Thread of Hope

FIFTY-TWO

I opened the door to the Tahoe and Kristin jerked away, startled. The thick mascara on her eyes was smudged and smeared, the result of too many tears during the drive.

“Check the glove box for some tissues,” I said.

“I’m fine.” Her voice shook.

“Check.”

She sighed and reached across the passenger seat. She came back with a handful of Kleenex. She looked at me, unsure of what to do.

“Clean yourself up,” I said, nodding at the mirror. “We’ve got time.”

She blew her nose and turned her attention to the mirror, dabbing the tissue around her eyes. “You’re going to tell my parents?”

“No.”

“You’re not?”

“You are.”

She froze. “No.”

“Yes.”

She turned from the mirror to look at me, tears streaming down her face again. “You don’t understand…”

“You’re right,” I said, cutting her off. “I don’t understand. So explain it to me. What the hell were you thinking?”

She sobbed for a minute, pressing her chin down into her chest, her body shaking. Her perfume wafted out of the car, too strong and too sweet. I wasn’t sure if it was an act or if she was waiting for me to comfort her and tell it would it be okay.

I stood there, silent.

Gradually the shaking stopped and she managed to gather herself, blotting her face with the tissue. The makeup was nearly all gone.

“You saw me at practice,” she said in a raspy voice.

I nodded.

“I’m not that good. I don’t start. I barely play.”

I nodded again.

“Everything is like that for me,” she said. “Everything. Sports. School. Boys. I’ve never been good or popular or whatever.”

She balled up the tissue and clutched it in her fist. “And it sucks. It sucks. My friends start on the basketball team. My friends are going to Ivys. My friends all have boyfriends.”

She let the wadded up tissue fall to the ground and she looked skyward, shaking her head. “It’s like I’m a part of the group, but not really. And I hate that it bothers me, but it does. I just wanted to actually be a part of the group.”

She dropped her chin and leveled her eyes with mine. “And you know what? I got dressed up, put on the makeup and I was better than them.” She smiled. “Way better than them.”

“You’re proud of being the best hooker?” I asked.

“No. You don’t get it.” She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know who was the best at sex. But I do know that I was getting the most requests. Guys were seeing my photo on the website and requesting me. Way more than anyone else. Way. More.” She held up her index finger. “Finally. I’m the best. I’m the leader.”

I couldn’t begin to untwist her logic. There was a thread in her explanation that I could probably pull on and make some sense of. Her desire to fit in. Every high school kid, girl or boy, had that same desire. Maybe she had issues at home, too. Longing for affection, an unavailable dad. But the way she was feeding those desires were so screwed up, I wouldn’t have known where to start.

“It’s over,” I said. “It’s over as of right now.”

She stared hard at me for a moment, then gave me one of those patented teenaged shrugs.

“Do you know where Meredith is?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

She looked me in the eye. “I don’t know where she is.”

I motioned for her to get out of the car and she slid out of the seat. She ran a hand over her skirt, smoothing it out. She brushed the hair from her face. Her eyes were red and her cheeks flushed. She looked exactly like what she was.

A lost teenage girl.

I followed her up the lantern-lined path to the front door of her home. Kristin stopped short.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Are you going in with me?”

I pushed the doorbell. “No.”

She turned her neck a fraction, trying to get a better look at me.

The door opened and an older version of Kristin stood there, looking confused.

“Kristin?” she said, looking first at her daughter, then at me. “I thought you were studying at school.” Her eyes ran up and down her daughter. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“Your daughter has some things she needs to tell you,” I said.

Her mom zeroed in on me. “And who exactly are you?”

“She’s made some mistakes,” I said. “Some mistakes she’s going to talk to you about.” I looked at Kristin. “But she’s a good kid. Just a little confused.”

Kristin’s head jerked around, surprised at my words.

Her mother took her by the arm and pulled her inside, away from me. Kristin took one last look at me and disappeared inside the house.

“You didn’t answer my question,” her mother pressed, her arms folded across her chest, every protective instinct she had radiating from her posture.

“Just talk to your daughter, ma’am,” I said, backing away from the door. “She needs you.”

“Who are you?” she asked again.

“Nobody,” I said, turning back to the street. “Nobody.