Look For Me (Detective D.D. Warren #9)(114)

“I know.”

“I’ve been standing here thirty minutes already. One step. Then another. I need to take them. And yet . . .”

“It’s okay to be scared, Sarah. You, of all people, know how scary the world really is.”

“What if I do it,” she said abruptly, “and it’s not so hard. I graduate. I get a job. I fall in love. I’m happy. What then?”

“Then I think your roommates will be very proud of you.”

She started crying, silent tears rolling down her face. “I’m scared,” she said again.

“I know.”

“Why haven’t you done it? Gone back to school? Something.”

“I am doing something.” I shrugged, tugged her hand away from her waist till I was holding it. “I’m doing this. Maybe it’s not for everyone, but it works for me. Besides, I’ll have you know I’m now a bona fide member of law enforcement, a confidential informant for the esteemed Sergeant Detective D. D. Warren, no less.”

Sarah rolled her eyes at me. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. I like it. It’s another way to help. It’s another way . . .” To not be locked in a coffin-sized box all alone anymore. I didn’t say those words out loud, but Sarah nodded, as if she understood. One survivor to another, I bet she did.

“Show me your hands!” she ordered.

I dropped my grip on hers long enough to hold out both palms.

“You’re not wearing a bandage anymore.”

“I’m taking some steps of my own.”

She regarded me somberly. “If I do this, move forward, we won’t see each other so often.”

“I’ll be your friend for as long as you’d like,” I said. But I knew what she meant. Our relationship was more teacher to student. Me, showing the ropes of the whole survival business; her, learning how to thrive again. Which, if she continued on this path, would be mission accomplished. “Know this, I’ll be the one cheering the loudest at your graduation.”

More tears. I started to feel my own eyes well, which surprised me. Four hundred and seventy-two days later, I often felt I had no tears left. And yet this emotion didn’t feel so bad. It felt . . . right. Pride in my friend, and her own bravery, and a job well done.

“Roxy?” she asked now.

“Sadly, our group never runs out of members.”

“But you’ll be there for her.” A statement, not a question.

“You will, too.”

“I’ll do my best. But you know, going back to school . . .”

“Roxy will be okay. You’ve been there. You know what it’s like. She’s not magically going to feel better today or tomorrow, but day after day after day . . . Before we know it, she’ll be standing on a college campus of her own. She’s too bright, too determined, to do any less.”

Sarah took a deep breath. She held out her hand on her own now.

I smiled. Took it. Gave it a squeeze.

“Together?” she asked.

“Absolutely. On the count of three. One, two—” I tugged her forward before she expected it, catching her off balance and forcing her to advance. She laughed, a little breathlessly, and just like that we were crossing the college green.

I thought again of that first night. The scared young woman standing in her apartment, covered in sweat, armed with bear spray, that wild look in her eyes. And I saw Sarah now, composed, chin up, as she strode forward.

Here was the truth of my life: If Jacob Ness had never kidnapped me, I would never have known what it was like to be starved and terrified and abused and isolated. Yet if Jacob had never grabbed me, I would never have had this moment either. Helping this person. And having this day when all felt right.

Was it enough? A gain worth the price? Or did it matter? Because the price had already been paid. At least I’d been able to find this path, make this life from the ruins. And maybe that was the best any of us could do.

“Thank you, Flora,” Sarah was saying.

I shook my head. “No, thank you.”





Epilogue


Name: Roxanna Baez

Grade: 11

Teacher: Mrs. Chula

Category: Personal Narrative

What Is the Perfect Family? Part VIII, Final Installment

This is my family:

I had a mom, Juanita Baez. When I was first born, I was all she had. No husband, no boyfriend to write in on the birth certificate. Just her and me. I like to think she held me close. I like to think she loved me very much, and the first time she heard me cry, she promised me the world, the stars, the moon at night.

I know later she would break that promise. But I know after that, she did everything in her power to make it right. And that’s love, yes? Not being perfect, but working hard to fix your mistakes.

I had a mom, Juanita Baez, and she loved me.

I had a sister, Lola Baez. I was three years old when she was born. I remember my mother bringing her home from the hospital and letting me hold her on the sofa. I remember thinking she was the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen. And I promised her then, from the bottom of my three-year-old heart, that I would give her the world, the stars, the moon at night.

I worked hard to keep that promise. But like my mom, I made some mistakes. And my beautiful little sister, she made some mistakes of her own. She chose to fall when she could’ve chosen to rise. She chose hate when she could’ve chosen love. She chose not to believe in our family at all, but to take up with some gang in our place.