Fallen from Grace

by Laura Leone

  Right. So she could phone him while he was with other women. Great idea. "No one has the number but Catherine," he said. "And it's not really my phone. It belongs to her."

  "Oh, good grief."

  He looked at the paperwork spread out on his coffee table. "What have you been doing?"

  "Well, as you probably expected, the things you told me the other night had a pretty heavy effect on me."

  "Yeah. I figured."

  "I started out thinking a lot about you. About what it must have been like for you. Alone on the streets, with nothing in the world but your guts and your wits." She was a silent for a minute, her expression somber. "Then, eventually, I got round to thinking about this kid."

  "Adam?" he said in surprise.

  She nodded. "You've told me his name. You've said enough about him to give me a sense of who he is. So he's become a person to me, even though I don't know him. He's real to me. And he's in the same position you were in, all those years ago." Her shoulders slumped. "I wasn't there for you—"

  "Sara—"

  "—and I can't go back in time to help you. But I can help him. Or, I can help you help him, because I know you want to."

  He touched her hair, not knowing what to say.

  "I know you think about him. Spend time with him," she said. "He has a hold on you. So he has a hold on me, too."

  A glow was spreading through him, warming all the cold places. This was what she did to him. All of the time.

  "Ryan, I don't want this kid to go through everything you went through. To make the choices you had to make."

  He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently.

  She said, "And I don't want him to wind up dead. Or as a prostitute, or a crack addict, or whatever else is likely if he stays on the streets." She gestured to the piles of paperwork in front of them. "If there's one thing I know how to do, it's research. So I got up early yesterday morning and started researching what we could do to get Adam off the streets."

  "You did?" He stared in surprise at the papers covering his coffee table.

  "I went to the library. I looked up information on the Web. I emailed some people. I made some phone calls."

  "Sara." He looked at her in amazement. "Wow. You did all this? For Adam?"

  "Yes. And for you. But, well, the truth is, Ryan," she said, "it's almost certain that you won't be granted any kind of legal supervision of Adam."

  "You looked into that?" He picked up one of the piles of paper and leafed through it, noticing her handwritten notes in the margins of some articles she'd downloaded and printed.

  She said, "As long as you're working as a prostitute, you can't get custody of him."

  "I suppose I knew that."

  "And your lies about being a model won't hold up under any kind of responsible scrutiny."

  "No." He'd known that, too.

  "Even if you quit right now," she said, "you have no legal work history of any kind. You've also got three arrests on your record. No convictions, I know. But the first two charges were very serious—rape and drug dealing—and the third charge, when you got picked up for prostitution, is so recent. Plus, you're a young, single male. So without a family connection between you and Adam..." She shook her head. "The bottom line is, Ryan, it's not going to happen. Even if you changed your life tomorrow, Adam needs help much sooner than any legal authority is ever going to allow you to give it to him."

  He nodded, surprised to realize that he was disappointed. Nothing she said was unexpected, after all.

  She continued, "So if you were thinking of taking Adam in..."

  "Was I thinking of it?" he mumbled to himself, again a little surprised.

  "I think you were."

  "Yeah. I was, wasn't I? I just hadn't really..." He met her eyes. "I've been taking it slow. One day at a time. Because I know that's how he thinks. How he has to think. I've been matching myself to his pace, because I know how easy it would be to spook him and make him disappear."

  "Because Adam knows enough to get away from a grown man trying to convince him to come home with him."

  Ryan nodded. It made his blood run cold to think of what could happen to Adam if he accepted an invitation like that from someone else, or failed to elude such a person before being snatched. "Maybe he's only alive," Ryan said, "because he's so slow about growing to trust me."

  "How did he wind up on the streets?" Sara asked. "Has he told you yet?"

  "He told me yesterday," Ryan said with a nod. "His mother died three years ago, while his father was in prison for manslaughter. But Adam says his dad was okay, didn't knock him around or anything like that."

  "Unlike your father."

  "Uh-huh."

  "Actually..."

  "What?"

  She cleared her throat. "Well, since I was in research mode, anyhow... I got a friend in Oklahoma—another writer—to help me."

  "Oklahoma? Help you do what?"

  "Was your father's name John Michael Kinsmore?"

  That stunned him. "How'd you know that?"

  "My friend found his obituary."

  "His obituary?" His jaw dropped. "He's dead?"

  "Six years ago. Fell off his back porch, hit his head, and lay there until someone found the body. He died of the head injury. There was so much alcohol in his bloodstream, it wasn't surprising that he fell, just surprising that he'd been conscious enough to walk."

  Ryan stared at her in dumb surprise for a long moment. Then he said, "Well, doesn't that just figure?"

  "I'd had a hunch," Sara said, "so I asked my friend to look at Oklahoma City area obituaries for the past dozen years and find white males, over thirty years old, named Kinsmore."

  "That was a hell of a hunch."

  "Not really. A violent drunk? I thought there was a fair chance he might not make it to a ripe old age."

  "Oh. When you put it that way..."

  "My friend faxed me the obituary, and also a very brief article about his death. I've got them both in here." She tapped a file folder. "If you want to read them."

  He stared at the folder as if it were a snake. "Maybe later."

  "Would you rather I keep them with me for a while?"

  He took a breath. "No. You can leave them here." After a moment, he added, "Thank you, Sara."

  "There's a photo with the article. Obviously not recent. He died at forty-eight, but he looks about your age in the photo. That's how I knew he was your father—there's a resemblance."

  Ryan grunted. "Only skin deep."

  "Obviously." She shrugged. "I wonder if his good looks were what attracted your mother."

  "Maybe so," Ryan said. "She was very young. Maybe her hormones were stronger than her judgment."

  "Are you all right? I didn't think you'd mind finding out that he's dead, but..." She shrugged.

  "I'm fine. I'm..." He thought about it for a moment. "Relieved. I'd reached a point where I never expected to have to see him again, but even so..." He nodded. "Yeah. It's a relief. He's finally where he belongs. Six feet under. It’s too bad it didn’t happen twenty years ago."

  "Then I'm glad I decided to check. I wasn't sure you'd want me to."

  "I probably would have told you not to," he said, "so I guess it's a good thing you didn't ask. I thought I didn't want to know anything about him. But, honestly, I'm glad to know he's dead." He shook his head. "That's a hell of a way for a father to make his kid feel about him."

  "Which brings us back to Adam. Whose father is in prison, you said?"

  "Oh! Right." Ryan pulled his thoughts back to a much more important subject than his own father. "Well, when his mom died three years ago, there wasn't anyone to take Adam in, and his father wouldn't be eligible for parole for at least five more years. The first foster family didn't keep Adam. He doesn't know why. With the second family, he started getting into a lot of trouble. Then he got sent to some juvenile facility. Where two other kids molested him."

  "Oh, God." Sara put her hand over her mouth.

 
; "He ran away the first chance he got. Adam is his real name, he's fifteen, and he's been on the street for five months. He figures if he can just stay out of the system until his father gets out of prison..." Ryan shook his head. "But he doesn't know when that'll be, and he doesn't know how to find out. And I don't know if he can stay alive that long, Sara."

  "Plus, his father might not get out the first time he comes up for parole."

  "Good point."

  "The thing is, Ryan, if you took Adam in, he'd be safer than he is now, but he'd still be a non-person."

  "What does that mean?"

  "He couldn't have any legal identity. Because as soon as he did, he'd be taken away from you. In that respect, it would be like your life after Catherine took you in. He couldn't go to school. He couldn't go to a hospital if he got injured. You probably couldn't take him to a doctor for check-ups."

  "That's not his biggest worry right now, Sara."

  "No, but my point is—"

  "Yeah, I see your point," he said wearily.

  "—that it's not the best choice for him. Not even if you were thinking of sheltering him just until he can be reunited with his father. Even if we had any real idea when—or if—that will happen."

  He ran a hand through his hair. "So what do you suggest I do?"

  She picked up a pile of printouts. "I was losing heart, to be honest, until this afternoon. That's when I found this place called Safe House. It seems different. Better than the other possibilities I researched, though I've got those here, too, if you want to discuss them. Anyhow, Safe House is an outreach organization."

  He didn't touch the papers, though she tried to hand them to him. "Outreach?"

  "It was founded five years ago by an ex-prostitute."

  "A prostitute?" he blurted.

  "Some people actually get out of the sex trade and do something worthwhile with their lives, Ryan."

  Her tone stung him. "Don't start with me, Sara. Not right now."

  She held up her hand. "Okay. I agree. Let's focus on Adam."

  He shook his head. "Look, I know you mean well, but I remember what 'outreach' meant back when I was—"

  "They're not going to send him anywhere he doesn't want to go, Ryan, and they're not going to report him or turn him over to anyone. They do counseling, advocacy, drug treatment, job training, placement—"

  "'Placement' means sending him back into the system. No way, Sara."

  "Not necessarily."

  "He doesn't want that. I don't want that for him."

  "This woman I talked to there, Isabel, says they don't make anyone go anywhere. They'll go over Adam's options with him—-"

  "You told them about Adam?" he demanded.

  "No. I told them you had taken an interest in a street boy and wanted to help him, but didn't know what to do. I told them that you'd go there first, and if you liked the place—"

  "You said I'd go there?"

  "—then you would talk to the kid about going in to talk with them."

  He insisted, "I'm not turning him over to anyone, Sara."

  "Of course not. And they won't ask you to. That's why I thought you would consider this. They'll talk with you, and if Adam goes in, they'll talk with him. If he wants to walk away, they'll let him walk away." When he looked at her in mute suspicion, she said, "This woman I talked to today, Isabel, is expecting you tomorrow at two o'clock."

  "You made an appointment for me?"

  "It seemed like a good idea at the time," she said with a touch of exasperation.

  He said the first thing that came into his head. "I can't go tomorrow afternoon. I have to work."

  He could tell from her expression that it was very much the wrong thing to say. "God forbid," Sara said, "that saving Adam's life should interfere with your Wednesday afternoon trick."

  He sighed. "It's not that."

  "Then what is it?"

  He shook his head. "Places like this..."

  "You don't know anything about this place, Ryan! It didn't exist when you were a street kid! Isabel took ten minutes out of her busy day to tell me about it, and I believe her when she says they're not going to seize Adam and force him into juvenile detention, foster care, or any other situation he doesn't want. Now do you think I'm such a naïve idiot that you can't trust my judgment—"

  "Sara, I didn't mean—"

  "—or do you think you could take an hour out of your busy day of well-paid sex to keep this appointment for Adam's sake?"

  He lowered his head, embarrassed and confused. "I'm sorry. I just..."

  "Right now, you're thinking like a street boy—and like a prostitute, I guess," she said gently. "But I happen to know that when you put that attitude aside, you're an intelligent and sensible adult."

  "Thanks."

  "So now you have to put that attitude aside for Adam's sake. You can't really help him if you're only willing to help him outside of the laws and structures of society." After a slight pause, she added, "Which was the only way Catherine was willing to help you."

  He let his shoulders slump. "Two o'clock tomorrow?"

  "Yes."

  "You have the address?"

  "Right here." She waved her printouts at him again.

  He nodded. "Okay. I'll go."

  "Good. I'm going to leave this pile with you. It's some information I downloaded from Safe House, and some articles I found about possibilities that may apply to Adam. You can read them tonight. In case you want to ask about them tomorrow."

  "Uh-huh."

  "I'll take the rest with me." She got up and started gathering her papers. "But I've got them if you decide you want to read them, too."

  "Sara..." When she turned to look at him, he tried to think of what to say. Feeling inadequate, he settled on, "Thank you. For everything."

  She smiled and gave his knee a quick, affectionate squeeze.

  Somewhat encouraged by this, he added, "You really are the best."

  "No. Just trying to do better than I've been doing." She hesitated before saying, "Now that this is done, I should go call my sister."

  "You haven't talked to her yet?"

  She shook her head. "You managed to knock her off the front page for a few days, go figure."

  "I'm sorry."

  She touched his cheek. "But now that I've got you doing as you're told..."

  He grinned wryly and nudged her with his knee.

  "I need to make peace with Miriam."

  "Yeah, I guess you do." He stood up and walked her to the door. "I'll let you know how it goes tomorrow."

  She nodded. "Goodnight, Ryan."

  He watched her leave, wanting to keep her here or to go with her.

  Until he realized that the first thing he had to do now was phone Catherine to say he needed to cancel or postpone tomorrow's appointment with Alice Van Offelen. Then he was glad Sara was gone.

  He picked up his cell phone, hit the autodial, and waited for Catherine to answer. He took a quick glance at the clock and realized it was probably too late for her to notify the client tonight. She'd have to do it tomorrow, only a few hours before he was supposed to show up. Alice was a nice woman who was unlikely to make a fuss. But Catherine would chew him out for this.

  #

  "I've been talking with Jan about what happened..." Miriam's voice sounded hesitant on the telephone.

  "I talked with Ryan," Sara said. "He said I'm sexually conventional. I think he's too tactful to actually say 'uptight.'"

  Miriam made a dismissive sound. "I dumped this on you out of the blue at two o'clock in the morning, with any warning or preparation. I was confrontational and defensive."

  "Look, I wish I could be someone who wouldn't have needed preparation for you to tell me the truth, Miriam," Sara said. "But, it's true, I did. So I was shocked and reacted badly. I admit it."

  "I didn't want it to be that way. I've been worrying so much about how to tell you—"

  "And I guess I said things that made you worry even more."

  "I d
idn't want you to think of me differently."

  "But, Miriam, you are different."

  "No, I'm the same."

  "You're in love, and that makes you different than you were. You're gay, and that makes you different than I thought you were," Sara said. "Both of these important things about you are completely new to me, and they're big changes."

  "Are you freaked out by it?"

  "I was when you told me," Sara admitted. "But once I calmed down, sometime in the middle of Saturday night—Sunday morning?—I realized Ryan was right. I never wanted to know what you did in bed with David, so there's no reason for me to think about what you do in bed with Jan. And the truth is, Miriam, if you change personality so much that you start trying to force your sex life down my throat, we'll fight, because I don't want to know about it."

  "I don't want to force anything down your throat, Sara." Miriam's tone was again defensive and confrontational as she said, "But I also don't want to feel you judging me if I hold Jan's hand or kiss her in front of you."

  "To be honest, that'll be awkward for me at first," Sara told her. "I'll get used to seeing you be affectionate with a woman, Miriam, but you have to allow me time to get used to it. It's not fair to expect me to turn on a dime when you obviously didn't. You hid your sexuality from me until you were comfortable with it, didn't you?"

  Miriam sighed. "Even longer than that."

  "How long have you been hiding this from me?"

  "In terms of a lifestyle," Miriam said, "about eighteen months. But there are things I've hidden from you for years because I didn't want to acknowledge them."

  "So... Now don't get mad at me for asking a fair question," Sara said. "You mean, you didn't start dating women just because your marriage to a man had been so disappointing?"

  "Sara," Miriam said, "that is such a stereotype."

  "Sorry, it's how we straight girls think about these things," Sara shot back.

  Miriam sighed. "Okay. Sorry. You're trying. I'll try, too."

  "That would be good."

  "I didn't start dating women because of David. I started dating David because of women."

  "What?"

  "I slept with another woman once in college. I told myself it was because I wasn't used to wine, and so I never touched the stuff again until after I graduated. To make sure it wouldn't happen again."