All in One Place (2 page)

I supposed he meant it as a throwaway comment, but something in his eyes hinted at flirtation.

“Not a chance,” I muttered through my gritted teeth as I smiled and waved. Eric had soured me on men and relationships for
a long, long time.

As they drove away, two pale, forlorn faces stared at me over the backseat, and a shiver crawled up my spine. I wondered what
lay in those girls' futures.

Unfortunately, I couldn't spare them more than a moment's sympathy. If I didn't get a ride soon, I would have to switch my
footwear again.

I glanced back over my shoulder at the quiet highway, adjusted the straps of my backpack, and headed down the hill toward
Harland, Leslie, and her family.

Ten minutes and two vehicles later, a car slowed down.

A young woman slouched behind the wheel. Sparkly barrettes clipped back blond hair, the perky effect negated, however, by
her tired smile.

“Do ya need a ride?” she asked through the open passenger window as she leaned one skinny arm across the back of the seat.
Her pale green shirt and blue jeans, though worn and faded, gave her a conservative look that inspired confidence.

I pulled open the passenger door.

And stopped when I saw a baby in the backseat.

The girl caught the direction of my look. “Don't worry 'bout Madison. She's finally quiet. Cried all morning, so I thought
I'd take her for a ride.”

Behind us stretched an empty road devoid of vehicles. Unless I wanted to walk the rest of the way to Harland, this was my
ride. I tossed my knapsack in the back of the car, and followed it inside.

“Headed to Harland?” the driver asked as she pulled out onto the road.

“If that's where this road goes.”

“This road goes nowhere,” she said, steering the car with her elbows as she lit a cigarette. “Every morning, I look out the
window…”

“And it's still there,” I finished the old joke for her.

She waved her cigarette at me. “You want one?”

“No thanks.” I wondered if she should be smoking around the baby, but as a rid-
er,
I wasn't about to lecture the rid-
ee.

“Where you from?” Her question came out on the breath of a tired sigh.

“I'm Terra. I came from out west.”
Keep it vague. You don't know her.

“Amelia,” she supplied. The car swerved as she slipped the lighter back into its holder. The baby's head lolled to one side,
and I could see the trace of veins in her pale cheeks and in the tiny arms poking out of a stained and faded sundress.

“Do you mind turning the air-conditioning down a bit?” I asked.

Amelia frowned at me. “It's hot as Hades out there.”

“Yes, but your baby seems a little cold. Her fingers are blue.”

Amelia touched the baby's hand. “Oh, yeah,” she said, then reached over and turned the fan down. “This is such crazy weather
for May. I thought she was crying because she was hot, so, well…” She took another puff of her cigarette. “So, what's in Harland?
You know anybody there?”

“Well, I've already met the cops…”

“What? When?”

“About twenty minutes ago. They stopped to ask me a few questions.”

“Questions about what?”

“A party down the road. They had two little girls with them.”

“What?”

“Do you know those girls?”

“No. I don't. It's just… I can't believe they would…” She let the sentence fade away as she stared straight ahead.

“Can't believe they would what?” Why was she so concerned?

“Never mind.” She took another drag off her cigarette, blowing smoke to the side. “I could sure use a drink right now. You
want to come with me?”

And the baby? Did she need a drink, too?

This is none of your business,
I reminded myself as I licked my dry lips and lifted my hair off the back of my neck.

The pavement shimmered in front of us, and through the heat waves, I caught a glimpse of the town of Harland coming closer
with relentless speed. My heart fluttered.

Leslie's last batch of letters talked about God and faith and how the community had come through for her and Dan when Nicholas
was in the hospital. Between the lines lay the unspoken accusation that I hadn't.

What should I have written her?
I'm sorry, but my chaos was more important than your chaos?

Amelia flicked her cigarette out the window, then looked at me again as if underlining her previous question.

I had time. Leslie didn't know I was coming.

Maybe getting to know a few of Harland's residents wasn't such a bad idea. Give me a chance to scope out the place. What was
the worst that could happen?

I
added the numbers on my napkin and factored in some optimism. If I was careful, my cash would last me long enough to visit
Leslie and still get to Chicago, too. Emphasis on
careful.
I glanced at the man sitting beside me, blaming thrift for my decision to let him buy me a couple of beers.

Ralph caught my glance and his grin blossomed. “So you ready to party?” He leaned into my personal space, his hand shifting
closer to mine.

I was nursing the remnants of my third beer, wishing I'd quit before I'd started, wishing I had the nerve to get up and walk
through the smoke-filled room, out the door, and down to my sister's place.

But the longer I sat, the less inclined I felt to drop back into my sister's life. What if Eric
had
followed me? What if I brought disaster down on my sister and her family just by showing up?

Maybe it would be better if I faded out of Leslie's life. Let my little sister forget she ever had a loser sister like me.

I glanced behind me. Amelia was leaving, lugging Madison and her car seat with her. Initially she was going to leave the baby
in the car, but I convinced her that taking the baby into the bar was a smarter option.

The jukebox started playing “Bed of Roses.” distracting me from Amelia's departure, the music teasing out pictures from the
past. Leslie and I taped that song from the radio years ago, playing it until the tape wore out, staring soulfully into the
eyes of Jon Bon Jovi as we sang along. I felt the subtle undertow of memories pulling me back. I needed Leslie right now.
Needed her badly.

“You seem sad,” Ralph was saying. “A drink could chase your blues away.”

Or turn me a beguiling shade of green. “No. Thank you.” Ralph was quickly losing what little charm he might have had two beers
ago.

“Then how about a ride home?”

Home.
There was a word guaranteed to make me feel maudlin. All I had with Eric was a fancy condo, a platinum credit card, and too
much fear. No home there.

“Just leave me alone,” I said.

“C'mon. I bought you two beers…”

“And here I thought you were a generous, selfless type.” I pushed away the half-full glass of beer that I should have known
would have strings attached. I didn't like the smirk on the bartender's face as he took the glass away, nor did I appreciate
the wink he gave Ralph.

Ralph slipped his arm around my shoulder. “C'mon. We could have some fun.”

Maybe Ralph understood body language better than English, so I pushed at him. “Leave me alone.”

His eyes narrowed, and he quickly put his arm back, only this time he squeezed just a little harder. I pushed back. A little
harder.

When he tried to kiss me, I elbowed him.

His eyes narrowed and fear slithered through me. “Why, you—” His open hand swung toward me. I ducked, pushed, but as I tried
to get away, he caught my arm.

The same arm Eric had grabbed too hard when I told him I wasn't going to stay with him anymore.

And my anger blossomed.

I reached behind me, connected with the solid neck of a beer bottle. When I lifted the beer bottle, it was as if I were watching
someone else—simply a spectator trying to warn this wayward hand that if it completed the arc, it would be in deep trouble.

Then the bottle connected with Ralph's head, right over his eye, and I felt one with my arm again. The bottle splintered.
Ralph roared and punched my shoulder. Blood poured out of his head as he rained down curses on me and my mother.

I yelled back, still holding the remnant of the bottle.

Ralph grabbed for my arm. I swung and hit him again. Arms grabbed at me from behind. I kicked and stomped, using my heels
against shins just like my self-defense instructor taught me.

In spite of my flailing and spinning, I suddenly found my arms pinned behind my back. Ralph held his forehead, blood pouring
into his eye, screaming that he was going to press charges.

And when I saw the flashing lights driving up outside, I had this sinking feeling that I hadn't outrun my troubles at all.

W
ithout his sunglasses, Jack DeWindt looked to be on the young side of thirty, until you saw the fan of wrinkles at the corners
of his eyes and the faint lines around his mouth. His hazel eyes, fringed with thick, dark lashes, were deep-set, drooping
a bit, which gave him a deceptively gentle look. The last time I saw him, he was smiling, but now his mouth had a hard, narrow
look of authority.

“You're free to go,” he said as the door to my cell slid open. “Your sister came up with the rest of the bail money.”

When I was told that using a bail bondsman meant I forfeited my deposit, I went with posting bail myself. Trouble was, I didn't
have enough money. Consequently, my first connection with my dear sister was a call from the sheriff's office asking her to
literally bail me out.

“And then what?” I asked, stifling a new rush of nerves at the thought of facing my sister. Asking her to get me out of jail
after many months and fewer e-mails was more humiliating than having Ralph hit on me and charge me with assault.

I'd tried to claim self-defense, but I was the visiting “lush,” and Ralph was the homegrown good ol' boy with friends in low
places only too willing to testify on his behalf. So Ralph pressed charges, and though I tried to countercharge, I ended up
being fingerprinted, photographed, booked, and now bailed.

“We'll notify you when your court date is set.” Jack followed me down the hall.

“Do you have any idea when that will be?” I pushed down a wave of panic. The longer I stayed in one place, the better the
odds of Eric finding me.

“Depends on the judge and how booked up she is.”

She.

I wondered if Ms. Judge had ever been hit on by a redneck loser. Of course, Ms. Judge probably knew better than to accept
drinks from strangers—one of the first few rules my mother tried to impart to Leslie and me.

A final set of doors swung open into freedom… and there was Leslie.

She stood behind the plate-glass window separating the receptionist from the public. All I could see of her was a denim jacket,
a T-shirt, and her bent head as she signed a paper. Her hair was shorter than I remembered, and streaked. A sudden yearning
pulled at me with almost tangible force. My sister.

In spite of my roadside grooming, I knew my hair was a dried-out snarl and my eyes were probably red. My fingers were still
black from the fingerprinting ink that simply wouldn't wash off. Add a request for bail money, and I was off to a running
start with my dear sister.

I ran my hands down the legs of my pants. Then again…

Jack frowned at me. “You okay?”

“I'll be fine.”

He lifted one eyebrow as if he didn't believe me, but I didn't have time to be concerned about him anymore.

Leslie looked up as I came closer.

“Hey, Leslie,” I said, projecting breezy and carefree. “Good to see you.”

“Terra.” The word piggybacked a sigh, mom-style.

I'd have to search a long time before I found a sentiment in the card section of the local drugstore to thank her for posting
bail. So I decided to keep it simple and real. “Thanks for coming.”

“I'm guessing the bar was a detour on your way to see me?” The hurt in her voice twisted through the casual facade I struggled
to maintain.

“Of course it was,” I said. “Nicholas was just a fuzzy baby bundle the last time I saw him.”

“He's walking now.”

“I'm sorry, Leslie.” What I lacked in originality, I tried to make up for in conviction. “I'm really sorry.”

Leslie's smile wobbled. I wanted to grab her and hold on. But I couldn't in this public place and definitely not with Cop
Jack watching us.

So I reached over and made do with a quick squeeze of her shoulder. Somewhere in the transition between adolescence and adulthood,
she had not only gotten taller—she had also kept her feet planted firmly on the ground.

Leslie turned to Jack. “Can she leave now?”

Jack nodded, standing arrow-straight, hands on hips. “We'll notify you when the court date is set. In the meantime, as a condition
of bail, she has to stick around.”

How long would it take Eric to track me down? Could he? Had I ever mentioned where Leslie lived? I'd been careful. I had never
used his computer to send e-mails to Leslie, had never used the home phone to call…