Today's Promises (Promises #2)(23)

When we reach our destination, I hop out of Crick’s truck. Striding to the front gate, I shade my eyes from the glare of the setting sun.

Through the wire fence, I peer down at my once-upon-a-time home. “And a crappy home it was,” I murmur, feeling like the world is against us, once more.

But then I spy heavy construction equipment, parked up by the house, and my mood is lifted. “Thank Christ,” I mumble.

Shit, I still have so many trust issues. Even though I truly believe he’s a good guy, a part of me didn’t fully believe Detective Silver. Especially since I haven’t heard from him since the day we were up here. That’s why I felt so compelled to come back today, to see if he’d kept his word.

Once I’m back in the truck, Crick, sensing my better mood, finally gets around to asking me why I was so amped to come up to the Lowry property today. Since I trust Crick—he’s one of the few people I do trust besides Jaynie—I quietly share with him the details of the missing girl case.

Leaning back as I finish my tale, Crick lets out a low whistle. “Shit,” he says, rubbing his forehead with his hand. “I used to hear the rumors about what was going on up at this place. You know, all the child labor shit and whatnot.”

He shoots me a mea culpa sidelong glance, and though it’s not necessary, I do appreciate the sentiment. “Thanks,” I murmur.

“Anyway,” he continues, “I’ll tell you one thing.”

“What’s that, Crick?”

“I sure feel bad now. Fessing up to the fact that I never really put much stock into all that talk makes me feel lower than garbage. It’s just that I never thought about it much. Not till I met you, and you started telling me how f*cked-up things were for you and the other kids who lived here. It was too late by then, though. The place had already been shut down.”

“Crick…” I blow out a breath. “There’s no reason in the world for you to feel bad.”

“No crying over spilled pop, yeah?”

I don’t correct him that he probably means ‘spilled milk.’ I just simply say, “There was nothing you or anyone else could have done, not really. Before she went to prison, Mrs. Lowry was looked upon as a godsend to this town. The state foster care system sure saw her in that light, that’s for sure.”

“Still, kid… If a girl lost her life up here… Well, shit, man. Let’s just say it doesn’t leave me feelin’ too good about myself for blowing off those rumors.”

Crick appears truly stricken. But there’s no sense in him suffering too. Mrs. Lowry and Allison have hurt enough f*cking people.

I focus on what’s really important and say, “Hey, at least something’s being done about it now.”

“Better late than ever, I guess.”

Chuckling, I do correct him on that one, if only to simply lighten the mood. “I think the phrase goes ‘better late than never.’”

Crick starts up his truck. “Yeah. That too, kid,” he replies.





Back at the apartment, I give Jaynie the update.

“So there’s definitely excavation equipment up there?” she inquires, double-checking.

I shake my head. Jaynie is as distrustful as I am. Maybe someday we’ll get past this since it’d sure feel good to take people at their word.

“Flynn?” she prompts.

To which I assure her, “Yes, there’s equipment there…lots of it. Detective Silver kept his promise to us.”

We’re both relieved.

But the waiting game continues.

While we await word of any progress, good or bad, Jaynie and I try to get on with our lives. And, after a while, something interesting begins to happen—life starts to become, well, kind of normal.

Jaynie mentions exactly that one afternoon, and I say, “Normal is good, babe. We need normal.”

Our days soon take on a comforting routine, one in which we find a tiny thread of solace. And that’s good. We can work with a thread. A thread leads to two, then three. Soon enough, that happens and we start sewing together the normal pieces of a life we’ve never known.

We build something.

We work and we love and we play.

And we heal more and more.

We learn to have fun again, finding joy in even the smallest of things.

An example…

One Friday afternoon, a light snow begins to fall. By four o’clock, it’s blizzard-time. When the bus drops me off around seven, there must be six inches on the ground, maybe more. Lawrence is a ghost town, but I kind of like it.

After trudging down a slippery sidewalk, thankful that I have on my heaviest of work boots, I tromp into the sandwich shop.

Jaynie is closing out the cash register and yells up to me, “Take off your boots!”

Chuckling, I do as she asks, and then I pad to the back in my wooly socks.

There’s not a single customer in the shop, so I’m not the least bit surprised when Jaynie looks up from the register and informs me, “Bill went home early because of all the snow. He told me to go ahead and close up. No one is coming out in this mess.”

“Not likely,” I reply, yawning as I take a seat on a stool.

“You want some coffee?” she asks.

I take off my gloves. “Yeah, sure. That’d be great, babe.”