Wire Mesh Mothers

59

“We aren’t open yet. It’s not even five yet.”

Kate squinted in the darkness, her heard turned toward the sound of the voice.

“I’m sorry,” said Kate. “I was just hoping for some help.”

“What kind of help?” The voice was male, and decidedly young.

“A ride.” God, to say it aloud, in that was the danger. In that the connection could be made if the news had reached this far.

Just get the ride, get out of here, two hours tops and we’ll be safe.

“Ain’t no bus service in Farstone, sorry,” said the voice. The darkness of the room began to shimmer away, and in the center of Kate’s sight she could see a single shaded lamp sitting atop a bar counter, and a boy behind the bar, counting dollar bills. “No taxi, neither. You ain’t from here. You lost?”

Kate could see well enough to walk to the counter without tripping on table or chair legs. She hoped her limp wasn’t terribly obvious, but knew it was. “No, I’ve run out of gas.”

The boy laughed. He was dark skinned, dark eyes, a head full of thick black hair. He was a little older than Donnie. “That’s a bummer,” he said. “A goat roper lost in Texas with no gas!”

“Goat roper?”

“Oh,” said the boy. He stacked the bills and slipped them into an open cash register drawer. “Don’t take offense, it’s just something we call people who aren’t from here, especially people who are, well, kinda skinny.”

“Oh,” said Kate. “Okay. No bus. Any gas? Anywhere?”

“Closest gas station is east up 180, town of Albany or west in Anson.”

“I can’t drive to get gas with no gas.” Kate, keep it easy, don’t piss him off.

“Right there. George Watson got gas up at his ranch for his trucks. But he’s not the kind of man you ask for anything.”

Kate licked her lips. She slid onto one of the bar stools and caught her head in her hands. She knew she smelled. She hoped the boy had clogged sinuses.

“So, where you trying to get to?” asked the boy.

Say it.

“Lamesa.”

“Really?”

It was then that Kate saw the open newspaper on the counter by the register. She couldn’t read the headlines the way the paper was turned and pooched up at the fold.

“Why Lamesa?”

“I…because it’s nearly on the other side of the state, right? I make Lamesa and I’m almost to New Mexico. Thought if I could get that far, I could find a motel for the night.”

The boy shut the cash register drawer and nodded. He said, “Where you from?”

“North Carolina.”

“That’s pretty far away.”

“You’re telling me.” She tried to chuckle. It sounded like a gasp. “Can you think of anyone who would be willing to give me a ride to Lamesa?”

“You traveling alone from North Carolina?”

“Why? Does it matter?”

The boy looked over his shoulder. There was a phone mounted on the wall. He shrugged. “I guess it would, if there was only room for one person in the car.”

“You have a car? Would you take me? I can’t pay, but….”

But I’ll fuck you for a ride? Hey baby, take a load of this filthy body and let me tempt you into providing a little shuttle to Lamesa? Stop looking at the phone!

The lounge door opened with a squeal and Kate looked back into the blinding light of day. She turned away and stared down at the bar. Don’t let him see your face.

“Hey there, Juan.”

Her. Don’t let her see your face.

“Hey there, Greta. We aren’t open yet.”

The boy probably doesn’t know jack. I’m jumping at shadows. Thousands of children are abducted each year. And how many do they find? Ten percent? Five? Why couldn’t Mistie be one of the lost? The odds are pretty good.

The woman walked up to the bar and slid onto the stool three down from Kate. She was in a uniform, but Kate couldn’t tell what kind with her peripheral vision. Police, maybe. Security guard. Hostess snack cake truck driver. “Howdy, ma’am.”

She knows who I am, she’s making sport of me. I have to get out.

“Hello,” offered Kate. To Juan, “Listen, thanks anyway but I’ll figure something out. Merry Christmas.”

“Feliz Navidad,” said Juan.

Kate stood and turned. The woman beside her was, indeed, a police officer. Deputy. Something with a badge, but something legal. She was a large woman with arms that strained at the fabric of her sleeves.

“Ma’am,” she said. “That your truck up the ways?”

“Ah,” said Kate. What was the right answer? What was the best answer? Her heart began hammering in her chest and in her leg. “Which truck is that?”

Officer Greta chuckled. “Juan, got a beer? I’m off duty. I won’t tell your boss you served early.”

“Sure,” said Juan. He reached under the counter. There was the sound of slushing ice, and then a beer can was plopped onto the bar top. The officer popped the top, and said, “Ma’am? That your truck, the tan one that out of gas?”

“Yes.” A chuckle, way too loud to sound normal.

Get out of here, get out now.

“Plates say Louisiana.”

“Yes. They do.”

Juan said, “Thought you were from North Carolina.”

No no no no. “I am, originally. Listen, I have to be going.”

“How?” said Juan. “You said you’d run out of gas.”

Officer Greta caught Kate by the arm but then let go, as if she realized that was out of order or she’d caught a whiff of Kate’s homegrown perfume.

“You can’t leave the truck there. Can’t abandon vehicles in the limits of Farstone.”

Kate’s head began to swim. Greta’s vague and massive visage bobbed up and down as if nodding. “Okay,” she managed, “I’ll get it moved.”

“Without gas?” said Juan.

“Sit down, ma’am, you don’t look well,” said Officer Greta.

“I’m fine, just tired,” said Kate. She stumbled for the door.

Get out now, find Tony. Find Mistie. Hide. Think it though. There is a solution. You are a teacher. You can fix this.

She reached the door and pushed out into the light. She blinked madly at the bright assault. In front of the lounge was Officer Greta’s car.

Kate caught her breath against the pain in her leg. Go, she thought. Go! Go before Officer Greta realizes who just walked out of the lounge.

“Ma’am?”

Kate turned about, nearly stumbling on the rough sidewalk.

In the daylight, Greta was a pretty woman with sunburned cheeks and a small nose. She was shaking her head in what seemed like pity. Not sarcasm.

“Ma’am, I believe in doing good for others. My church tells us that. And I like to think I do something worthwhile once a week, besides chasing down kids who break windows and tear up cattle fences. I’m thinking you could use a ride somewhere? To get some gas? I have a can in my cruiser. Anson’s got a station. It’s not far.”

Kate touched her lip with her fingers. “I…don’t want to take advantage of your kindness.” Was this woman laying a trap?

“It’s nearly Christmas. Let me do my good deed for the week so I can say I did.” Greta winked, smiled. It seemed harmless.

She doesn’t know, thought Kate. Okay. Okay, then.

“Okay, thanks.” But we have no money for gas.

“And don’t worry,” said Greta as she opened the door for Kate. “I only had three sips of that beer. I’m not intoxicated. I’m off duty, but I am not drunk.”

Worry about the money later. One minute at a time. One second.

Greta got in her side and adjusted her rearview. She pulled a cap from the seat and worked it onto her puffy brown hair. “I was kidding. That was a joke. I’m never drunk.”

“Oh,” said Kate. “Sorry. I mean, that’s funny.”

The engine revved, and Greta pulled out onto Farstone’s Main Street.

“I’ve got my… kids with me,” said Kate. “They’re up by the truck.”

“Why’d you leave them back there? It’s too hot to be outside very long.”

“Lounge said adults only.”

“Oh,” said Greta. She smiled. “Right. I forgot. You’re a good mom, know that?”