CHAPTER 32

Mom

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I HANG UP THE phone, but Lucy’s picture freezes for a fraction of a second on my homescreen as the call ends. Her head is thrown back in genuine laughter, one of our closer moments. I happened to catch and keep it to remember even in this reckless, rebellious stage she’s still my daughter.

But I’m no better than she is. I didn’t tell her where I was, who I’m with. I’m not at school, like I should be. A feeling of disgust washes over me as I realize what a hypocrite I am.

I think back, reliving the night, combing my memory for any shred of regret. So far there is none, only the secret I’ve kept from Lucy.

With school during the day and waiting tables at night I’ve hardly had time to nurture my loneliness. But last night it came lurking. I had the night off from work. A peaceful evening at home sounded amazing. I’d take a bath, listen to music. I didn’t expect to be consumed by every strangled fear or worry I’ve had over the last few months all at once, but my mind carried me down like a syphon to the bottom of those dark waters.

It’d been years since I’d truly felt lonely. I had my girls, and even the stone-faced presence of my resentful husband was enough to quell the unsettling hush of solitude back home. Unhappy, yes, but I always had company. Alone in my apartment, free from distraction, everything seemed too still. What if Steve was right? What if no one would ever love me? My children had lives of their own. What if this became my life? This empty living room. This too-quiet home.

I felt useless sitting by myself in front of the T.V. Lucy had been gone for days, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. I couldn’t control her or protect her.

But maybe someone could.

I remembered the phone number in my purse and went to dig for it. His name was scribbled across the top of a torn piece of paper.

Arturo Mendoza.

He’d given it to me in case I had any more information on the crew Lucy was associated with, but maybe he could help me find her or scare her into coming home. Normally I wouldn’t call, but the sound of my own breath in the near-silence was giving me anxiety.

“Hello?”

I balked at the sound of his crisp voice on the other end. It sounded sexier than I knew he looked.

“Um. Hi. I don’t know if you remember me, but you gave me your number. My daughter is Lucy Wilcox...”

“Rachel,” he beamed. “Hi. Thanks for calling.” I smiled at the lift in his voice as he said my name. “My shift just ended, but if you want to talk about FTC I’d be happy to meet you somewhere. Starbucks on Brand and Broadway?”

“Sure,” I answered without a beat. My palms went slick with sweat. I didn’t have any information for him. Why did I agree? “I’ll head out now. See you there.”

I hung up the phone with a panicky feeling in my chest, my heart flitting about like a lost hummingbird. I did want to talk to him about the crew, I convinced myself. I wanted to talk about how they were continually stealing my daughter and ask him what I could do to stop them or help get them arrested. Whatever. I wanted them gone.

He wasn’t in uniform when he walked into the Starbucks, but I recognized his eyes and cleft chin.

“Hi! Arturo?” I waved at him and smiled despite my nerves. Whatever my intention, it had been almost twenty years since I’d met a man anywhere by myself.

“Oh, just call me Art,” he said, continuing to stand.

Without the police attire I felt more comfortable around him and began to relax a bit.

“I don’t know why I picked a coffee place. Probably shouldn’t drink caffeine at 7 p.m.,” he laughed nervously. “There’s a bar down the road. How about a beer instead?”

At first it was all business. I pretended I knew things, but I kept it vague as we walked along the cracked sidewalk toward the sound of rock music up ahead.

“I’m sure you know these kids better than I do,” I said. “What I really want to know is how to find her. She’s been gone for a few days and no one at the station seems to take that very seriously.”

“It happens a lot. She’ll turn up. Trust me. They eventually need money.”

I nodded, but couldn’t keep my features from sinking in defeat.

“Oh, no,” he stammered. “I’m sure she’ll come home for other reasons, too. I didn’t mean to...Sorry, I’m really bad at this. I haven’t been on a date in a really long time.”

A date? I almost said the words aloud but stopped myself. This definitely wasn’t supposed to be a date, but if that was what it was turning into, I secretly liked the idea. A crack was forming in the stone foundation of my insecurities and self-doubt—he liked me. Steve was wrong.

“You’re fine,” I said, feeling twenty years younger at the thought of a date. I clasped my hands behind my back and subtly slipped off my wedding ring before sliding it in my pocket.

Time passed easily after a few drinks. Alcohol made me fun. A woman can be fat if she’s funny, and that is what kept me drinking all those years with Steve. Wine became a staple, and it felt good to slip back into that role.

I learned Art was divorced and hadn’t dated since. No kids, but he wanted them. He was overly polite, pulling out my barstool and paying for drinks. But one thing made me like him more than I imagined I would. The way he looked into my eyes and actually listened when I talked, like he cared about what I had to say. I hadn’t realized how invisible I’d been in my marriage.

As the night deepened, we laughed with our heads close together. He rested a hand on my shoulder while telling a story. I reached for his arm, pulling him to the dance floor. It wasn’t long before casual touching became a natural extension of our words, and we didn’t think anything of it.

When we returned to his apartment it was easy to convince myself to stay. I hadn’t been drinking since we’d moved. I didn’t have the tolerance I used to, and the wine had me flushed and fuzzy. I couldn’t go home even if I wanted to. He felt the same, I was sure.

At least that’s what I told myself.

“So is there anything you can do, any strings you can pull to help me get her home?” I asked sitting on a white leather sofa in his pristine living room. His single story house was decorated like a model home, and I wondered if it had been a woman’s touch or if maybe he was lonely enough to live this immaculately. Only single people with no children could keep a house like this.

“Not really,” he spoke from the kitchen, pouring us glasses of red wine. “Those kids tend to avoid us, and when we do see them it’s usually because they’re causing trouble and we bring them in.” He looked up with a disheartened smile. “Is that why you agreed to go out with me? To see if I could help you find her?”

I didn’t mention this hadn’t started as a date. “I hoped, but it wasn’t the only reason,” I lied. “You’re sweet and listen when I talk. You seemed to care when I was upset at my house. I’m not used to a man caring when I cry.” I closed my eyes, the alcohol heavy in my head. “I’m sorry. I lose my filter when I drink. I’m saying too much.” I was sure I’d be embarrassed about opening up in the morning, but I chose to ride the carefree wave of my buzz.

“You reminded me of my mother,” he said, heading into the living room with our wine. “Is that weird? Shoot. See, I have no filter either.” We laughed as he relaxed into the sofa next to me and handed me my glass. “What I mean is, I was a rebellious kid, too. I did the same thing to my mom, so I could understand what you were going through.”

“But you think Lucy’s okay?” I asked, mostly for the reassurance. “I think I would have that gut feeling if something were really wrong, you know? She does this so often I feel like I should be more concerned, but I know it’s just the same story as last time. With friends.”

“I hope she’s okay,” he said, his words lacking the comfort I was looking for. He seemed to be maintaining his composure, making me wonder if he was a nightly drinker. “That group of kids is dangerous. They have dangerous affiliations. Do you know the boy she’s dating?”

“I think she said his name was Gabe.”

“Gabriel Alvarez. His brother was in Crazy Eights. Have you heard of that gang?”

I shook my head.

“They’re dangerous kids, Rachel. They’ll get her in trouble.”

Talking about it made me scared. “Well what am I supposed to do about it? Stay up all night and watch her? She sneaks out. She doesn’t care what I say.”

“I don’t have kids...” He took a sip of his wine as if it would help him think. “Take off her bedroom door? I’ve heard of parents doing that.”

“Maybe.” I’d try anything.

The obsessive urge to rush home and check the house for any sign of her needled me until I gave in.

“I think I should go. I can call a cab,” I said standing, but the room spun and I lost my balance.

He jumped to catch me as I fell clumsily onto the couch.

“Are you all right?” he asked, helping me to sit straight. Those intense yellow-brown eyes didn’t look so startling up close. “Maybe you should stay here.”

* * *

I remember the night in pieces. Everything up until his apartment is pretty clear. That last glass of wine did me in. As I sit awake next to him in bed, contemplating my phone call with Lucy, I wonder if this will become more. If he’ll call. If I messed it up by drinking too much.

At first the feel of a man next to me set off my internal alarms, but he is fully clothed and sleeping atop the covers with his back to me. I smile at it, the back of a gentleman.

I pull myself together in a hurry, grabbing my purse, phone, and shoes.

She’s home.

I had a wonderful time.

-Rachel

I leave the note on the kitchen counter, but even as I make my way out I think of his back. The small gestures of respect, treating me as an equal, his creased brow and listening eyes, all make me realize what I’ve been missing. One night with Art, and I already feel like more of a human. Worthy of love, of friendship, and happiness.

As I close the front door quietly behind me, it feels like I’m fifteen again, locking up a secret keepsake in my jewelry box of hope.