CHAPTER 47
MACKENNA
Before I went home, there was something I had to do first.
After checking into Jay’s thorough report about the young girl at the fight, I found her. Very easily, in fact. I had no idea how he got so much detailed information so quickly. And, honestly, I didn’t want to know.
Casey Maxwell. She had just turned sixteen—mere months older than my sister—and was supposed to be starting her junior year at Brenton High School.
At least, she would’ve been if she wasn’t preparing for motherhood.
Brenton was a small town about fifteen minutes east of Daywood, consisting mostly of trailer parks and low-income housing—a perfect spot for someone like Jaxon to fly under the radar. He’d been renting a trailer there, and I had to assume that was how he met Casey.
She didn’t have a driver’s license, but there wasn’t much need for it when she didn’t have a car. I learned she worked at a diner half a mile away from the doublewide she lived in with her mom.
I also knew she had a shift in less than an hour.
And that was how I ended up parked about fifty yards away from her little yellow home.
I sat up a little straighter when she walked out her door. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she wore jeans and a white T-shirt with a logo over the left breast pocket. From the puffiness under her eyes, I could tell she’d been crying recently. And, given her circumstances, that was completely understandable.
She came from poverty, and her baby would be born into poverty.
She was too young to be a mother.
And as grateful as I was that Jaxon wouldn’t be involved in their lives, I knew how terrified she must be to do it alone.
Because I was terrified, too, but at least I was an adult who had financial security.
Slinging her purse over her shoulder, Casey hopped down the steps of the rotting wooden porch before getting onto a rusty blue bike.
I felt like a creeper following behind her at a safe distance as she pedaled to work. When she got there, she leaned her bike against the side of Gloria’s Diner. The older building was modeled after those old train cars. It was a little rundown, with some rusty spots in the metal exterior, and the light behind the ‘G’ was burnt out.
But at least it was a job.
Casey didn’t go right in. Hanging her head, she took a moment to place her hand over her lower belly—the same way I’d done so many times since finding out I was pregnant.
Just like me, her flat stomach concealed a precious secret. There were two heartbeats inside her body. Two souls. She carried an extra set of arms and legs and tiny toes.
Then a small smile appeared on her lips.
She loved that baby already.
And that’s how I knew I was doing the right thing.
After Casey went inside the diner, she slipped on a black apron and got to work. As she bustled from table to table, I gripped a medium-sized Manila envelope in my hand. I ran my fingertip along the edge as I tried to figure out how to get it to her, anonymously.
When an elderly couple exited their black Lincoln Town Car, I had my answer.
“Excuse me.” I flagged them down, walking toward them while clutching the envelope to my stomach. “Are you going to Gloria’s?”
The petite woman smiled behind her giant glasses, and she reminded me a bit of Beverly. “Yes, we come here every Monday for lunch.”
“Would you be able to give this to a waitress inside?” I held up the envelope. “Her name is Casey Maxwell and it’s really important that she gets it.”
“Of course, dear,” she replied, taking the important package from my hand. “We know her. Such a sweet girl.”
I thanked them and they shuffled up the diner steps.
They approached Casey right away. I wasn’t a lip-reader, but I could see the confusion on her face as she questioned them about where the package came from. The couple gestured toward the parking lot, then shrugged.
With a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, Casey slipped the unopened envelope into her apron before leading the couple to a booth in the back. She got called over to several tables for food orders and coffee refills, but I waited because I wanted to watch her open the gift.
When she finally got a moment to herself, she slipped behind the counter. I couldn’t see her hands but I knew she opened it. The expression on her face said it all.
Casey’s hand flew to her mouth as she looked down at what I gave her: five-thousand dollars in cash, and a short letter with words of encouragement and a list of local resources for teen moms and battered women’s shelters.
I told her things she probably needed to hear. That she wasn’t alone. That she’d be okay. And to use the money wisely for her and the baby.
Stuffing the envelope back into her apron she hurried toward the door, probably to search for the anonymous do-gooder.
I hunched down in my seat for a minute, and when I poked my head above the dashboard, she was gone.