Читать книгу Fugitive Mom - Lynn Erickson - Страница 7

GRACE NAVIGATED through Denver’s tidy Bonnie Brae neighborhood, craning her neck to read the street signs. Part of her was calmly aware of how mundane everything seemed in the quiet, middle-class area. Another part of her quivered with nerves in the warm summer evening as the shadows of the trees and houses reached darkly toward her. A dog raced out of the growing dimness and barked, chasing her tires.

“Mommy,” Charley said from the back seat, “that’s a bad dog. He’s going to get in my window. Mommy!”

Grace studied the house numbers. This couldn’t be the street. It was too…ordinary. In her distress, she must have written down the wrong address.

She shook herself mentally. What did she know about a safe house? She realized she’d been envisioning some foreboding, secret structure set back in trees, all shuttered up, no lights and windows. But she supposed the house could be any sort, even a mansion, for goodness’ sakes.

“Mommy, the dog’s jumping at my window!”

“Oh, honey, he can’t get in the car. There. See? He’s leaving, going home to his yard.”

“I don’t like him.”

“Well, he was probably just curious,” she said, on motherly autopilot.

She slowed the car to a crawl, squinting at the house numbers. There it was, the house near the corner of Adams and Mississippi. Could this place, this innocuous, square brick home, really be part of the underground railroad?

“Are we there, Mommy? Are we there?”

“Yes, ah, yes, sweetie, it looks like we’re here.”

Grace parked at the curb, as there was already a car in the narrow drive. She got out, noticed the weak watery feeling in her knees and took a breath. What if this wasn’t the place? What if…?

But she wouldn’t think about that now. She’d memorized the telephone number. If this really were the wrong address, she’d call the number again. No big deal.

No big deal? her brain cried. But Charley was undoing his seat belt and opening the back door. “I’m hungry, Mommy. You didn’t give me dessert. Do they have ice cream?”

“I’m sure they have something, sweetie, but let’s make sure this is really my, ah, friend’s place first. Okay?”

Charley took her hand. “Okay.”

She advanced up the walk, gulping air, trying to come up with an excuse should this be the wrong place. One step, two, three. As she rang the bell, her mind was so full of muddled thoughts she barely realized that someone was standing behind the screen—a young teenage girl.

The girl eyed first Grace, then Charley, then called over her shoulder, “Hey, Mom, your friends are here.”

Friends. No names. Just friends. So this was the place.

“Come on in,” the girl said, pushing open the door, giving Charley a perfunctory smile.

A woman was moving toward Grace, her hand out, a gracious smile on her face. An ordinary-looking woman, with brown curly hair and faded jeans and a tank top. A mother, too, but so different from Grace. So courageous. How many frightened women and children had she sheltered?

Grace took her hand and tried to return the smile.

“Well, let’s get you settled,” the woman said, and she gently ruffled Charley’s silky hair. “And I’ll bet you’re hungry, young man.”

Charley looked up at Grace with soulful eyes.

“Yes,” Grace said, “I’m afraid he’s always hungry this time of night. I didn’t think to…”

“Of course you didn’t. Here, your room is just down this hall. It’s off the kitchen. There, the light switch is on the left. And there’s a small bath just to the right. And, by the way, don’t worry, no one can do much rational thinking in this situation. Don’t forget, it is your first night. Get settled and I’ll see you in the kitchen, okay? And you, young man, do you like cookies? Or maybe a Popsicle?”

“A Popsicle.”

“What do you say, Charley?”

“Please.”

The woman smiled again and closed the door behind her.

“Wow,” Grace breathed, sinking onto a queen-size bed.

“What’s wrong, Mommy? Can I get my Popsicle now?”

“In a minute. I just need a minute, honey.”

“But I’m hungry.”

Grace sighed, trying desperately to collect herself. She felt as if she’d stepped onto a train on this so-called railroad, a train with no destination, a train that would never stop. Her heart pounded furiously and suddenly the room was too close. She rose and opened the window that looked out onto a square backyard and an alley behind it. The sound of children playing nearby drifted in, all so normal, so placid in the face of her predicament. She should be home, calling the cats in for the evening, telling Charley to brush his teeth, arguing about his bedtime on this warm summer’s night.

After a few more complaints from Charley that he was hungry, she finally took his hand and led him to the kitchen, where the woman was doing dinner dishes.

The situation was so terribly awkward. She and Charley were strangers in a strange place. She felt sick with confusion and unfocused dread.

“Oh, there you are. We’ll get your suitcases and you’ll be settled in for the night.” The woman dried her hands on the dish towel that hung from the refrigerator handle and clucked at Charley. “And I’ll bet you want that Popsicle, young man.”

“Yes, please.” Charley beamed.

She looked at Grace. “Coffee? I have decaf. Or there’s iced tea.”

“Iced tea would be nice, thank you.”

“While I fix the tea, why don’t you bring in your bags.”

“Will my car be okay? I mean…”

“For tonight it will be fine.”

And then what? Grace wondered. Could any of this be happening?

Charley ate his Popsicle while Grace got their bags from the car and sat them in the bedroom. Then it was time to settle Charley down, to insist, despite the newness of his surroundings, that he put on his pajamas and brush his teeth.

“I want to watch TV,” he said, and she was afraid he was going to pull one of his “terrible fits,” as she called them.

She drew one of his favorite books out of his bag, and he snuggled against her. It was a short simple book called A Happy Sad Silly Mad Book, which she found effective with children when they were upset. Not that she did much therapy these days. No time for it since she’d taken on Charley. The book asked children how they felt, described the emotions, told them it was okay to feel them.

The method never failed with Charley.

She turned the last page and bent to kiss her little boy’s forehead.

“Good night, Mommy,” he said, and he hugged her around the neck.

“Good night, sweetie.”

She stood, whispering up a prayer of relief. This was impossibly rough on him. Bad enough for her, but Charley was the innocent one, the victim of an unjust court system. He shouldn’t have to suffer. Damn, not this beautiful child.

The ice was practically melted in her tea before Grace finally sat across the kitchen table from her hostess. Down the hall, the door to the bedroom she was to share with Charley was open, and the sound of the TV and the teenage girl talking on the phone came from the living room.

She looked up from her glass and caught the woman’s gaze. “I…I feel so awkward,” she began. “It isn’t that you haven’t been most gracious…It’s just that…”

“It’s your first night,” the woman put in. “And you don’t know where any of this is heading and you’re scared to death.”

“In a nutshell, yes.”

“You have to take it one day at a time. If you’re strong for your son, you’ll succeed. Things work out.”

“Do they?”

“Often enough.” The woman nodded, an inner strength shining through. The glow made her look beautiful.

Grace tucked a stray strand of mousy hair behind an ear and adjusted her glasses on her nose. Oh, she knew she was a plain Jane and a little timid at that, and she couldn’t help wondering, if she’d been more outgoing and assertive in court, would the judge have ruled differently? If, for instance, she had carried herself more like this woman, would she be in this mess?

“I wish I could give you all the answers,” the woman was saying. “But that would be impossible. Everyone’s situation is so different, you understand.”

“Of course.”

“There are a few things I can tell you, though, and maybe they’ll help.”

Grace gave a strained laugh. “That would be nice.”

“And a piece of advice here. Don’t let yourself become emotionally entangled in other sponsors’ lives. In my experience, most people who take you in are pretty closemouthed, but there’ll be some who’ll virtually dump their troubles on you. You’ve got enough problems of your own right now. Do you understand what I’m getting at?”

Grace let out a breath. “Yes, completely.” She nodded. Oh, God, she thought, it was all too real.

“As for your car…you’ll need to stash it with someone, a good friend, a relative, whoever. Use the bus or train, whatever feels comfortable. And keep moving. I know how awful all this sounds, but you need to lose yourself and, of course, Charley.”

“Is this…forever?” she ventured, gripping her glass of tea whitely.

“Yes and no. Everyone’s situation is so different. I can tell you my own, if it helps.”

“Please.”

“Well, I was on the underground railroad for three years.”

“Three…years,” Grace gasped.

The woman smiled ruefully. “And my case, unfortunately, is very typical. I’ve heard of women and their children being on the run for…Oh, never mind, you really don’t—”

“Tell me. How long?”

“Ten years, longer. And even now they live under false identities.”

“But…”

“But how? How do they manage? You meet people on the route. People who can help with new Social Security numbers, new names, jobs, everything.”

“I didn’t…realize.”

“Why would you? But that aside, you need to stay on the move until it’s impossible to trace you. You need to change. Become someone else. And you need to be strong. Above all else, you can never give up. It’s your child you’re protecting. It will be hard. Worse than hard. I hope you don’t think I’m a doomsayer. I’m simply being straight. But better to know now just how tough it can be rather than to be shocked later on.”

Grace said nothing.

“Anyway, tomorrow you should leave Denver. Leave Colorado, in fact. And I’ll warn you, other than maybe parking your car with them, stay away from family and friends. The authorities will be watching them for a very long time. If you decide to ditch your car with them, do it soon and do it quickly. Just get rid of it and take off. You don’t want to put friends or your family in jeopardy. It’s bad enough as it is. You’ll just have to learn to be alone in this. You and your child.”

Grace bit her lip.

“I know, that’s the worst. It’s not forever, though. Someday your son will be old enough to take care of himself. And after what he’s been through, he’ll be strong. You’ll never have to worry about that.”

“But I won’t ever be my real self again, will I?”

She shook her head. “There will be charges against you. Federal charges. They won’t disappear.”

And then Grace had to ask. “But you, your job…? I mean, how did you manage?”

“I was lucky. One of the lucky few. My ex-husband never contacted the authorities when I disappeared with our daughter. Not him.” The woman sneered. “He was very wealthy, you see, and he hired private investigators to trace me. I never stayed two nights in the same spot. For three years we ran. During that period I even had to school my daughter myself. We had no friends, no family we dared to contact.”

“But now…?”

“Well, my very wealthy husband finally messed up with the wrong people. He beat up a girlfriend. Badly, I’m afraid. Anyway, her father was a lawyer and made damn good and sure Larry was put behind bars for a very long time. My daughter will be grown and out of college before he sees the light of day again.”

“So you were able to resume your life. Your real life.”

“Yes. That was years ago now, and I’ve done okay on my own. If nothing else, living on the run gave me a strength and courage I never knew I possessed. Before that, I was just another abused woman. Frightened, afraid to leave him and afraid to stay.”

“Why did you finally leave?”

The woman met Grace’s eyes fiercely. “It was one thing when that bastard struck me. It was another when he turned on our child. He broke her arm.”

“Oh, God.”

“It was horrible, yes, and we’ll carry the scars all our lives, but we have a good life now.” She nodded toward the living room, where her daughter was still talking a mile a minute on the phone, the TV still on in the background. “Her biggest problem now is what to wear to school. I’m very lucky. We’re very lucky.”

Grace sat back and stared into the middle distance. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that her own story, that Charley’s future, could never be as bright. In four days—closer to three now—the court expected her to carry out the order to surrender Charley to his biological mother. And when Grace failed to turn him over, when the authorities learned she had fled with the child, she would forever be a fugitive. There would be no turning back.

Shortly before midnight, she slipped quietly into bed next to Charley. She could hear the little sounds he made as he slept, and she carefully snuggled up next to him and drew in his scent. She could do this. As awful as it sounded, as frightened as she was, she had to do it. Her hostess on this first night of a long journey had told her to be strong. She could, she would, do it.

She shut her eyes and tried to empty her head of all thought. She needed to sleep. Her body was craving precious rest. Sleep.

She listened to the night sounds outside the open window and she tried to breathe deeply. All in vain. Rather than slow, her heart drummed against her rib cage and tiny nerves beat sporadically against her skin, causing her to twitch. Once, her heart seemed to do a somersault in her chest and her breath halted in her lungs.

A lifetime of running from the law. Fugitives. Both of them. And how would she support them? What would happen when her classes started in the fall? Where would they end up? What would happen to Charley’s psyche?

The digital clock on the dresser blinked 3:00 a.m. and all of Grace’s resolve fled. She couldn’t handle it. Tomorrow she would return to Boulder, to their lives, and she would turn Charley over to Kerry Pope. Not for long, though. She’d think of some other way to convince the judge he had made a terrible mistake. She’d hire a fleet of lawyers. No matter the cost. Surely a dream team of lawyers could somehow right this ghastly wrong. It might take time, though, and meanwhile, Charley would be in Kerry Pope’s care and…

Oh, dear God, what was she going to do?

THE MILES THROUGH the Rocky Mountains crept by. She’d gotten a late start. First, after listening to her hostess and hearing how long she might have to be on the move, she had decided to all but wipe out her checking account, and she’d had to wait for the branch bank in Denver to open. Then the lines had been long and Charley had had to go “Pee-pee, Mommy,” and then there’d been heavy traffic along the Interstate 70 corridor crossing the Continental Divide, and then Charley had needed lunch. And they hadn’t even reached Vail. Her only good news was that with each passing mile, no matter how slow her progress, she was putting distance between herself and Boulder, herself and the court and Kerry Pope. She was doing the right thing, the only thing possible for the safety of her child, and she clung to that thought as she drove through Glenwood Springs on the Western Slope, toward the high desert of Utah.

Charley was really very good in the car as the afternoon proceeded. She stopped at rest areas and gassed up in Green River, Utah, where she bought Charley an ice cream. Too much ice cream, she thought. His teeth would rot out of his head. But it was an easy way to make him happy in this awful fix they were in. A kind of bribe. Though not the best way to handle a child, her psychologist’s mind admonished silently.

While Charley busied himself with his treat, she called the number of the next safe house on the underground railroad. She’d been told she could just show up in Salt Lake City, and she’d be given shelter—no questions asked. But what if this person was not home? She supposed she could pay cash for a room that night, but she had no idea how long her fifteen hundred dollars would hold out. Certainly not for years. But, she thought ruefully, like Scarlett O’Hara, she wouldn’t think about that until tomorrow.

“Hello,” Grace began when a woman answered, “my name is…well, sorry, I was given this number, and I’m on the road with my son in Green River and I was hoping—”

But Grace was cut off. “Get off the interstate. I assume you’ll be on Interstate 15?”

“Yes, in a few hours. Going north.”

“Okay, then get off at exit 198, take a right…”

Grace memorized the directions, then said, “We’ll be awfully late getting in.”

“Your room is over the garage. Use the side steps on the left. I may or may not see you in the morning. I’ve got to work at eight. Will you be here for more than the night?”

“I…probably not.”

“Well, then, if I don’t see you, best of luck. I’ll turn on the light for you and leave another number for you to call. You said you’re heading north?”

“No, I’m going to the coast, the San Francisco Bay Area.”

“Okay, then, I’ll figure around a ten-hour drive from here and leave the number. Is that going to work okay?”

“Yes,” Grace said, feeling Charley tug at her shorts with sticky fingers, “and thank you so much.”

“It’s the least any of us can do.”

THE WESTERN UNITED STATES, and particularly the high desert of Utah and Nevada, was suffering an intensely hot dry summer, and as Grace drove away from Salt Lake City the following morning, she knew the day would be a rough one both for her and her son. Last night, just before she’d taken the exit on Interstate 15 to the safe house, her air-conditioning had gone on the fritz.

“Mommy,” Charley said from the back seat, where he was playing with his Lego toys, “I’m firsty. It’s hot, Mommy.”

“Yes,” she said, feeling her short-sleeved cotton top glued to the leather seat. “It sure is. We’ll stop at the first rest area and cool off, okay?”

“Put on the air conditioner, Mommy,” he whined.

“I wish I could,” she said, but she’d already calculated the cost of stopping and having the car fixed: the time and expense made that impossible. They’d have to suffer.

By noon, driving along Interstate 80 toward Winnemucca, Nevada, she wondered if they would even survive. Utah at least had mountains and greenery in places, but Nevada…She might as well have been driving the surface of a long-dead, barren planet that broiled unprotected beneath a giant sun.

Charley justifiably complained and wanted to stop often, and she herself felt the summer heat frying her brain cells. Still, despite her discomfort and nagging doubts, a plan was beginning to take hold. She realized there were only two options open to her. Well, three, she decided. But the third—turning around and surrendering Charley to his…to Kerry Pope—was out of the question. So that left two options.

One, she and Charley could stay on the underground railroad until it was safe to stop and take on new identities, even get a job, settle somewhere for the rest of her life—their new lives, that was.

Or, she thought, there was option two. She was not yet a fugitive and at this point she could elicit the advice of her parents, particularly her father, who was a retired policeman. The last thing she wanted was to get her folks involved in this mess, but her dad could at least advise her on what she needed to do to enlighten the court on the inadequacies of Kerry Pope, forcing that court to admit the very real danger to Charley.

In short, as her father, Big Bob Bennett, would say, Grace needed to get the goods on Kerry Pope. And Big Bob had not only been a policeman, but a juvenile officer with the San Francisco PD. Who better to advise her? On the other hand, she hated to lay her troubles at his feet. Really hated the thought. She’d never had to turn to her parents for this sort of support. Thinking about it now, she supposed she’d been a real Goody Two-shoes. Shy, cerebral, nonconfrontational. Heck, the only experimenting she’d done as a teen had been in science class. How was she going to explain her actions?

But who else could she turn to?

They spent their third night on the underground railroad on the outskirts of Sacramento, and from there, using a pay phone at a convenience store, she finally called her parents. As she dropped change into the coin slots her hand trembled, and she had to tell herself over and over that her mother and father loved her as much as she loved Charley. Turning to them for help was the right thing to do.

Amazingly, she realized as the phone rang in her ear, she’d never fully comprehended the true commitment of parenthood. She would ask for their help and they’d unstintingly give it, just as she was going the whole nine yards to protect her child.

The phone continued to ring. Maybe they had already left on their annual summer vacation. Maybe…

“Hello?” Her mother, Sally, whose name Grace also carried.

“Mom?” Grace had to clear her throat. “Mom, it’s me.”

“Gracie! What a lovely surprise. You never call.”

“I do, too. I…”

“Not enough. Is Charley there with you?”

“Yes, Mom, he’s standing about two feet away, eating an ice cream cone.”

“It must be his bedtime.”

“Well, ordinarily it would be, but we’re not in Colorado.”

“You’re…?”

“Mom, we’re only a couple of hours away, just east of Sacramento.”

“You’re where?” Sally gasped, and Grace began the awful tale of the past two days. When she was finished, all Sally Bennett could say was, “I guess I’d better put your father on.”

Grace sighed. “Good idea. And Mom, I love you guys. I’m so, so sorry to be dumping this…”

“Oh, for the love of Mike, honey, just can it, will you?” And then Grace heard her call, “Bob! Bob get in here, Gracie needs you.”

Telling her father was even tougher. She knew it was because he’d been a policeman his whole life and Grace, in another forty-eight hours, was about to break the law big-time.

He surprised her, though. Rather than tell her to turn around, drive back to Boulder and obey the court order, he hesitated for a second and then said, “Those damn juvie courts. Sorry, baby, but if this just doesn’t top it all. You should have let me come to that hearing. I warned you. Your mother and I were wondering why we hadn’t heard from you, but then we figured everything must have gone okay.”

“Well, Dad, now you know,” Grace said. “And I hope I’m not making things worse. I just couldn’t let Kerry Pope have him. It isn’t that I’m selfish, Dad, honestly, and I haven’t gone crazy. If you could see Kerry’s criminal history, Dad. If you could—”

“You think that after almost thirty-five years with juvies I don’t realize? Grace, honey, give me some credit.”

“Sorry, Dad. It’s just that I don’t know how to get proof that a girl like Kerry will never be rehabilitated, certainly not to the extent that she could raise a child, and—”

“Look,” Bob Bennett cut in, “you get yourself to San Francisco with Charley and call us. Best you don’t stay here, okay?”

“Of course, I understand.”

“Okay. Then get here and we’ll come up with something. You haven’t broken the law yet. Maybe…I have to think about this. Talk it over with your mom. Listen, do you need any money? I hope you haven’t been using a credit card, honey.”

Grace laughed without humor. “No, no credit card, Dad. I’m getting to be a real good fugitive.”

Bob groaned.

“Sorry, but that’s how I feel.”

“Okay. You call us as soon as you get settled in one of your safe houses, and we’ll figure this out together.”

“Dad, I only need advice, really. No way am I getting you and Mom involved.”

“Now, you listen here, Gracie. I may have been a cop, but there’s nothing more important on the face of the earth than you and that boy. You let me worry about our involvement.”

“But, Dad…”

“Don’t Dad me. Just drive carefully.”

He hung up before she could utter another word of protest. She stood in the growing darkness outside the market and watched the customers coming and going. Ordinary people with ordinary lives. Sure, they had their problems, but not like the ones she had. She wished—oh, how she wished—she could be like them, back in her comfortable, safe life in Boulder.

But she couldn’t. That life was forfeit now. And she had to learn to live a new one.