Chapter 20

20

T he spectacular view of Paris from the Eiffel Tower was wasted on Peter. He could only think about Libby and pray she was safe. As he gazed around the opulent room, he realized how far he and his brothers had come from their Texas childhood. But right now, he didn't care about any of it. He wandered the world-class restaurant, surrounded by affluent people, and checked his phone again.

One message.

He punched in his password, hoping this time to hear Libby on the other end. Each message became pure agony as he failed to find her cheery voice.

"Hi, Peter, this is Julie Orman from Rockville High School. Please call me as soon as you can."

He held his breath, hopeful. Perhaps this was the call he'd been waiting for, that she'd found Libby. Finally, he felt hope. He checked his watch, calculated the time difference, and dialed the number. He moved to the bank of windows on the side of the elegant room, away from the crowd.

"Pick up, pick up," he said to himself as he gazed out at the stunning skyline.

"Hello, Julie Orman speaking."

"Hi, Miss Orman, this is Peter Jamieson, I just got your message. Did you find her?"

He heard her sigh. "Hi, Peter, I'm afraid I have some bad news. I wanted to get ahold of you right away."

"What is it?" His chest tightened as he braced himself. "Child Welfare Services contacted me this afternoon.

They placed Libby in a group home and not with a foster family as we thought." Her voice sounded sad.

"Oh no! Do you know where she is? Do you have a phone number?"

"No. I'm sorry. She ran away. Ten days ago. And there's been no sign of her since."

"Why would she do that? Are you sure?"

Miss Orman paused a moment and cleared her throat. "There was an altercation with another girl, and Libby got hurt."

Speechless, Peter raised his eyes to the stars outside. "Is she hurt bad? Do they know where she went?" His voice became a whisper as he digested the news.

"I wish I had some answers for you. The authorities are looking, but Libby's disappeared; she doesn't want to be found. If she contacts you, please let her know I'm here and want to help."

"I will." But she hadn't tried to call him since that first weekend she'd been gone. He didn't think she'd try again. She thought he dumped her. Peter's heart dropped. "Do you think they'll find her?" His mind began to reel. Too many possibilities. Too many unanswered questions.

"She's fallen off the radar. They've all but given up. She hasn't shown up in her old neighborhood in Michigan; there's no sign of her here in Rockville. I don't know what to do." Miss Orman's voice sounded heavy with emotion. "I pray she's okay. I'm so sorry. I feel I let her down."

Silence hung between them.

"I know, me too. Thank you for calling. I've got to hang up," he said before he broke down. He slid the phone closed. Around him the room buzzed with excitement. The sound became a static white noise in his ears. He saw, but heard nothing. Libby was gone. There was no way to find her. How had life gone from perfect to this nightmare he couldn't wake up from?

Garrett and Adam walked over. "Pete, what's up?" Garrett said.

He looked up from his stupor. "Nothing."

The other two exchanged a worried glance. He knew they'd been growing more concerned about him .

"At least nothing you care about." Peter looked around the room filled with happy friends and colleagues. "I gotta get outta here." Despair filled his eyes as he searched for the closest exit.

Garrett nodded to Adam. "You better get Mom. It's gotta be about Libby."

Adam took off, darting through the crowd of VIP attendees who sipped their cocktails, oblivious to the crisis. Garrett went after Peter. "Pete, wait up!"

Peter stopped and turned around in the staging area of the restaurant kitchen. Around them, a busy staff of waiters and chefs looked up from their work, surprised to see the superstar guests of honor in their kitchen.

"Is everything okay?" He searched Peter's face. Peter offered nothing.

"Come on, dude, what's going on? What was that phone call about? Is it Libby?"

"Yeah, it was about Libby." Peter stood with his hands deep in his pockets, his voice heavy with emotion.

Their mother entered the kitchen and rushed over. "What happened?"

"She's gone," he whispered.

"Peter, everything is going to be okay." His mother tried to soothe him.

"No, it's not okay. It's never going to be okay. Don't you get it? She's gone. She ran away. No one can find her. Libby's hiding and the authorities don't care. She's already become a statistic." Garrett, Adam, and his mother looked at one another, unsure what to say or do.

"She's out there alone, and she has nothing!" he screamed, fisting his hands in the air, silencing everyone. "I was all she had. Just me. I was it." He spoke to no one in particular, his body tense, a sheen of perspiration on his brow. "Everyone in her life has let her down, and now you can add my name to this list."

"They'll find her, Pete. Just give it time," Garrett said.

"Don't be an idiot; it's been ten days. Everyone she's ever trusted has let her down. She's gone!"

The restaurant staff watched his uncomfortable tirade.

Peter slumped forward; his hands gripped the metal counter meant for food service. "Mom, I promised her. I promised I'd get her out of there. We had a plan. I was going to save her."

"I'm so sorry. We should have done something to help her. I just didn't realize how difficult her situation is."

"Of course it's difficult. Her life was ripped out from under her. She used to be just like us. She lived in suburbia with a happy family, and a dog in the backyard. Then life happened to her and sucked everything away. Damn you. All of you!" He looked from one family member to the next. "All you did was judge her and get in our way." He gazed down at his Armani suit and designer shoes .

"Look at us, standing around like royalty with more than we ever imagined while she is homeless and alone in the middle of January. She has nothing left. Nothing." He pounded on the food prep table. "Where can she go? How will she live?"

"She'll find her way. It'll work out. Give her credit," Adam said.

Peter shoved Adam against the wall, knocking stacks of metal pans to the floor, creating a deafening clatter. "Yeah, I'm sure most sixteen-year-old girls alone on the streets do really well."

He released Adam, his hands trembling. Shock showed on his little brother's face. "It isn't like she'll go back to Rockville. I sure wouldn't. I know her better than that. They screwed her over."

"Maybe she'll find you. Maybe she'll be at a show one day," his mother offered.

"Right, she'll just stand up in her seat and call my name to let me know she's there. Or maybe she'll just walk up to the bus and knock on the door. Explain to me how this is going to work." He faced his mother; sadness filled his eyes.

Suddenly, cheers sounded from the next room. Their manager popped in. "You got it! You got nominated for album of the year! Can you believe it? We're going back to the Grammys! Get in here! "

They looked at one another, the contrast of their lives and Libby's painfully obvious.

Libby walked alone, her muscles sore from sitting on a bus too many hours. She liked the bus, though. Once on board, she disappeared in the back unseen. By the time she got off, several states later, a new driver sat up front.

This town was "middle of nowhere Georgia," as Peter would say. More than anything, she longed to talk to him, but those days were long over.

As she wandered the streets of the small town of Pebble Creek, she wished for an easy solution to her problems. But it was far too late for easy. Her mother used to say, "Life can be an uphill battle, so you better keep your head down and keep climbing."

Who knew how true those words would prove to be? She thought about her mom a lot on the bus and the drastic changes in her life the past two years. It started as a happy, normal family, then fell into tragedy—a broken family and delinquent runaway. She realized she'd finally accepted her mother's and sister's death. The months of debilitating grief were past. Now the loss had become a part of who she was, but it no longer defined her. In fact, she believed they watched her from the heavens with love.

Her stomach grumbled and interrupted her thoughts .

With money running low, she needed to settle for a bit and this town seemed as good as any. She scanned each storefront in hopes of finding a help wanted sign. At this point, she'd be willing to do just about anything to make some money. Anything but go back to Rockville or the group home.

By the time she reached the edge of town, disappointment weighed on her shoulders like a heavy cloak. The last building before the road turned into the countryside was a battered motel called the Twilight. A vacancy sign blinked on and off, except for the broken last three letters. Scraggly weeds beat down the grass in sporadic patches around the perimeter. The motel could lead the list of tacky places to stay, but a real bed and a shower tempted her enough to approach.

The screen door squeaked as she entered a rundown office. A television blared cartoons from a backroom.

Libby stood in the middle of the small lobby, afraid to be noticed, but desperate to know if she could afford one night. A woman's voice yelled in the background. "Damien, stop poking your brother." The woman walked past the open doorway, looking up in time to see Libby.

"Hang on, hon, I'll be right with ya." Her voice sounded harried.

The young woman returned with a baby on her hip, her hair in a messy ponytail, and bags under her eyes .

"Can I help you?" she asked, eyeing Libby. "Well?"

"I'm sorry, I was just wondering, how much for a room?"

"Single or double?"

"Um, just a single."

"Forty-five bucks. Cash or credit card, no checks."

Libby mentally recounted her money. The toddler started to smell.

"I ain't got all day. Do you want it or not?"

"Yeah, I do." She stepped up to the scratched counter and dug in her pocket for cash.

"Sign in here." The woman pushed a small card at her, requesting her name and address.

Libby stared at the card, then, trying not to look nervous, grabbed the pen and signed the first name that popped into her head--Jill Munroe. Her mother always loved the television show Charlie's Angels . Jill Munroe was her favorite character, a beautiful, confident cop. Why she thought of that now, she couldn't guess. Libby scribbled the signature, and pushed the card back toward the woman.

"That's forty-nine eighty-two with tax." She shifted the child to her other hip and peeked into the backroom. "Damien, get down from that cupboard right now or I'll tan your little hide. No more cookies!"

Libby counted out fifty dollars and placed it carefully on top of the card .

"That child will be the death of me yet, the rotten little bugger. Just like his father."

Libby smiled weakly and hoped the woman would remain distracted and not question why a teenager was renting a room at two o'clock on a Wednesday afternoon.

"Here you go, room six." She handed her the key and her change. "I've gotta get this one changed before I have a bigger mess on my hands." The woman scooped the cash and card behind the counter, then vanished into the chaos of the back room.

Libby picked up the key and then paused to be sure the clerk wouldn't return. When the coast was clear, she took a huge handful of candies from a dish on the counter. She walked with a skip in her step as she went to find her room. A clean bed, a warm shower—life was looking up.

The room turned out to be little more than a closet. The walls were thin and the fuzzy old television barely worked. The shower walls were marred by rusty water stains, but the faucet provided hot water. Between the tiny soap for shampoo and the touch of water, butter soft as it rolled over her, Libby hadn't felt this good in weeks. She spent more time under the spray washing out her panties and socks. Finally, exhaustion and wrinkled fingertips coaxed her to turn off the shower. After drying with a thin towel and hanging her undergarments over the shower rod, she fell into bed. Despite it being only late afternoon, she was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Libby woke slowly. She'd slept straight through the evening to the next day. She sat up in bed and noticed her groggy reflection in the dresser's chipped mirror. Her hair was a mess of blond split ends; she couldn't remember the last time she'd trimmed it. The tangled strands fell nearly to her waist. Dark circles shadowed below her eyes. She really needed mascara. Her adrenaline had been churning for so long from her fear of being caught that she'd let her looks go.

She needed to regroup and figure out what to do next. Her money would only pay for another night or two, and then she'd be out on her own again. While in Chicago, waiting overnight for the next bus south, she'd slept on the streets and spent most of the night terrified, freezing, and heartbroken.

She pushed the thoughts away. A pity party wouldn't solve anything. She got up and slipped into her dirty jeans and pulled on a cami and a long-sleeved shirt. Her socks were still damp, so she set them on the heat register and slipped into her tennis shoes. She pushed her cash deep into the front pocket of her jeans. Her life savings. It was meager, but enough to survive on for a couple more days .

After sliding the room key in her back pocket, she grabbed her coat and braved the cool January air.

The squeaky door of the office announced her arrival. The familiar drone of a kids' show seeped in from the next room. The frazzled voice of the desk clerk sounded as she popped her head around the doorway to see who interrupted. She held a phone to her ear. "Just a minute," she said, and disappeared behind the wall.

Libby examined the tourist pamphlets displayed in a rack while she waited for the conversation to end.

"No, I don't know when I'll be able to bring the kids again. I'm trying to keep this place afloat by myself, and Jimmy Junior's asthma is flaring up again. Jimmy, I'm not blaming you. I'm doing the best I can is all. I gotta go, I've got a customer."

Libby heard the phone clunk back onto the cradle and pretended to read a brochure about underground caves.

"Men," the woman said, coming back around the corner. "You certainly can't live with 'em and it's near impossible to live without 'em." She pushed her bleached hair out of her flushed face. "You checking out?"

"Uh, no. Do I have to yet?" Libby didn't realize she'd have to check out so soon.

"No, checkout's at eleven, but I can give you till twelve if you need it, not like I'm gonna get to cleaning your room anytime soon."

"Actually, I was thinking of one more night. "

"Whatever suits you. Anything else?" She clicked her polished fingertips on the counter.

"Yes, I was wondering if you have a scissors I could borrow."

"Let's see. There should be one around here somewhere." She rifled through drawers and shuffled papers. "Whatcha need it for?"

Libby's face warmed. She wanted to lie, but couldn't think fast enough. "For my hair."

The woman examined Libby closely. "I see. Needing a new look, are you?"

Libby nodded.

"Well, who am I to interfere? It's your business. Here you go." She handed over a pair of scissors. "Be sure to return them."

"I will, I promise." Libby took them and quickly went to her room.

Less than thirty minutes later, Libby returned the scissors. The woman stood behind the counter, adding numbers on a small desk calculator. She looked up as Libby entered.

"Well, let's see your handiwork."

Libby turned around, revealing her shortened tresses. She'd meant for her hair to reach below her shoulders, but the length was crooked and each time she tried to fix it, the other side became uneven.

"Oh, honey, that's the worst haircut I've ever seen. "

Libby's heart fell. She knew it wasn't great, but she didn't realize it was that bad.

"Come around back here, and I'll fix it up if you like." Libby hesitated, not sure if she should.

"Come on, I won't bite your head off. I'm pretty handy with a scissors. I cut all my boys' hair, saves a heap a money. I cut Jimmy's hair, too, up until he got arrested and sent off to prison. That man is a fool if ever I saw one."

"Well, if you're sure."

"Course I am. I was all signed up for cosmetology school when I got pregnant with Jimmy Junior. Shattered my dreams until I saw the little bugger. Cutest thing you ever did see. By the way, I'm DarLynn."

"I'm Jill." She offered her hand along with the fake name. It would be a long time before she trusted someone with the truth.

"Nice to meet you, Jill." DarLynn shook her hand. "Take your coat off and sit right here." She pulled a small kitchen stool into the middle of her narrow kitchen.

Libby took off her coat, laid it on a sofa covered with an old bedspread, then sat on the stool. DarLynn grabbed a comb and worked through Libby's hacked-up hair.

"You just can't cut your own hair. Bangs yes, but the rest, forget it. Never works." She began to snip away, and Libby started to relax with the constant chatter.

"Not too many young girls come to stay at the Twilight, at least not without a guy hanging on 'em. "

Libby worried this would happen. She couldn't talk about herself, or she'd get shipped back.

"Reminds me of myself at your age. Trouble everywhere I turned. Those were some awful times. At least till I met Jimmy. My lord, he was a good-looking piece of man. Don't get me wrong, he's still damn fine, just life's been catching up with him. You gotta boyfriend?"

"No. Not anymore." Libby pretended it didn't matter. "I see. Well, honey, you're better off without him. If he was too dim to see how wonderful you are, he was the wrong one." She snipped and combed, then suddenly paused. "He didn't hit you, did he?" DarLynn popped in front of Libby, her face etched with concern.

"Oh no, nothing like that. He just broke it off. Actually, he had his brother do it."

DarLynn looked outraged. "That's terrible." She resumed her trimming. "I tell ya, I had a guy break up with me. He walked out of a restaurant while I was in the ladies' room. Can you imagine? Stuck me with the bill, too. Honey, I tell you, men are pigs. No getting around it."

She couldn't ever imagine Peter leaving her stranded on a date, but then again, he didn't bother to break up with her himself, either.

"He leave you for another girl? That's what a lot of 'em do."

"I don't think so, but he plays in a band, so I guess there could be someone else." Another girl hadn't occurred to her until now. It made her stomach hurt. Whether it was from lack of food or thinking about Peter she couldn't say. "A musician. Oh, honey, love a rocker and your heart'll get broke every time. All those groupies pining away while they're up onstage playing, waiting for the end of the set so they can get their claws on him. You're definitely better off without him."

DarLynn examined her handiwork as if she were a high-priced stylist. "Not bad, if I say so myself. Gives you a fresh new look. That boy who dumped you wouldn't even know you now. Or anyone else who might be looking for you." She stood in front of Libby and held her eyes in knowing question. "Honey, you want me to call someone for you?"

The seconds ticked by. "No, I'm fine."

There was no one out there to call. Not one person, except maybe the police. Heck, they didn't really care, either.

The phone rang loudly, interrupting Libby's thoughts. "Hang on just a sec, while I get that."

While DarLynn spoke on the phone, Libby grabbed a broom and swept the hair from the kitchen floor and dumped it in the trash. She put her stool back under the kitchen counter then peeked into the next room and discovered the little boy, Damien, glued to a television show with talking vegetables. How simple his life was.

DarLynn hung up. "You know, if it's not one thing, it's another. That was school. Jimmy Junior's having another asthma attack. I've gotta pack up this crew and get him to the doctor. Again." She sighed, lifted the sleeping baby out of the swing, and laid him on the floor to stuff him into a coat. "When little Jimmy was born, I told his daddy not to smoke around him, but that man never listened to me a day of his life."

"Can I help?"

"No, I got it, but could you grab Damien's coat over there and get him into it?"

Libby reached for the miniature-sized coat.

"No, Momma, I don't wanna go." Damien slipped away from Libby and dove onto the couch.

"I can stay with the kids. If you want," Libby offered. "Really? Are you sure?" DarLynn hesitated. "Does it make me a bad mother to leave them with a stranger? Hauling this mangy bunch takes every bit of energy I've got, plus when I get back I've got rooms to clean."

"It's okay. I've got nowhere to go, other than to look for a job. I really don't mind. You trimmed my hair, so this will help pay you back."

"Well, okay, there's a bottle in the fridge, and Damien likes mac and cheese. I've got plenty of food, so help yourself. You must be hungry, so don't be shy." She handed the sleeping baby to Libby. "I'll have my cell phone, so I'll call you if it gets too long. The number is taped to the fridge if you need anything." She pulled her coat on, grabbed an oversized purse, and threw it over her shoulder.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of everything." Libby looked down into the innocent little face of the baby. He felt warm and smelled of milk and fabric softener.

"Be good boys. Momma will be back soon." She kissed them both and dashed out the front door and into a rusty old pickup.

Libby sat on the couch, the baby cradled close, with Damien on her other side. Holding the innocent babe filled a void. For once she felt a purpose, a meaning in this world. It might be a small thing, but helping DarLynn was the most important thing she'd done in a long time.

Two hours later, Libby had fed the boys, stuffed herself with food, and tidied the small living area. DarLynn returned with a tow-headed boy about five or six years old and a prescription bag.

"I see the place is still standing. I can't thank you enough." She looked around at the clean counters and organized room. "Oh my gosh, you did the dishes. You didn't need to do that, but honey, I've been trying to get to them since yesterday morning, never enough hours in a day. Thank you. I hope you got a bite to eat."

"Yes, thank you, I did." Libby smiled.

"You're a lifesaver. How can I thank you?"

"You don't need to thank me. You trimmed my hair, and trust me, I ate a lot. "

"Well, it's my pleasure, but how 'bout your room is on me tonight?"

Libby wanted to refuse and say she could pay her own way, but a free room would save her almost fifty dollars. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. We girls have got to stick together." She gave a knowing wink.

Libby warmed at her generosity. "Thank you."

"I don't know how long you were thinking of hanging around, but Penny needs a waitress down at the Fork in the Road. It's a café, nothing fancy, just a bunch of farmers and truckers coming through, but they're good people."

"Thanks, I think I'll check it out."