Can't Stop Loving You

by Janelle Taylor

  Teenaged hookers, probably runaways, Noah thought, looking into their surprisingly focused eyes. He had gotten used to seeing the bleary expressions of junkies, and he immediately recognized that these two kids were straight. That they weren’t selling themselves to support a drug habit was somehow more unsettling than it would have been if they were, he thought illogically.

  “Whassup?” the smaller of the two girls asked, looking curiously from Noah to Mariel. Her hair was blond and unevenly shorn—again, in a style that would have been trendy anywhere else, but was a whole different story here on Eleventh Avenue.

  “We were wondering if you’ve seen this girl,” Mariel said, showing her the picture of Amber.

  They both leaned in to look at it, then at each other.

  “You’ve seen her.” It was a statement, not a question, and Noah tried hard to keep the nervous anticipation from his voice. He had spoken to enough skittish street kids these past few days to sense that these two girls knew something, and the last thing he wanted was to scare them off.

  “Yeah, we’ve seen her,” said the other girl, a pretty mulatto with dark, flashing eyes. “That’s Amber.”

  Noah felt Mariel stir beside him, and he reached out to squeeze her hand, warning her to play it cool.

  “Any idea where we could find her?”

  “She hangs down in the park with a bunch of friends,” the blonde said.

  “Central Park?” Mariel asked urgently.

  Noah nudged her, reminding her to hold back. She had made a mistake. Central Park was uptown from here. They wouldn’t have said “down.”

  The girls looked at each other.

  The rapport was broken.

  “Whatever,” the blonde said, and Noah’s hopes slid.

  “Any idea who her friends are?” he asked casually, to keep the conversation going.

  “Just some guys. They keep the pimps away from her. She’s not into that.”

  Noah felt his knees go weak with relief at those words.

  “Who are these friends?” Mariel asked, and he could hear the quiver of excitement in her voice. He willed her not to ask too many questions or put her foot into her mouth again. They had to tread carefully.

  The darker girl shrugged. “Just kids like her.”

  “You mean, other runaways?” Noah asked.

  “Pretty much,” the girl said.

  “Do any of them have names?” Noah asked lightly.

  “Yeah, there’s Blinky and—”

  The blonde nudged the darker girl into abrupt silence, giving her a look.

  “Listen, we’re just concerned about Amber’s well-being,” Noah said. “You don’t have to worry about what you tell us.”

  “Yeah, right,” the blonde said. “You’re her parents, right?”

  Noah and Mariel looked at each other, then shook their heads.

  “Uh huh, sure. She looks just like you.”

  “Look, can you just tell us which park?” Noah asked. “Washington Square, or—”

  “Nope, we’ve got to go now. See ya.”

  With that, the two girls took off, leaving Noah and Mariel to stare helplessly after them.

  Or maybe not so helplessly, Noah realized.

  “Let’s go,” he said abruptly, and started walking east.

  “But where are we going? This city must have dozens of parks.”

  “Not all of them are downtown.”

  “How do you know it’s downtown?”

  “They said, ‘down in the park,’ remember? I’m thinking it could be Washington Square, or Tompkins Square—a lot of kids hang out there. And there are others. Union Square. Madison Square…”

  “Yeah, and now we have a name to go on,” Mariel said, keeping up breathlessly with his long strides. “Blinky.”

  He laughed. “Blinky. There can’t be too many guys named Blinky around, even in this crazy city. I have a good feeling about this, Mariel.”

  She stopped walking and clutched his arm. “You mean you feel like we’re going to find her?”

  He thought about it, then nodded. “Maybe not tonight. But soon.”

  “Do you think it’s time to call the police?” Mariel asked slowly, searching his eyes.

  He considered that. He had thought that they should call the police, and the Steadmans, long ago, but she wouldn’t let him. One more night wouldn’t make a difference, he told himself.

  “We’ll call tomorrow,” he said aloud. “If we don’t find her, we’ll call tomorrow. And we’ll tell them what we know. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Then, in silent contemplation of what might happen when they called, they walked toward the subway.

  It was almost midnight when they reached Tompkins Square park. They had spent hours in the other parks Noah had mentioned, especially Washington Square, because it was particularly busy on this warm June night, filled with dog walkers and street musicians and crowds of kids hanging out. They asked everyone they saw whether they had ever heard of anyone named Blinky, and whether they had ever seen Amber. So far, they had run up against another brick wall.

  They had decided that Tompkins Square would be their last effort tonight. Mariel was exhausted and could tell that Noah felt the same way. He kept yawning, and he was limping thanks to a blister on his left heel.

  She, too, had blisters, and she ached all over. There was a hollow pit in her stomach, and she vaguely knew that it had been too long since they had last eaten; she couldn’t remember when or where it had been.

  This park wasn’t far from Noah’s apartment, she thought as they crossed First Avenue to get to it. They could spend an hour or so talking to people here, and then they would be back in the apartment. Back in each other’s arms.

  She had come to relish the moments they spent alone together, now allowing herself to give in to the intense sensual need she had instinctively suppressed since she had first seen him a week ago tonight.

  Had it only been that long ago?

  In a sense, their time at the Sweet Briar Inn now seemed as though it was as ancient as their college affair. Both had been marked by furtive, desperate, guilttainted encounters, drastically unlike what they now shared. When they were together now there was nothing held back; they were living in the moment, savoring each other without contemplating the past or the future.

  Mariel wouldn’t allow herself to look beyond this stolen interlude.

  And now that they were fairly certain that Amber was going to be all right, wherever she was, it was almost tempting to slow the pace of their search. To make it last, because it was all they had. When it was over, they were over.

  “Stay close,” Noah said, tucking her arm beneath his as they walked into the park.

  The mood here was faintly menacing, she thought as they headed along the path, approaching a group of kids gathered on a bench beneath a tall stand of trees. There were plenty of cops patrolling the streets nearby, but here in the park, there was a sense of isolation.

  Mariel glanced at the cluster of teenagers as they walked toward them. They had stopped their conversation and had turned toward the interlopers, all of them watchful and silent. She scanned the faces, and then her heart went still.

  Noah stopped short, and she knew that he, too, had seen it.

  Amber’s face.

  She was there, in front of them, her features a mask of apprehension. Not because she sensed who they were, Mariel realized, but simply because she trusted no one. She was living on the streets. She feared for her safety.

  For her life.

  She couldn’t know that the two strangers who approached had given her that life…

  Or that they intended to save it.

  A lump rose in Mariel’s throat, and she quivered, fighting back the emotion that threatened to spill over as she stared into her daughter’s eyes—eyes that were familiar, yet not. These were Mariel’s own eyes, and they were set in a face that belonged to someone else. They were no longer frozen in a photograph, but alive with sus
picion, and focused on Mariel herself.

  “Don’t,” Noah said in a low voice, as though he sensed that Mariel was about to lose control.

  She didn’t know what was going to happen—whether she was going to burst into tears, or rush forward and grab her daughter, or even drop to the ground in a faint. But whatever her reaction was going to be, she fought it off, heeding Noah’s warning, understanding that this was the moment of truth. She couldn’t make the wrong move now, when they had found her at last.

  “What’s up?” Noah called casually, walking toward them.

  They mumbled various greetings, all of them shifting their gazes from Noah to Mariel, clearly sensing that something was up.

  “Are you cops?” one of the boys asked.

  They shook their heads. Mariel saw that the boy’s cheeks were pitted with acne and that he wore braces. What had led this boy—somebody’s child, somebody’s son—to be here, in a deserted park in New York City in the middle of the night?

  What were any of them doing here?

  She turned her attention back to Amber, whose gaze still hadn’t wavered.

  She was staring at Mariel and Noah.

  Staring at them intently.

  And as she gaped, an expression of wonder and disbelief began to creep over her face.

  She knows, Mariel realized, her attention now focused completely on her daughter.

  “Are you Amber?” Noah asked gently, turning toward her.

  She nodded mutely.

  “I’m Noah,” he said. “And this is Mariel.”

  The girl didn’t speak.

  She didn’t move.

  “We’ve been trying to find you for a long time,” Mariel said, her voice trembling. “You have no idea, Amber…”

  With a sob, the girl suddenly moved forward, rushing toward her.

  Mariel opened her arms, and then, for the second time in her life, she embraced her daughter and wished for the impossible.

  That she would never have to let her go.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Do you want some more soup?” Noah asked Amber, watching her set her mug carefully on the coffee table.

  She shook her head. He saw her steal a glance at Mariel, who sat beside her on the couch, her hands folded in her lap. They were trembling still, he saw, though it had been almost an hour since they had found Amber in the park.

  “More crackers?” Noah offered, picking up the box of saltines he had left on the table and waving it toward her.

  “No, thank you,” she said politely. She had consistently used good manners, and in some remote part of his consciousness, Noah acknowledged that her parents had raised her well.

  “Did you eat enough, then? Because I have other stuff. Uh, granola bars and maybe some black olives…” He was chattering, needing to fill the silence.

  Why didn’t Mariel feel the need to do the same? She had barely said a word since they had arrived back here.

  All she had done was sit on the couch beside Amber, almost protectively, while Noah bustled around heating canned chicken noodle soup and pouring orange juice—the only beverage in his bachelor fridge besides beer—and generally making himself nervous.

  Why wasn’t Mariel nervous?

  He glanced again at her shaking hands and acknowledged that she obviously was. Yet her anxiety didn’t manifest itself as his did.

  Bustling in the tiny kitchen, he had cut his finger on the edge of the soup can, and he had clumsily toppled the first glass of orange juice all over the counter.

  Now he sat in the uncomfortable fake Stickley chair across from the couch and regarded his daughter, trying not to be obvious about it.

  But he couldn’t help looking. She was a part of him, this human being. A part of him and Mariel. She had his mouth, Mariel’s eyes; his coloring, and Mariel’s faint dusting of freckles across her nose. She was a pretty girl, he could tell, despite the gaunt exhaustion that haunted her face. She was very thin, too, and he wondered how much of it was hereditary, and how much was due to living on the streets for more than a week.

  She wore a pair of denim cutoffs and a grungy-looking T-shirt, and her feet were filthy in a pair of Teyva sandals.

  “You can take a shower if you want,” he said without thinking, and his voice was startling to his own ears.

  “Oh…thank you,” she said awkwardly. She looked faintly embarrassed, glancing down at her filthy clothes and skin.

  “Whenever you want to,” Mariel spoke up. “It doesn’t have to be now. I mean, we can talk first. Or…later. If you want to.”

  Amber shrugged.

  What was there to say? Noah wondered. During the walk to his apartment, he and Mariel had explained to her what had happened with Alan. He had been apologetic, and she had acted as though she understood. She had pretended to shrug it off, even making a faint joke about it, but he knew she was still spooked by the whole thing; and he didn’t blame her.

  He was almost surprised that she had come with them when they had asked her to come back to his apartment.

  But then, what other choice did she have? To hang around in the park all night with a bunch of street waifs who looked like a ragtag cast of extras from Les Miserables? The hunger in Amber’s eyes was plain to see when she looked at Noah and Mariel and accepted their invitation.

  As the three of them walked away, one of her friends called after her, “Hey, who are they, anyway?”

  “They’re my parents,” Amber had replied over her shoulder. Then, to Noah and Mariel, she had said, “You are, aren’t you?”

  Mariel had answered softly in the affirmative, but Noah had only nodded, unable to find his voice. Instead, too choked up for words, he had put an arm around her shoulders and kept it there all the way home.

  Now, with the topic of Alan settled, there was something else they had to discuss. It couldn’t be put off any longer.

  “Amber,” he said hesitantly, “we were in touch with your parents about a week ago, and they were frantic. They were going crazy looking for you, worried out of their minds.”

  “They were?” She perked up at that, sitting up straighter on the couch. “How do you know? What did they say?”

  “That they love you very much and they want you to come home.”

  “Were they together?” Amber asked in a tone that betrayed her true purpose for staying in New York even after the horrible experience with Alan. Clearly, Noah realized, she was hoping that if she remained missing, she could bring her mother and father back together.

  “They were together when we visited them,” Mariel said reluctantly, choosing her words carefully, and Noah sensed that she, too, was aware of Amber’s motive. “But I do know that they had separated, and I don’t know whether they’re back together now or not.”

  “The separation is so stupid,” Amber lashed out. “I don’t know why they had to get so carried away. Just because Mom wants to go back to work now that I’m in high school, and Daddy doesn’t think she should…It’s such a stupid fight. They have it all the time. Finally, he said that if she was going to work, then she didn’t need him to support her, and he would move out. And she said fine.”

  Her voice was tinged with anger and hurt, and she looked from Noah to Mariel, as though seeking support.

  Noah wanted to tell her that her parents’ argument probably went much deeper than that single issue. That the separation was undoubtedly the product of months or even years of discontent, and soul searching.

  Yet he didn’t want to be the one to dash her hopes. After all, he thought optimistically, it was possible her plan had worked. Carl Steadman had been in the house when he and Mariel had shown up there last Sunday morning.

  “Maybe they’ve worked things out,” he said. “Sometimes people who love each other get carried away, like you said. But then they realize that they can’t live without each other, and they find a way to make each other happy.”

  “And sometimes,” Mariel said, her voice strained, “they realize that they can�
�t live with each other even though they really care about each other, and they have to go their separate ways.”

  Noah couldn’t look at her. He knew she wasn’t just talking about the Steadmans. His hands clenched the arms of the chair as he said, “Amber, the point is, your parents love you very much. There’s no doubt about that. Whatever happens with their marriage, they’re both going to be there for you.”

  “How do you know? You’re a stranger.” Amber’s tone was derisive. For the first time, she sounded like a resentful adolescent.

  And she had every right to feel that way.

  Yet he felt as though she had hit him in the gut with a two-by-four.

  Mariel recovered first. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “Noah is a stranger, and so am I. But that doesn’t mean that we haven’t thought about you every day of our lives since the day you were born.”

  “You didn’t even answer my e-mail,” Amber said accusingly, turning on her. “If you care so much, why didn’t you at least write back to me?”

  “I wanted to,” Mariel said, and Noah saw her eyes glistening. He wanted to go to her, and comfort her, but he stayed where he was. The room was too charged with emotion; he was afraid that if he moved, he would crumple. It was all he could do to keep his composure.

  “Instead of writing back to you, Amber, I went to visit you. It took me a few weeks to make the arrangements—I live in Missouri,” she added. “Did you know that? A small town in Missouri, called Rockton.”

  “We went to Missouri once,” Amber offered, some of the sullenness dissipated.

  Mariel, looking startled, seized the tidbit of information. “Really? When? What did you do?”

  “We went to St. Louis with Daddy on business two summers ago, and we went to Six Flags Amusement Park.”

  “That’s…that’s a lot of fun,” Mariel murmured.

  Noah knew what she was thinking: how strange it was that the daughter she had been wondering about for fifteen years had been so close to her, physically, and she hadn’t even been aware of it.