Livia Lone

25-THEN

During the same holiday Rick was there, the Lones’ four sons visited. Mr. Lone briefly introduced them to Livia, and they all reacted to her with varying degrees of curiosity, discomfort, and pity. Ordinarily, Livia preferred to eat alone in her room, using homework as an excuse, but while the sons and Rick were in the house, Mr. Lone insisted on taking everyone out to restaurants. These dinners were painful affairs, during which Livia could feel acutely that everyone wished she wasn’t there-everyone but Mr. Lone, who seemed to enjoy showing her off in public, and Rick, who was the only one who talked to her, even though her responses were awkward and uncertain.

One morning, Mrs. Lone came to Livia’s room and told her Mr. Lone was taking everyone to brunch. Livia understood this wasn’t an invitation, and that Mr. Lone was insisting. But she thought she couldn’t stand another meal with these people. So she said, “My stomach hurts. I think I’m going to stay in bed.”

Actually, her stomach did hurt. A few months earlier, she had started to bleed, and it was happening now. She knew what the bleeding was-it had to do with making babies, and in the village, the women used rags during the days when it happened. Here, they didn’t use rags; there were special pads that absorbed better. Mr. Lone had told her to ask for anything she needed, but she didn’t want him to know about the bleeding. Her body was beginning to change, with hair between her legs and bumps on her chest where before there had been only skin and muscle, and his bathroom visits had become more frequent, his staring while he touched himself more intense. So she used some of the spending money he gave her to buy the pads in a store, hiding them under her bed when she didn’t need them, and putting the ones she’d used at the bottom of the kitchen garbage when no one was around.

Mrs. Lone stood in the doorway, her pinched face looking like someone was squeezing it from both sides. “Your stomach? Nothing contagious, I hope?”

Livia wondered why the woman was asking-she’d never given any indication before that she was concerned about Livia’s health, or anything else about her. Was she really afraid someone might catch something from Livia? Or did she suspect Livia was bleeding, with the question a way to try to confirm?

Not knowing what was the right course, Livia decided on ambiguity. “I’m not sure.”

“All right. I’ll tell Mr. Lone.” She closed the door, her footfalls fading as she walked down the hallway.

Livia understood the “I’ll tell Mr. Lone” was Mrs. Lone’s way of indicating that if it were up to her, Livia wouldn’t even be allowed in the house, let alone receive invitations to brunch. But she was used to Mrs. Lone’s little indications, and they bothered her less now than they had at first. The main thing was, she didn’t have to suffer through another meal with all of them.

She went back to her books. The echoes of conversation downstairs became more animated, then were cut off by the slam of the front door. She heard car doors opening and closing, engines starting, tires on gravel… and then, finally, the house was mercifully quiet.

Five minutes later, she heard one of the guest room doors open. She frowned-someone must have stayed behind. She heard a cough, and thought it sounded like Rick. She heard his footsteps moving down the corridor, then the buzz of coffee being ground in the kitchen.

The whole time Rick was staying with the Lones, Livia had been thinking about Portland and Nason. And trying to weigh the risks of asking for his help. It felt dangerous, and she knew Mr. Lone would be furious if he found out. But in the end, she decided she had to try.

She went to the kitchen. Rick was sitting at the table, sipping coffee from a mug stamped “Llewellyn Lions”-the name of the high school football team-and reading the newspaper. He smiled when he saw her and put down the paper.

“Livia-I thought you went with them to brunch. Sleeping late?”

“Studying.”

“You’re a hard worker.”

She nodded.

“But don’t you ever…”

She waited for him to go on, but it seemed he had thought better of it. He poured some coffee from a carafe into the mug. “You want some?”

She was surprised. “Coffee? I never had it. Have never had it.”

“How old are you?”

She was going to say thirteen, but then changed her mind. “Almost fourteen.”

“Well, I’d say that’s old enough for just a taste. Though you might not want to mention it to my sister.” He smiled. “Unless you want to get me in trouble.”

Livia couldn’t help smiling back. “No, I won’t tell her.”

“Okay, then.” He walked over to the refrigerator and took out a carton of milk, then pulled a box from a cabinet. “Turbinado sugar. That’s good. A little molasses tastes great in coffee. I generally drink mine black, but for your first time, milk and sugar’s a good idea.”

He took another mug from a cabinet, poured some coffee in along with a big serving of milk, added two spoonfuls of sugar, stirred it all together, and gave the mug to Livia. She smelled it suspiciously, then took a little sip-and then a bigger one. It was delicious. She’d never tasted anything like it.

He must have seen her expression, because he smiled and said, “Not bad, huh?”

She nodded, happy to have discovered something so tasty, and liking that it was a secret from Mrs. Lone. “It’s really good.”

“Well, you can’t drink too much of it. You’re not grown yet, and caffeine can make you jittery. But a little won’t hurt you. Just remember, you didn’t get it from me.”

“Okay.” She took another sip, then said, “What were you going to ask before?”

“When?”

“You said, ‘But don’t you ever… ’”

“Oh, that. I don’t know. Something about school, I guess. But you know what? I don’t even remember much about school. I actually hated it.”

She cocked her head, suddenly intrigued at what felt like a confidence. “Why?”

“Ah, it’s a long story. I just never felt like I fit in. I was glad when it was over. I’m better at being a cop than I was at being a student.”

Livia glanced around. “You… didn’t want to go to breakfast?”

He took a sip of his coffee. “I begged off. It’s great to see everyone, but sometimes I need a little space. You know?”

“Yes.”

“And tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, so it’s going to be the big church thing. Does Fred make you go to church?”

“Yes.” She didn’t like talking about Mr. Lone.

“Yeah, I figured. Well, I’m not really the churchgoing type. To each his own, I guess.”

She looked at him, desperate to ask, but also afraid. She sensed she was crossing lines she couldn’t clearly see.

A strange expression settled into his face-compassion, but also something… concerned.

“How’s everything going, Livia?”

Somehow, she could tell he didn’t mean it in the usual polite, surface way. That he was really asking. Really wanted to know. Maybe even really… cared?

She bit her lip. She so wanted to ask him.

“What is it?” he said. “Honey, if something’s wrong, you can tell me.”

No, she thought. I can’t tell anyone. Ever.

But she could ask him. She had to.

“My sister,” she said. “Nason.” From no more than saying Nason’s name, the tears welled up. She wiped them violently away, furious at herself for crying.

“I heard about your sister, hon,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

She nodded. “No one knows where she is. What happened to her. Even if-”

She couldn’t finish the sentence. But she didn’t need to. He nodded, waiting for her to go on. She could tell that Mr. Lone had told him nothing. But did that mean Mr. Lone knew nothing?

She cleared her throat. “All anyone knows, I think, is Portland is where we were separated. Portland is where she disappeared.”

He nodded. “PPB knows about it. And I talked to all my contacts so they would understand it’s personal, too. You know, my beat is homicide, but there are cops who specialize in child matters, that kind of thing. I made sure they’re all looking for your sister.”

She was stunned. “You… you did that?”

“Jesus, of course I did, Livia.”

She started crying again. She couldn’t help it. She’d gotten so good at hardening herself against cruelty, she hadn’t been prepared for his kindness.

He tore a paper towel from the dispenser and handed it to her. While she wiped her face and sniffled, he reached for her shoulder. She jerked back.

Instantly he raised his hands, palms up. “I’m sorry, honey.”

She shook her head. She hadn’t sensed he was going to touch her in a bad way. But… she didn’t like being touched anymore. By men, especially.

She wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, because what he had done for Nason was so nice, so good. But there was no way to explain. She shook her head and said, “No, no, I’m sorry.”

The way he was looking at her… she had the strangest sense that maybe he knew. Or knew enough. Even without her telling.

“It’s okay,” he said. “And you don’t have one thing to be sorry for, do you understand? Not one.”

She nodded and wiped her eyes. “Did the special police you know… did anyone…”

He shook his head. “No. I’m sorry, there’s not a lot to go on, and no one has been able to find anything. But I’m not going to give up. And I won’t let anyone else, either.”

“What about the men who took us? The Thai men? I described them all to the people from the Immigration and Naturalization Service.” She pronounced the unfamiliar words carefully.

“As I understand it, that’s a dead end. No one knows who the men are or how to find them. I know the police have your description, and if they catch anyone who looks like that, they’ll be questioned very closely.”

“Will you tell me if that happens?”

“Of course.”

She pursed her lips, frustrated. To be right here, able to ask a Portland police officer, and still not find anything useful… it was maddening.

“What about the men on the boat? The boat from Portland. How did the police even know there were smuggled people on it?”

“That’s funny, I had the same question. I asked around. Word is, it was an anonymous call to Chief Emmanuel of Llewellyn PD. Seems like a rival gang dropped a dime.”

“Dropped a dime?”

“An expression. It refers to the days when public phones only cost a dime. Someone wanting to turn someone in would use a public phone so the call couldn’t be traced. So ‘drop a dime’ came to mean an anonymous tip to the police.”

“Why would someone do that?”

“Could be a lot of reasons. A business rival, disrupting someone else’s shipment. Payback for something. Maybe something else personal. Hard to say. The caller had specific information about the barge and the timing. Llewellyn PD doesn’t have much experience with people smuggling, so they called INS. There must have been a lot of cops and agents on the dock the day they rescued you.”

She nodded. “I heard the police killed two of the smugglers. But that they caught one. Maybe he knows something?”

Rick smiled. “You have good cop instincts, you know that? And yes, you heard right, two of them died in a gunfight when the police rescued you. But no, the third guy’s not talking. Says his dead brother handled all the logistics-the communications, the contacts with people who hired them. He says he didn’t know anything, didn’t even know you were all kidnapped.”

“He’s a liar.”

“I know. And I wish there were a way to prove it. The AUSA-that’s the Assistant United States Attorney, the federal prosecutor, the person responsible for putting people in prison when they commit federal crimes like kidnapping and people smuggling-the AUSA threatened him with a lot of prison time if he wouldn’t talk. But the guy still claimed to know nothing.”

“So they’ll put him in prison for a long time?”

“Twenty years. Maybe less, with time off for good behavior.”

She thought of Nason. “That doesn’t sound like so long.”

“No, you’re right. In a just world, it would be longer.”

“And… does anyone know who the other people on the boat were? Where they came from? The boat from Thailand had thirteen children. But when I woke up, it was a new boat, and the Thai children were gone and all the other people were new. They spoke languages I didn’t know.”

“This guy they caught, Timothy Tyler-goes by ‘Weed,’ by the way-he says he doesn’t know where you all came from, or who provided you. And he’s stuck to that story. The others were from a lot of different places-China, Guatemala, Sri Lanka-a mix.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, it’s hard to say. It could mean a lot of things. But in general, it means Weed’s gang or whoever hired them thought they had a willing buyer, or buyers, somewhere as far east of Portland as Llewellyn. And maybe farther east. Modern-day slavery is all over the place. Not just Portland, not just Llewellyn. Everywhere.”

“Who was going to buy us?”

“No way to know at this point. Could have been a nail salon, agricultural interests… or some sick homeowner, who wanted a maid he didn’t have to pay or account for.”

“But the children on the boat. Me, and the two who died. They were going to sell us, too?”

“Yeah. People buy children, too, I’m sorry to say. I think you can imagine why.”

She didn’t have to imagine. She knew. And Rick probably knew she knew, but was too respectful to say so.

“What about the other people on the boat from Portland? What happened to them?”

“Well, they were all adults, and they were all here illegally, so my understanding is they’ve been repatriated. Sent back to the countries they came from. You were the only kid who survived the trip, so that made you a special case. The truth is, INS didn’t know what to do with you. I guess Fred pulled some strings.”

“Strings?”

“Sorry, another expression. It means… used influence. He knows a lot of people. And then there’s his brother, Ezra, the senator. You’ve probably met him.”

Something in his tone made Livia sense he didn’t like the brother much more than he liked Mr. Lone. She wanted to ask, but only said, “Yes.”

She wanted to tell him that Mr. Lone said he knew where Nason was. But what if telling Rick made things worse for Nason? The last time she had thought she was protecting Nason, she had caused her to be hurt, hurt so badly. What if that happened again? What if Mr. Lone were telling the truth, and had located Nason through his contacts, his senator brother, something like that, and now Livia did something stupid like tell the wrong person, and got Nason hurt again?

She couldn’t risk that. She couldn’t.

But there was one more possibility. And this was her chance. She had to tell him.

She cleared her throat again and said, “There’s one thing I didn’t say to the other police who asked me. And I want to tell you. But you have to promise not to tell anyone else. Not Mrs. Lone. Not Mr. Lone. No one.”

“Why, honey?”

“You just have to promise.”

“Whatever you tell me, I’ll try to help. But I won’t be much use alone.”

Livia considered. It was a good point, and she hadn’t thought of it.

“Okay,” she said. “You can tell the other police you trust. But I want this… just please, I need your help. Please.”

“All right. Okay.”

“You won’t tell?”

“I won’t tell.”

“Do you know a Thai policeman?”

“You mean, a certain Thai policeman?”

“No, no, I mean, do you know Thai policemen. Any Thai policemen.”

“I don’t. But I work with people who would know the Thai police, yes.”

All right. It wasn’t quite what she’d been hoping for, but it would have to be enough.

She told him how her parents had sold her and Nason. She described Skull Face and Dirty Beard and Square Head, leaving out the parts she couldn’t talk about-parts she thought he might sense regardless. Most of all, she described where her parents lived, in enough detail so that the Thai police could go to the village.

“But you can’t tell any Thai policemen where I am,” she said. “I don’t want my parents to know. I never want to see them again. Ever. I don’t even want anyone to contact them now, but they’re the only ones who know who they sold us to. So maybe they can help find Nason. And”-her eyes filled up and she blinked away the tears-“I love her. Even more than I hate them.”

“You don’t even want your parents to know-”

“No. They don’t deserve to know anything. Not even where I am. Not even if I’m alive.”

He nodded. “All right.”

She thought about how her people hated the Thai police, whose only job seemed to be to stop the hill tribes from cutting land in the forest where they could plant food. Some people tried to pay them bribes. The police took the money, then drove the people off their land anyway.

“And also,” she said, “the Thai police will tell you they visited the village, but that my parents didn’t know anything. Then you’ll pay them, and they won’t have”-she groped for the word, got it-“they won’t have earned it.”

“Livia, no one’s going to pay the police-”

“I don’t know how it is in America. But in Thailand, the police aren’t good. They don’t let my people farm the way we need to. If you ask for something, they expect something back. So they’ll lie and tell you they did what you asked, so they can make you do something for them in return. You need”-she struggled again, then remembered the word-“proof. Proof they did what you asked. Otherwise they’ll lie.”

“All right. What kind of proof?”

“My mother has a photograph. Of Nason and me. The Thai policemen should take it. And send it to you. Then I’ll know. I’ll know they really went to the village. I’ll know they really asked my parents. At least I’ll know that.”

Maybe she should have said, “We’ll know that.” But even though he seemed kind, she knew Rick wasn’t an ally. She didn’t have allies. And she didn’t want them. In the long run, the only person she could depend on was herself.