Leaving her new finds for Nick in a pile at the top of the staircase, she crossed the hall, passed a bathroom, and entered the last room. It was simple enough with white walls, beige carpet, and a green comforter on the neatly made bed. Two dressers lined one wall, but she headed to the closet. One side contained button-up shirts, black slacks, and an assortment of ties in different patterns. The other side housed skirts, slacks, blouses, and dresses hanging according to color. Selecting a pale blue dress, she held it up in front of her. She didn’t allow herself to look in the mirror because she would want to keep the dress, but it wouldn’t help her to survive. Instead, she returned it to the closet and chose a belt from a hook then reluctantly closed the door and crossed the room.
Each drawer of the dresser revealed new surprises. Jeans, t-shirts, shorts, sweaters—all stuffed the drawers so full she had to yank them open. Leaving her old clothes in a pile on the carpet, she dressed in the clean, dry t-shirt and jeans she chose from the assortment. Sitting down in front of the dressing table mirror, she picked up a brush and ran it through her tangled hair. The reflection looking back at her was exactly who she expected to see—the same long black hair, the same thin face, and the same wide brown eyes.
But I’m not Lareina anymore.
“Hello. My name is Rochelle Aumont,” she whispered. A smile formed on her lips. She liked the way the name sounded and the freedom that accompanied her new identity. The name conjured memories of warmth, the promise of family, and a forced goodbye from the only place she’d ever wanted to stay.
Would they welcome her back if they found out she became a thief and fugitive? Would they remember her eight years later? Would they even be there anymore? She closed her eyes and saw the blue-and-white stripes on the awning above the candy store, felt warm sunlight filtering through green trees in the park, smelled cookies baking at Rochelle’s house. She opened her eyes and felt a slight disappointment at finding herself back in a dark bedroom with only her reflection for company.
“I’ll go back there,” she whispered to the mirror. Rochelle would remember her—she had promised. Even if Galloway followed her outside of San Antonio, he would stop before she got to Nebraska. “I’ll be safe and warm. I’ll have a family.” A family—the one thing she couldn’t steal from the market, the one thing she wanted more than anything else. “Everything I want is out there, and it’s time for me to start running toward it.” Her mirror image smiled and nodded in agreement.
Chapter 3
To distract herself from the storm outside, Lareina explored the house. She made several trips downstairs to deliver dry clothes and then blankets to Nick. Framed photos in the hallway captivated her as she observed a family of four laughing, celebrating, and enjoying life together. The contradiction between those pictures and her own memories transformed the cozy house into a reminder of her own lack of a family.
When she came down the stairs, Nick was resting on the couch covered by a blanket. His leg rested on a pile of pillows propped up on the coffee table. His head rested against the back of the couch, eyes closed, chest rising, falling, rising, falling. After all of his protesting about stealing and breaking the law, he sat on someone else’s couch, wrapped up in someone else’s blanket, and wore someone else’s clothes. She almost felt proud.
He looked comfortable, as if he’d lived there for years, while she couldn’t be still without an uneasy feeling creeping through every cell of her body. Whether it stemmed from the storm beating against the windows or the thought that ghosts of the former occupants watched her examine their things, she couldn’t be sure.
“There doesn’t seem to be anything unusual about this house,” she announced, walking into the living room. She wanted to wake Nick, to hear another human voice that would chase away the ghosts and distract her from the clamor outside.
Nick opened his eyes and sat up straighter. “Did you hope to find something more valuable than an old can of soup?”
Sinking into a recliner, she turned sideways to see him. Why wouldn’t he—why wouldn’t anyone—expect a thief to steal at every chance presented? Nevertheless, she couldn’t prevent contempt from sliding into her voice. “No, I just wanted to get to know the people who used to live here. Curiosity isn’t a crime, Nick.”
“And rummaging through their things is polite,” he muttered.
She turned away and leaned her head against soft fabric. There had to be a way to turn the conversation toward something they could agree on. “So, what inspired you to become a runaway?”
“A runaway from what?” His voice rose in confusion with each word.
Lareina laughed and leaned forward. “The Orphan Redistribution Institution, of course. You know, ORI. You don’t have to be ashamed. I’m one of them too.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed in a way that made her want to travel back in time and avoid asking that question. A second ticked by on the wall clock, then two, then twenty.
“I’m not running away from anything and I’m not one of you.”
She slumped back in the chair and closed her eyes. The words he hadn’t vocalized—I’m better than whatever you are and you better not forget it—stung worse than any he had spoken. Tears welled in her eyes, a few of them landing in warm drops on the back of her hand. Rarely did anything make her cry, and never did she allow anyone to see her tears. Remain silent. Slow breath in, slow breath out.
After several minutes of silence, Nick cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out that way.” Only a low rumble of thunder replied. Those words weren’t enough and she couldn’t guarantee she had control over her voice. He continued, his voice small again. “My family died last month from the fever so I decided to come to Texas and find an old friend. She’s the closest thing to family I have left.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She turned her face away from Nick, not wanting to see him cry. “It can’t be easy to be on your own so suddenly.”
A minute passed before he answered. “It’s definitely been rough, but once I find my friend everything will be okay.”
At least you have one person, she thought. And at least you know what it feels like to have a family at all. She remembered the thin file she’d walked from New Orleans to San Antonio to see. It had taken her three years to find out where she came from and locate the New Beginnings Home for Children. Two weeks passed before she convinced the director to let her see the file.
An entire lifetime of questions had tickled the tips of her fingers as she opened the tan folder. Inside she found a document listing her name and a physical description of her two-year-old self. Beneath that, a clipped newspaper article.
Toddler Discovered in Pasture
A child estimated to be two years old was discovered walking around a pasture north of town. When asked, she told authorities her name is Lareina. She hasn’t given a last name or any indication of her parents’ whereabouts. Lareina is currently in the custody of the New Beginnings Home for Children. If anyone has any information regarding the parents or guardians of this child, please contact the sheriff’s office.
The date, written in faded ink at the bottom of the page, was August 2, 2075.
She had shaken the folder, examined the description document and newspaper clipping, held them up to the light, read them each a dozen times, searched the floor around her feet, but nothing new materialized.
Her questions had no answers. Her life began at age two, if the authorities had estimated correctly. She had no birthday, no family, no last name. No one cared that she existed and no one would notice when she ceased to exist.
“I’ll be able to find her, right?” Nick’s question interrupted her disheartenment.
A flash of lightning brought the room back into focus and Lareina back into the present. For a second she wanted to tell him no, to dash his hopes, to make him feel what she felt, but she didn’t want anyone to experience such stifling isolation.
She cleared her throat but kept her face turned away fro
m Nick. “What’s her name?”
“Ava Welch. We used to live right next door to each other in Omaha, but her family moved away a few years ago. Her dad was some kind of scientist and I think he was transferred to San Antonio.” He seemed to be talking to himself, reconstructing events from memory.
“You’re from Omaha?” she asked with interest, this time turning to face him.
“Yeah, why?”
“I used to live a few hours away from there.” Finally, something in common. “How long have you been looking for Ava?”
“Since my train got here three weeks ago.”
“You had money for a train ticket?” She sat up, forgetting about her tears.
“I had enough to get here and apparently enough for two weeks of food and supplies, but now . . .”
“I was afraid at first too, but all you get for begging is hunger, and the mosquito bites and sunburns aren’t worth sleeping outside.”
“If you’re such an expert, how long have you been a . . . runaway?” Nick sounded both annoyed and hesitant to use her terminology.
“Since I was twelve, so five years now.”
“Is living like this really better than what you’re running from?”
“The institution doesn’t pay families to host orphans in their homes, and the laws about orphan treatment aren’t enforced.” She shook her head and lowered her voice. “Replacement families make us work to repay the resources we use. For any reason, they can decide to ship you off to a home for children or another replacement family that needs temporary housekeepers and gardeners. They barely feed you, and sometimes lock you in the basement or attic so you can’t escape. I’m not any worse off now than I was then, and at least I’m free.”
A low rumble of thunder shook the house. Both of them jumped.
Lareina walked over to the window and stared out at the dark sky. She couldn’t see anything except during brief bursts of lightning. “Maybe we should have found a house with a basement.”
“It’s just a thunderstorm. Get some sleep.” Nick squirmed into position so his legs stretched across the couch and his head rested against the softest pillow from upstairs.
Back in the recliner, she pulled a light blanket up to her chin. It wasn’t really cold, but the blanket was comforting.
“Good night, Nick.”
“Good night, Rochelle.”
Despite the comfort of a warm, dry shelter, sleep didn’t come easy. She remembered trying to fall asleep in an attic in Minnesota as a storm raged outside; she remembered her first night as a runaway, sheltering in a yellow tunnel slide at the park; she remembered the thrill that energized her fingers like a superpower when she picked her first lock. She tried to remember her parents, tried to picture their faces, tried to understand how she wound up alone in a pasture, but despite the vivid memories haunting her mind, she had no memories to answer the most important questions always lapping against the edges of her brain.
The warmth of sun on her face invited Lareina to open her eyes. Sitting up inch by inch, she glanced around the room. Outside, a bright sunrise in a blue sky brightened the neighborhood. Nick slept on, a blanket tangled around his feet, pillow slipping halfway to the floor.
Based on the angle of the sun’s rays on the carpet, it was seven o’clock, no later than eight. Leaning forward, she slid slowly off the chair to avoid waking Nick.
Illuminated by daylight, the room felt small, cramped, like a trap. She tiptoed across the floor and slipped out the front door. Fluffs of cotton glittered in sunlight as they drifted on the cool breeze. Breathing in the rain-cleaned air—like cool water against sunburned skin—brought her a sense of calm and hope.
She walked down the street, past quiet houses still untouched by the decay she knew would creep in with destructive fingers. A windstorm would pry off a shingle or smash a tree branch through a window, allowing rain to drip into attics and bead across windowsills. Mold would find a home along with squirrels and raccoons. Fall breezes would send leaves skittering across kitchen counters and carefully made beds. Roofs would collapse, foundations would crack, and soon the neighborhood would be an unrecognizable heap of rotten wood and broken furniture.
Windows glinted in the morning sun, and she imagined a man stepping out to pick up his newspaper, a woman jogging down the street pushing a stroller, a car pulling out of a driveway to carry its driver to work. What should be. What would never be again.
Turning away, she let the image fade from her mind. She wanted to keep walking, to get far away, to enter the horizon glowing with sunlight that promised a never-ending day of clear travel weather. Instead she turned back, took her time walking down the street, continued through the front door of her temporary residence, and tiptoed past Nick.
In the kitchen, she found the bag of raisins, popped them into her mouth one at a time, and wondered if Galloway found a way across the torrent of water. She wondered how far he would follow her. She wondered how long she could outrun him. She wondered too many things that would spoil the gift of a sunny cool day in the middle of summer.
“Rochelle?” Nick called from the living room. She stuffed a handful of raisins into her mouth and focused on chewing. “Rochelle? Are you still here?” His voice grew louder then faded to a whimper. “Rochelle?”
She walked to the doorway carrying the bag of raisins. He sat straight up on the couch, and when his glance landed on her, he leaned back and took a breath, a glimmer of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Patches of curly hair stuck up like antennas stretching out of his skull while the rest lay smashed flat against his head.
“I thought maybe you left already.” His voice was a low hum of drowsiness and relief.
Surprised at Nick’s response to her presence, she crossed the room, sat down on the coffee table across from him, and offered the bag of raisins.
“Thanks.” He smiled and pulled out a handful.
“How’s your ankle?”
He flexed his left foot up and down then twisted it left and right. “I think it’s feeling better.”
“You think you’ll be okay to walk on it?” The muscles in her neck and shoulders slackened as the weight of obligation lifted away.
Nick chewed and swallowed a handful of raisins then reached for another. “Yeah, I’ll be all right.”
“That’s great news.” The perfect weather and uncertainty about Galloway’s whereabouts made her eager to start walking. “It’s been great meeting you, but I have to keep moving.”
“Wait, what’s the rush?” He dropped his raisins on the coffee table and swung his legs off the couch. His uncombed hair and wide eyes made him look like a frightened child.
“I have friends expecting me.” She’d never see Nick again—what would it matter if he knew the truth? But she heard the hesitation in her voice and immediately regretted it.
“What are you running from?” Concern spilled out of his voice. Concern for her safety or his own?
“I’m running from a detective,” she admitted.
Leaning away from her, he pushed deep into the cushions as if he couldn’t get far enough away. “I should have known,” he whispered. “What did you do?”
Lareina rolled her eyes. “I didn’t do anything.”
He folded his arms across his chest and studied her. “I don’t believe you.”
“You shouldn’t. But don’t worry about it. I’m leaving and you’ll never see me again.” She picked up her backpack, secured both straps over her shoulders, and was halfway to the front door before Nick spoke.
“Wait, Rochelle. Maybe we could travel together for a while. Where are you headed?”
“I’m going north.” She didn’t want to leave him with any specific information in case Galloway interviewed him, and she certainly didn’t want him tagging along.
“Oh,” he sighed. Was he disappointed? “I have to stick around San Antonio to find Ava.”
“We’re going in opposite directions.”
“I guess so. A
re you sure you’ll be all right out there, all alone?”
Sun splashed across the top of the couch, growing brighter, warmer, urging action while it lasted. Her foot tapped lightly against the floor, matching the staccato rhythm of the clock, reminding her of time slipping through her fingers like water. Would she be okay? She hadn’t been the one to fall into a trap.
But also . . . had anyone ever cared whether she would be all right?
“I can take care of myself.” She took another step toward the door. “Will you be okay?”
Nick nodded and looked down at his ankle, his face slightly red from a lingering sunburn she hadn’t noticed the night before. He had no food, less money, and his will to survive wasn’t strong enough to justify stealing.
Shrugging her bag off her shoulders, she caught it by the strap, reached inside and fished out three of her six candy bars. The ones she had planned to save for her most desperate moment of starvation. She could manage.
“Here.” She held out the candy, golden wrappers glinting.
His eyes shifted, eyebrows raised, mouth opened, and she could see the protest rising within him, but just as abruptly it faded. He reached out and accepted the candy bars.
“Thanks. I really couldn’t have made it without your help.” Nick forced a smile and Lareina replaced her bag. She met his glance and matched his smile, then turned away and passed through the door without looking back.
Down the front walk, up the street, one block, two blocks, three, six. Distance makes goodbye easier, she told herself as she started north toward Austin. Sometimes on stormy days she had sat in the library looking through books of maps, plotting routes to a new life. She hadn’t been brave enough to leave San Antonio in the two years since she’d arrived there searching for her family. Another city would offer food and shelter, voices and sounds. She could find a job, make some money, and forget about Galloway as she prepared to travel north to the only people she knew cared about her.
Hope for the Best Page 3