jeff there, snoring contentedly. A ringing phone wasn’t enough to blast him out of his slumber.
She groped for the receiver and hit the button to answer the call, her eyes too bleary to read the caller ID. “Hello?”
“Mrs. McGavin?” The voice was small, scared, and familiar.
“Hannah?”
“Mrs. McGavin, could you come get me?”
Merry glanced at the clock. Two in the morning. “Where are you?” She could call 911 and have the sheriff pick Hannah up. He’d probably get there faster than she could anyway. “Are you okay?” A small part of her had been expecting this kind of call for a while now.
“I’m at the Rest-A-While Truck Stop on I-65.”
“What?” That truck stop was a good forty-five minutes away on the two-lane state highway that led from Sweetgum to the Interstate. “Hannah, you need to call the police. Right now.”
“No.” She was sobbing. “They’ll take me to juvy as a runaway. Please, Mrs. McGavin.”
Courtney was going to go ballistic. The thought popped into Merry’s head, and she shoved it away. Too bad. Courtney would have to deal. But that meant Merry would have to put up with more tantrums and recriminations.
“All right. I’ll get there as quick as I can.” She pulled back the covers and levered herself out of bed, not an easy feat now that pregnancy had shifted her center of balance. “Do you have any money? Is there anybody there who looks trustworthy?”
Hannah’s bark of laughter was more fear than humor. “At a truck stop in the middle of the night?”
“Okay. Okay.” She poked around in the darkness for a pair of maternity jeans and a sweater. “Sit at the counter, and order something to eat. Surely there’s a waitress or something.”
“Yeah.”
“Fine. I’ll be there in less than an hour.”
“Okay.” The word ended on a sob.
“Hannah, it’ll be all right.” She was afraid to ask how Hannah had wound up in such a place. She was afraid she already knew the answer.
“Mrs. McGavin?”
“Yes?”
“Hurry.”
Jeff wasn’t going to be any happier than Courtney. “I will, honey. Just sit tight.” She pushed the button on the phone to end the call and set the receiver back in its cradle.
“Jeff?” She nudged her husband as she sank down on the bed to slip on her shoes.
“Hmm?” He rolled over and opened one eye.
“Emergency. I’ve got to go out.”
Both eyes popped open. “What?”
“It’s Hannah Simmons. She’s at a truck stop on I-65. I have to go get her.”
He sat upright so fast the momentum almost knocked Merry off the bed. “Hold on a second.”
“I can’t. I have to go. Now.” She tried to remember where she’d left her purse. On the sideboard in the dining room maybe? “I’ve got my cell phone. I’ll call you when I get there.”
“Merry?” He rubbed an eye with the palm of his hand. “This is ridiculous. Just call the state troopers, and tell them to pick her up.”
“So they can put her in a holding cell at the county juvenile center for the rest of the night?”
“Where else is she going to go?”
Merry didn’t answer, and then the light of understanding dawned in his eyes. “Oh no, Merry. Not here.”
“Where else?”
“What about some of those knitter friends of yours? Let one of them take her. Like Miss Pierce, the librarian. She’s probably got a spare bedroom. Where are we going to put her?”
Merry hadn’t considered that until Jeff raised the question. “I guess there’s only one place.” She thought of the canopied twin beds in Courtney’s room. Courtney had been after her for months to get rid of them, had denounced them as being for babies like Sarah, which had sent Sarah off into wails of humiliation.
“You’re seriously going to stick that girl in the other twin bed in our daughter’s room?”
Merry took a deep breath. “Looks that way.”
“What if her mother charges you with kidnapping or something?”
“I doubt Tracy Simmons will even notice that Hannah’s gone if she hasn’t already.” She headed for the door. “Plus I know a really good attorney.” She paused. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“Merry—”
She didn’t wait to hear any further objections. Just took the stairs gingerly in deference to her burgeoning midsection and located her purse on the kitchen cabinet next to the refrigerator. Keys in one hand, she grabbed Jeff’s shearling coat off the rack in the utility room as she passed. Then, on impulse, she grabbed a second coat—Courtney’s North Face jacket. Given Hannah’s lack of outerwear, the girl was probably freezing.
A few months ago, Merry never could’ve imagined setting off for a truck stop in the middle of the night, pregnant and alone, to rescue a stranded teenager. Now she couldn’t imagine not doing that very thing. Welcome to Oz, Dorothy, she thought as she opened the door to the driver’s side of the minivan and tossed Courtney’s jacket onto the passenger seat.
Thankfully not much traffic flowed along the two-lane highway in the middle of the night. Merry had no trouble staying awake. Adrenaline pounded through her veins, which in turn supercharged the baby. By the time she hit I-65, her insides would be black-and-blue from all the kicking and shoving. Forty-five minutes later she pulled into the parking area of the Rest-A-While Truck Stop. A few cars littered the lot, and she could see a number of eighteen-wheelers parked in the huge open area beyond the main building. Please, Lord, she prayed, don’t let anyone have hurt Hannah.
The truck stop’s twenty-four-hour diner looked like it was straight out of a movie set, a long chrome counter dividing the kitchen from the dining area of red vinyl booths under a bank of windows. Merry spotted Hannah
immediately. The girl was slumped on a stool at the counter, her hands curled around a coffee mug as if she were holding on for dear life.
“Hannah.” Merry kept her voice low, not wanting to draw attention to the girl. A waitress at the far end of the diner looked up and then went back to gossiping with a cook.
“Thank heavens.” Merry slid onto the stool next to her and reached out to put an arm around her. But Hannah shrank back.
“It’s no big deal. I just need a ride.” Despite her brave words, her eyes were red from crying, her thick mascara streaked down her cheeks.
“Okay.” Merry at least knew enough about thirteen-year-old girls not to push. Not now. Later, when she got Hannah home and they’d both had some sleep, well, that would be another matter entirely. “Have you paid for your hot chocolate?”
“It’s coffee,” Hannah said in a challenging tone.
“Okay. Coffee. Have you paid for it?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s get out of here.” A rowdy group of young men appeared in the doorway, jostling one another and calling each other names that made Merry blush. Clearly they were ending a night of drinking with a meal of deep-fried food. “Ow,” Hannah complained, shaking off Merry’s grip on her arm. “Easy, will ya?”
“Easy?” For the first time since she’d been awakened by the phone, anger took the place of fear. “Easy?” She snagged Hannah once more, this time by the wrist. “No one calls me up in the middle of the night, begs me to drive an hour to come rescue them,” she paused to catch her breath, which was getting shorter as the baby got bigger, “and then tells me to take it easy.” She stopped and whirled Hannah around to face her. “We passed easy a good hour ago.”
Hannah opened her mouth to protest. For a long moment, her lips were just one big O, and then, as if realizing how much better the devil you know could be than the devil that you don’t, she shut her mouth and followed Merry to the car.
“How did you wind up at that truck stop?” They had made it past the group of rowdies unnoticed and were headed back down the highway to Sweetgum. Even though Merry had resolved to hold her questions until the morning, she couldn’t keep from asking that one. “Where in the world were you going?”
Hannah was looking out the side window, so all Merry could see was the back of head. “Does it really matter?”
“It matters to me,” Merry snapped. And to her surprise, she realized she meant it. She cared about Hannah. “I was worried sick when you called. Broke every traffic law in the books racing to get to you.”
Merry’s tirade was met with silence. She felt tears sting her eyes. What was it about this girl that scared her so? And then she realized exactly what it was. Hannah’s life was every fear she’d ever had for herself and for her children all rolled up into one terrifying bundle. And now that Jeff had announced he’d declared bankruptcy, her fears were suddenly much more real. More immediate. More in danger of actually coming to pass.
“Hannah, you owe me an explanation.” Merry said the words, but she didn’t think she’d actually get a response, so she was shocked when Hannah turned back to face the windshield and started to speak.
“I just had to get away.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know, okay?” Hannah snapped.
“Who did you have to get away from?”
More silence.
“Hannah? Was it your mom?” Merry kept her eyes on the road, hoping that would encourage the girl to talk. “Did she do something?”
“No. She wasn’t even there.”
“Then who?”
Hannah burst into sobs. Surprised, Merry jerked the steering wheel of the minivan, almost sending them into the nearest ditch.
“Watch out!” Hannah cried.
“Sorry. Sorry.” Merry straightened the wheel and took her foot off the gas pedal. “Everything’s okay.”
Hannah snorted.
“Tell me who tried to hurt you.”
“Gentry. Gentry Carmichael.”
“Who is Gentry Carmichael?” Merry had never heard the name in her life.
“My mom’s boyfriend. She took off yesterday. I haven’t seen her since. And then he came over tonight.”
Those words sent a wave of chills through Merry. “Did he try to touch you?”
Hannah’s head dropped, her chin almost touching her chest. “He did more than try,” she mumbled in abject misery.
Merry put her foot on the brake and eased the van to the shoulder of the highway. She shifted into park and turned toward Hannah, as much as she could anyway considering her bulk. With one hand, she reached across to touch her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Hannah.”
To Merry’s surprise, Hannah didn’t shrink away. Instead she leaned ever so slightly closer. Merry slipped her arm around the girl and drew her awkwardly across the space between the two front seats. Hannah’s first sob slipped softly from her lips, but in a matter of moments she was crying and shaking as if she’d narrowly escaped death. And maybe she had, Merry thought, using her free hand to wipe away the tears running down her own cheeks.
“Do I need to take you to the hospital, honey?” The words almost stuck in her throat, but she had to ask them.
“No. It’s not that bad—” She sobbed again. “He just grabbed my—” Fresh tears drowned out the rest of the sentence, but a wave of relief swamped Merry that it hadn’t been a worse violation. Later she would find out exactly what had happened, but at least the poor child hadn’t been … She couldn’t even let her thoughts go there.
“I think we’d better get home,” she said, patting Hannah’s head before shifting back to her seat. “It’s all going to be okay.”
Hannah gave her a weak smile, probably one of the few times Merry had ever seen the girl do so. “Thank you,” she murmured. Merry patted her shoulder again.
“You’re welcome.”
Ten minutes later they were halfway home, and Hannah had fallen asleep with her head propped against the passenger side door. Merry glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Three thirty in the morning.
Strange how her own life suddenly looked much brighter in the darkness that had almost taken Hannah that night. Yes, she was imperfect as a mother. But she’d always be the kind of mom who would drive for an hour in the middle of the night to pick up someone else’s kid. And if that was the kind of parent her new baby was getting, that was fine.
More than fine, actually.
It was something a lot of kids would never have.
Better late than never, Merry thought with a bittersweet smile. That was true for her—in so many more ways than one.
Ruthie piled her small amount of luggage on the porch so she could lock the door behind her. She gave the wood a pat, one last expression of affection. She’d arranged to rent her house for the next two years to a young schoolteacher who was a member of the church. The arrangement benefited both of them. The schoolteacher could save most of her money for a future down payment on a house of her own. And Ruthie would know that her home was well looked after in her absence. Assuming she came back at the end of the two years.
Rev. Carson had taken her departure with good grace, although he’d implored her to make a list of all the things she did and how she did them. A pity, really, that she couldn’t stay and work with him. He seemed like the kind of preacher who understood both the value and complicated nature of a church secretary’s job.
Ruthie locked the door and put the key under a flowerpot, as she’d promised her new tenant. “Good-bye, house.” It was silly, she supposed, to actually talk to her home, but after all these years a proper farewell seemed important.
“Why are you talking to your house?”
Ruthie jumped. She’d been so lost in her own thoughts that she hadn’t heard her sister coming up the sidewalk.
“Just saying good-bye.”
“That’s more consideration than you were going to show me.” Esther’s face was pinched into lines of disapproval. “I didn’t think
there was anything more for us to say.”
Ruthie frowned. “Why are you here?”
“I’m driving you to the airport.”
“You don’t have to. I called a cab.”
Esther pursed her lips. “Yes, I think I do. You can use my cell phone to cancel the cab.”
Ruthie would rather have been boiled in oil than accept Esther’s offer, but she also couldn’t bring herself to say no.
“How did you know I was leaving?”
“I happened to stop by the church this morning. Apparently it never occurred to Rev. Carson that you wouldn’t tell your own sister you were on your way to Africa for two years.”
“You don’t need to drive me to the airport.”
“No, I don’t. But I’m going to.”
“All right.” Ruthie knew better than to argue with Esther when she used that tone. Besides, now that she was leaving, what could it hurt? She hoisted her duffel bag over one shoulder and grabbed her tote with her free hand.
“That’s all you’re taking?” Esther frowned in disapproval.
“We’re limited as to what we can bring.”
“I guess you won’t need much out there in the jungle.”
Ruthie bit back a laugh. “I’m hardly going to the jungle, Esther. I’ll be in a village, like I was before, but it’s not far from a small city. No electricity, but that’s why I’m bringing solar-powered flashlights.” Amazing how an ordinary ten-dollar household object, taken for granted in America, could transform life in the place she was going.
“Do they have running water?”
“Yes, Esther. And I’ve had all my shots. Remember, I’ve done this before.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Not really.” Ruthie’s eyes grew misty. “Most of the time, it seems like yesterday.”
“Yes, well, you’re not as young as you used to be.” And then deciding, apparently, not to pursue the argument, she waved Ruthie toward the car as if she were a recalcitrant child. “Come on. You don’t want to miss your plane.”
The hour-and-a-half drive to Nashville both sped by and dragged on. Esther’s Jaguar with its leather interior was comfortable, its low-slung engine eating up the miles with ease. But with only the two of them inside, Ruthie struggled to find topics of conversation. Other than family dinners or other group gatherings, she still hadn’t seen Frank alone. Hadn’t wanted to, of course, but perhaps she should have tried to put some closure on their relationship. Closure especially on the strange and twisted last few months. Acquiring her visa and her assignment in Namibia with the church-based volunteer agency had taken far longer than she’d expected, in part due to her age.
The Sweetgum Knit Lit Society Page 20