Seventeen
The first thing that occurred to Mary as she got off the plane was that Pete wasn’t complaining about holding her hand. It was a new habit that he’d picked up at some point. Apparently something about being in a strange place had him nervous. Mary’s chest swelled. He was such a good boy.
“Come on, we’ve got to go get our luggage,” she said. He looked up at her from where he’d been standing, fixed, looking over at a shelf of magazines.
“Oh.” Then he followed along. He still looked at them. There must have been something on them that caught his attention. But she couldn’t identify what it was, even as her eyes scanned.
“Was there something you wanted?”
“No,” he said. He was lying, and he wasn’t yet to the point where he knew how to hide it very well.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Then we won’t.” Mary squeezed his hand. He pulled in closer to her hip and walked faster to keep himself there.
The man waiting for them, with a sign that said Mary Ayers in an attractive typed print, was a surprise of its own. Mary stepped up before she even went looking for the bags. None seemed to be forthcoming, so she had a minute or two. Pete stuck hard to her hip.
“I’m Mary.”
“Do you want me to get your luggage for you, ma’am?”
She shrugged. “Is that part of the deal? I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“No imposition, ma’am.”
“That would be very kind of you, then. If you wouldn’t mind doing it.”
She walked back over to a convincing vantage point and waited. The man beside her waited, as well, patiently watching the bags go by in a startling approximation of someone who knew what they were looking for.
She saw something convincing coming around the turnstile and stepped forward without thinking, pulled the bag off, and checked the label. Sure enough, hers. She picked it up before she even saw the tall thin fellow reaching for it. His face was stony and stiff. And then he hooked a finger under the carrying strap and took the weight.
“Oh, right.”
“Not a problem.”
He walked as if he were telling the truth, and there was no problem at all. The bag might have been forty pounds but he carried it like he was carrying a woman’s purse for her. It was a strange sight. Then again, presumably, people who did this sort of thing for a living got used to doing it quickly and efficiently. That was what she figured, anyways.
He took her forward. Took her out of the airport. It was a long drive into Mr. Townsend’s place, he said. If they wanted to rest in the back, then they were welcome to. And Peter, sweet boy, immediately took him up on that offer. Which suited Mary fine, particularly considering that she’d never been in California, either. It was a new place for her, too.
She wasn’t nervous. Not like Pete was, anyways. It was kind of invigorating. And of course… there was an idea in the back of her mind, that she knew someone out here. Two someones. If things went sideways with Roman, she could always crash for a couple of days with Cara. That wouldn’t be too much trouble for Mary and Pete, and probably not too much for Cara, either.
Whether it was being in a new place, or thinking that she might be able to run into Cara, but she watched every face. Each turn, each new crowd, seemed as if it was going to be the one that she found her old sponsor in. And yet, she didn’t.
Not on Trimble or Zanker or 1st. Tasman went on for a long time. But even there, she didn’t see anyone.
Then they turned left and another long stretch of driving went on. Her heart stopped in her chest.
“Stop the car,” she said.
The man in the driver’s seat didn’t reply. He tapped the turn signal, eased the car off to the side.
“Problem, ma’am?”
“I have to come back in a little bit. I’ll just be a minute, okay? Watch my son.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.”
She slid out of the car, and stepped into an oven. She was vaguely aware that there was a difference between the weather in Michigan and in California, but the idea that it could feel like a mild summer day had seemed impossible. But that was where she was.
Mary walked hard back. They’d gone a few hundred feet before pulling over. But she didn’t need to run, because Cara wasn’t moving too much. She leaned against a building, smoking a cigarette. Nothing against cigarettes. Plenty of NA people smoke them. They’ll kill you, but if you’re going to be addicted to something, at least cigarettes don’t usually make people violent and prone to stealing from their families to get a fix.
“Cara!”
Mary didn’t call out until she was close. Cara turned and saw her, and for an instant, she looked flighty. Like she was about to get the heck out of Dodge. Then she seemed to measure the distance in her head, and decided to drop her face instead.
“What are you doing out here?” There was an accusatory tone in her voice.
“I just happened to be in town.”
“Just happened, huh?”
“You seem kinda…”
“Yeah, well, whatever.”
“Cara?”
“Don’t give me that look.”
“What look?”
“The one you’re giving me right now. Knock it off, will you?”
Mary’s lips pressed together. And then she took a deep breath in, and a deep breath out, and she pretty much knew.
“You’re using again, aren’t you?”
“It’s none of your business,” Cara said. “It’s not your job to save everyone.”
As much as Mary hated to admit it, as much as she wanted to deny it, Cara was right. It wasn’t her job, and she wasn’t equipped.
So she did what she had to do: she walked away. She said she’d only be a few minutes, and the more help she could have turning Cara back around, the better. Luckily, Mary happened to know someone suited.