"And I'm grateful io them," she said quietly, her eyes calmer now. "But Reed, realistically, how long would you have lasted on the streets?"
"I would have found any other way."
"Okay. Look, I appreciate the shoulder, but I need some time to myself right now. I haven't run in days, so I'm going around the block a few times."
She'd closed the subject again. "What about your dinner?" he asked.
"I'll heat something up later." She kissed his cheek. "Thank you. I mean that. I'll call you when I'm back."
Reed sat while she ran upstairs to change her clothes. She went straight out without saying another word, leaving him to stare at the kitchen walls. Christine had decorated this room, like she'd decorated all the others. Beauty, elegance with enough hominess to balance the effect. Left up to Mia, the room would have a microwave, a toaster oven for her Pop-Tarts, and a stack of paper plates.
He got up to put away the food, wondering how much more a man really needed.
Friday, December 1, 9:15 p.m.
Mia rounded the block, headed for Solliday's house for the second time. When she looked at apartments tomorrow, she'd look in nice old neighborhoods like this. At least three dog walkers had smiled and waved as she ran by. It was in marked contrast to her own neighborhood, where no one made eye contact, or the neighborhood where little boys peeked out their blinds and no one had any idea who their neighbors were. Which made her remember that she'd forgotten to tell Solliday that his hunch on pet shops may prove profitable after all. She pulled out her cell phone to check on Murphy's status when she saw something strange.
One of the bedroom windows in Solliday's house slid up and a dark head poked out and looked both ways. Then a body followed the head and shimmied down the tree outside her window as if it were a firepole. Looked like Beth Solliday was going to her party after all. Kelsey used to do that, she recalled. Climb out the window and meet God-knew-who and do God-knew-what. But Beth, honey, you will not.
Beth straightened her coat, pulled on her gloves and took off at a run across backyards, taking fences like a pro. Keeping her distance, Mia followed.
Friday, December 1, 9:55 p.m.
"You're late," a girl with a ring in her nose hissed and pulled Beth inside. "You almost missed your slot." That, Mia supposed, would be the infamous Jenny Q.
Mia had followed Beth downtown on the El to some kind of club called the Rendezvous. The kid had been damn hard to keep up with. She should be running track.
Beth took off her coat. "I had to wait. My dad went next door and I kept thinking he'd come back, but he didn't. I guess he's there for the night again."
Again? So much for discretion, Mia thought. Solliday thought his daughter was innocent. Well, she hadn't gone to a party but she'd snuck out to go wherever this was. Mia wasn't sure what this place was. It wasn't a bar, because no one was carding. It had a stage and about fifty little tables where a diverse group lounged. Jenny and Beth disappeared into the crowd, but when Mia tried to follow a man tapped her arm.
"Ten bucks, please." His badge said he was security. He didn't look like a druggie.
She dug in her pocket, pulled out her emergency twenty. "What's going on here?"
He made change and handed her a program. "It's competition night."
"And who's competing?"
He smiled. "Anybody who wants to. You want me to see if there's any slots left?"
"No. No thank you. I'm looking for someone. Beth Solliday."
He checked his sheet. "We have a Liz Solliday. You'd better hurry. She's on now."
Feeling like Alice in Wonderland, Mia hurried in. The lights dimmed and a spotlight lit center stage. And out walked Beth Solliday in a leather miniskirt amid polite applause.
"My name is Liz Solliday and the title of my poem is 'casper'," she said.
Poem? Mia held her program up to the red glow of the exit sign and blinked. Whatever the hell Slam Poetry was, Beth had made the semifinals. As soon as Beth opened her mouth, Mia understood why. The girl had a presence on the stage.
did I mention that I live with a ghost?
we'll call her casper she follows me staring at me her eyes my eyes her eyes she's stolen my eyes my dad, he's the one who invited her in sometimes when he looks at me he winces like he sees her when it's only me and i'm willing to bet he wishes he could make a trade if only for one day
Casper was Christine. Mia's throat closed, but Beth's voice was strong. Like music. And as she spoke, her words touched the very place Mia hurt the most.
i'm just the doppelganger reminding the world of the better version that once was flitting through my father's life almost invisible her eyes darker every day mine fade a little more every day my purpose less certain until i wonder who's the ghost and who just deserves better
The spotlight dimmed and Mia let out a breath. Wow. Grateful for the darkness, she wiped her cheeks dry. Reed's daughter had a gift. A beautiful, exquisite gift.
Mia stood up. And Reed's daughter was in trouble. One hell of a lot of trouble. She pushed in her chair and went to find Liz, who had a great deal of explaining to do.
Friday, December 1, 10:15 p.m.
He was still out there, the man cop. The lady had driven away hours ago. He didn't know what to do. Yes, he did, but he was so scared.
But police were your friends. His teacher had said so. If you're in trouble, you can go to the police. He turned from the window and sat on his bed. He'd think about it. He could tell the cops and maybe he would come back and hurt them. But maybe he would anyway. The lady on the news said he'd killed people, which he believed.
I ran wait for him to come and get me and be afraid for the rest of my life, or tell and hope the police really are my friends. It was a scary choice. But at seven years old. the rest of his life was a really long time.
Friday, December 1, 10:45 P.M.
Beth edged closer to the window as the El carried them home. I am so dead. Her stomach rolled every time she thought about what her father would do. She chanced a glance at Mitchell, who sat quietly, arms crossed. Beth could see the bulge of her holster through her sweat jacket. She had a gun. Well, she was a cop.
She still couldn't believe the woman had followed her. Followed her, for God's sake. It had been the moment she'd dreamed of, stepping off the stage to all that applause. And not polite applause, either. The real thing. Jenny Q and all the group had been there, jumping up and down and hugging her. And then she'd looked up and seen Mitchell standing off to the side, brows lifted. She'd said nothing, but Beth's heart had dropped into her feet. It was still somewhere down around her gut.
I am so dead. Her choice had been clear. Leave quietly or the cop would cause a scene. So here she was, chugging on the El toward home and certain doom.
"Believe it or not, that was the first time I ever did anything like that," she muttered.
Mitchell looked at her from the corner of her eye. "What, slam poetry or shimmying down a tree to gallivant all over town when your father told you to stay home?"
"Both," Beth said glumly. "I am so dead."
"You could have been, going downtown by yourself this time of night."
Beth's eyes jerked to Mitchell's face. "I'm not a kid. I know what I'm doing."
"Uh-huh. Okay."
"I do."