Traffick

Oh yes, Samuel Ruenhaven. Unless

  he was personally involved, he could

  simply fire whoever was accused,

  and it would probably be business

  as usual. That said, there were prior

  allegations of neglect against him,

  though in Idaho, not Nevada.

  Hope Surges

  First, because she believes

  me enough to dig deeper.

  Second, because maybe there

  is a solid answer. “Really?

  Against Father? What happened?”

  I rethink the question before

  she can answer it. Nothing

  happened. He settled out of

  court, then dismantled his

  Idaho operation and moved

  to Nevada, where his name

  hadn’t been blasted all over

  the media. This was years ago,

  of course, before the Internet

  made finding information so easy.

  Hope abates. “So no one

  will take me seriously

  if I come forward?” Beyond

  my personal fate, Father and

  his disciples need to be stopped.

  I wouldn’t say that, Eden.

  For all we know, someone

  else might find the courage

  if you go first. Or maybe

  someone else already has.

  Just cueing in law enforcement

  would be a good thing, and

  if the media gets hold of it,

  at the very least there will be

  public scrutiny, something

  I’m sure Mr. Ruenhaven would

  not appreciate. But he’ll have

  to change the way he conducts

  his business. The question is,

  do you want a spotlight on you?

  Okay, I hadn’t considered

  that. I won’t be publicly outed,

  will I? I’d have to give

  details about Jerome, and

  the things I accepted, even

  encouraged, to escape Tears

  of Zion. And I’m sure, should

  I accuse my mother of spiking

  my tea, she’d be more than happy

  to tell the world about her daughter,

  who is not only incorrigible,

  but also a harlot, in every sense

  of the word. I don’t know

  if that’s necessary yet. “I’ll think

  about it.” And decide tomorrow.

  Sarah’s Phone Rings

  I start to leave, but she gestures

  for me to stay. Are you sure?

  Urgency shades her voice. When

  I see. Okay, I’ll ask around.

  was she supposed to be there?

  She replaces the handset. Have

  you seen Shayleece? She had

  a dentist appointment, but never

  showed. Worry creases her face.

  Do you remember if she was at lunch?

  “Actually, I haven’t seen her

  since yesterday. But she planned

  to go to the dentist. She was excited

  about getting that hole in her front

  tooth filled. She hated it.”

  That’s what I thought. Maybe

  the bus broke down? But then

  she would have called, right?

  Will you help me poll the others?

  Maybe someone saw her go.

  A half hour later, all we know

  is the last person who talked to

  her was her roommate, Rhonda.

  That was last night. She was

  going outside to have a smoke.

  Rhonda Was Asleep

  Before Shayleece came back

  in. If Shayleece came back in.

  No one has seen her since.

  Sarah goes to call the police

  and report her missing.

  A few of us volunteer to canvass

  the neighborhood. We go in two-

  person teams, in four directions.

  I partner with Hana. We head east.

  It’s afternoon, post-school, and

  we pass parents walking with

  their children. A few older people

  are walking their dogs, and there

  are bunches of kids sitting

  on car hoods or stoops, smoking

  or making out. We ask every

  person we come across if they’ve

  seen our friend, with little luck.

  It’s starting to get frustrating.

  It’s starting to get worrisome.

  One elderly woman asks for a

  description, nodding her head.

  I think I might have seen her

  just a few minutes ago. She got

  in a car with some other youngsters.

  Hana and I look at each other.

  A few minutes ago? Couldn’t

  have been her. Still, I ask, “Do

  you remember what kind of

  car, or what color it was?”

  The lady scratches her thin hair.

  I was all the way over on the far

  side of my grass, and I don’t see

  so good anymore. But it was a big

  car, and I’m sure it was gray. Or blue.

  We thank the woman and, as soon

  as we’re down the block, bust up

  laughing. Probably didn’t need

  to worry, hiccups Hana. Bet her

  hearing isn’t so good, either.

  But now the heavy gravity of

  the situation sinks back in.

  “Shayleece wouldn’t run off.

  Where would she go? Besides,

  she likes it at Walk Straight.”

  We keep going until the light

  begins to pale, then circle back,

  the chances of finding out anything

  useful fading with the sun. Dinner

  this evening is unusually quiet.

  Sleep Is Evasive Tonight

  Playing tag with worry

  about what the morning

  will bring. Usually, I fall

  straight into dreams but

  an odd slant of moonlight

  through the blinds disturbs

  the darkness, and the silence

  is punctuated by Hana’s gentle

  snoring. I haven’t noticed it

  before. Now I can’t not hear

  it, even with a pillow over

  my ears. It reminds me

  of my sister. I’ve thought

  about Eve a lot lately, and

  now, with Mama coming

  tomorrow, a collection of

  images mash together in

  my head: Eve and me giggling

  together in church; Papa

  halting his sermon to chastise

  us; Mama glaring, Mama

  accusing, Mama handing

  me a cup of tea; Mama’s

  face smearing, blurring;

  the face of Father Samuel

  Ruenhaven swimming

  into view; Father staring,

  Father chastising, Father

  forcing me to pray; Jerome

  leering; Jerome coaxing;

  the luscious taste of ripe

  strawberries; calloused

  greedy hands touching

  places meant for no one

  but the boy whose face

  I cannot find. I sit up,

  lean back against the wall.

  Something’s wrong.

  Really wrong. Every

  nerve in my body tingles,

  on full alert. I don’t know

  what this means, except

  there’ll be no sleep at all

  tonight. Quietly, I slip out

  of bed, search for clothes

  in the dark, take them down

  the hall to the bathroom,

  and get dressed. The entire

  building is asleep, so I tiptoe
/>
  to the rec room, wait for morning.

  By First Light

  My intuition is shouting a warning,

  but can’t give me details. I skip

  breakfast. Can’t possibly eat. When

  Mama finally shows her face,

  I look every bit as ragged as I feel,

  and the door to Sarah’s office barely

  closes behind us before she attacks.

  Look at you. Hmph. Ended up exactly

  as I predicted. You were determined

  to prove me right, weren’t you?

  The old Eden would find an excuse,

  even knowing she wouldn’t be believed.

  The new Eden has nothing to lose.

  “You are responsible for my being here.

  I didn’t deserve what you did to me.”

  Of course you’d try to blame me.

  God will punish you for that, too.

  I had to see for myself just how far

  you fell. One thing’s for certain, you

  can’t come crawling back home. Stay

  among the filth, where you belong.

  It will probably please you to know

  you infected your sister with your

  disease, but Samuel will reform her,

  and she won’t escape the way you did.

  A Poem by Vince Carino

  Blame

  Is a bullshit game,

  and I’m a world-class

  expert at gaming.

  Some

  are easy, some not so much,

  but you need rules to play

  competently, and one of the

  things

  you learn very quickly

  about the blame game

  is there

  are

  no guidelines, no

  predetermined directions

  to an exit strategy. What’s

  worse

  is when the guilt

  that evolves continues

  to grow longer and deeper

  than

  the original stab

  of remorse. Had I been

  responsible for Cody’s

  death

  I’d probably be over it

  by now. But this will haunt

  me until I go to my own grave.

  Cody

  You’d Think

  Sitting up is something easily done,

  and for most people, from the time

  they’re six or seven months old, it is.

  Learning the skill is baby’s play.

  Relearning it has been one of the hardest

  things I’ve ever attempted, not only

  because I’m mostly numb from the waist

  down, but also because my muscles

  are seriously considering atrophy.

  The most I’ve accomplished in some

  twelve weeks is pushing the buttons

  that call for the nurse or raise the bed,

  and lifting silverware to my mouth,

  when I feel like eating, which isn’t all

  that often. Federico’s manipulations

  keep me limber, but nothing close to

  toned, let alone strong. We’ve mostly

  managed to avoid bedsores, a plus.

  But when Ronnie tried to help me

  sit the first time, I couldn’t. She enlisted

  Federico, who showed me the ropes.

  After several days of practice,

  I can bring myself upright, unaided,

  and move myself to the edge of the bed,

  use my hands to swing my legs over

  the side and stay there, mostly balanced,

  for several minutes. I can’t believe

  such a little thing can give me such

  a huge sense of accomplishment.

  The determination to succeed doesn’t

  spark inside of me, however. Without,

  as Ronnie calls them, my personal

  cheerleading squad, I’d still be prone.

  But between her, my mom, Federico,

  and Nurse Carolyn, my free will has

  been compromised, and truthfully,

  sans Veronica Carino, the team would

  not have near the influence as they do

  with her spearheading my therapy.

  She is a force to be reckoned with.

  I just wish I knew why she’s still by

  my side after everything I’ve done.

  A Stark Reminder

  Of everything I’ve done walks

  in the door this morning,

  in the hulking form of Vince Carino.

  Not sure why, considering his sister

  is here practically every day, but

  I never thought I’d see him again.

  His approach is tentative, almost wary,

  and so is my reaction to it—up come

  my hackles. I feel like a caged coyote,

  though the reason is watery. Vince never

  did anything bad to me, except get

  the best of me in poker on a regular basis,

  and use me for my dope connections.

  But I did exactly the same thing to him.

  “Uh . . . Hey, Vince. What’s up?”

  He glances at the wheelchair parked

  beside the bed. It obviously makes him

  uncomfortable. Same for me, dude.

  I thought I should drop by and have

  a conversation that’s overdue.

  First, I’m sorry about what happened.

  Not that it’s my fault or anything.

  Assholes like Chris are a dime a dozen,

  and he got no more than what he had coming.

  “Hey, you know, I don’t blame you.

  In the end, I’m the only responsible

  person, not that I felt that way at first.

  At first, I blamed everyone—Misty,

  Lydia, my mom, my dead stepdad, and

  even you, I guess. But when you wake

  up to your life, changed forever in this

  way, blame is easy. Figuring out what

  to do next is the hard fucking thing.”

  He nods as if he can relate, which is,

  of course, impossible. Ronnie tells us

  she wants to help you, that she’s willing

  to forget all the shitty stuff you did

  to her, and in spite of her being a very

  special girl. I want you to know that,

  two-legged, one-legged or legless, if

  you hurt my sister again, I will be

  happy to kill you the rest of the way.

  One thing about Vince, he’s blunt. Cool.

  I’ll return the favor. “Even in the midst

  of all the bullshit, I never stopped loving

  Ronnie. Truthfully, one of the only things

  I feel guilty about is letting her down.

  I won’t hurt her again. Not if I can help it.”

  He Studies Me Closely

  Looking for hints of dishonesty,

  ready to call my bluff. But this is

  a solid bet. I mean every word.

  Well, that’s good, then. Because if

  I think for one moment you’re playing

  her, just so she’ll hang around until

  you get whatever support you can

  wring out of her, then decide to dump

  her . . . I told you what would happen.

  “Look, Vince. I never asked for her

  help. In fact, I gave her every reason

  to make a graceful exit from my life,

  including coming totally clean

  about the sewer I’d been swimming

  in. I don’t want her here because

  she thinks it’s the right thing to do.

  I don’t want her pity. I want her love,

  something I don’t deserve. But if

  she’s willing to give it, wants to invest

  time and effort into what’s
left of me, I will

  love her back, with all my heart. I can’t

  say what that means as far as the future.

  I have to take it one day at a time, but every

  day is a million times better with Ronnie in it.”

  His Grin

  Is lopsided. Is it the first time

  I’ve seen him smile, other than

  his big-ass leer when he claims

  a giant pot at the poker table?

  That’s good to hear because

  it means I can offer my help, too.

  One, I have a friend who customizes

  autos, and he’s willing to look at

  your car and see what he can do

  to make it work for you. I know

  buying another one is probably

  out of the question financially.

  Leon is talented. He’ll get you on

  the road. Two, I don’t know what

  your house is like, but I’m sure it’ll

  need some alterations for accessibility.

  One of our cousins is a damn good

  handyman, and he’ll work for cheap.

  I hear you’re moving to a rehab

  hospital soon. How long will you be

  there? Do you know? Maybe he can

  have everything finished before

  you go home. And three, anytime

  you need to talk, man, call me.

  What the Hell

  Just happened? We went

  from murderous threats

  to offers of help in less

  than five minutes. “Jesus,

  Vince. I have no idea what

  to say, or how to thank you.”

  Keep your mouth shut and

  stay good to my sister, we can

  be friends. I treat my friends right.

  My eyes sting suddenly.

  Can’t cry in front of Vince,

  or he’ll change his mind.

  No one needs a friend who

  spontaneously bursts into

  tears. But that’s exactly

  what I do, and he looks

  petrified. “S-sorry. It’s just,

  no one except maybe Jack,

  my stepdad, has ever been

  so kind to me. Not even Mom,

  and that’s supposed to be her job.”

  Yeah, well, don’t let it get

  around. I’ve got a reputation

  to uphold, and “kind” isn’t it.

  Okay, then. One question,

  though. “This isn’t because

  you feel sorry for me, is it?

  ’Cause I don’t want pity

  from you, either. I’d be happy

  to accept your respect, though,

  and I’m more than willing to

  earn that, whatever it takes.”

  He’s quiet, thinking it over.