even to herself. “How did you find me?”
“I read about you in the paper and then heard the police talking. They said you was staying at a condo in Puhi on Valley Street, and the guy in the other one”—he pointed his thumb over his shoulder, technically in the direction of the street but she knew he was trying to tell her which condo—“said you was probably in this one.”
He put all that together himself? If he could do it, anyone could. She wasn’t safe here anymore.
He looked back at the paper and smoothed it out again. “I just wanted to ask you some questions about her.”
Sadie held her shaking hands together in her lap and swallowed. “You don’t want to know anything about that, I promise,” she said.
“Everybody says she was high, but she wasn’t doing drugs no more so—”
Sadie stood up, cutting him off and wringing her hands as though the hair—Noelani’s hair—was still wrapped around them. “Look, I’m really, really sorry about your mom. I can’t even . . .” She paused for breath, trying to keep her anxiety at bay, but images of that day in the water flashed in her mind and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could focus. For the first time, she pictured some kind of tattoo on the woman’s forearm. She hadn’t remembered that before, and she wished she hadn’t remembered it now. She didn’t want to think about this anymore. “I’m so sorry,” she said again. “But I didn’t know her. I only . . . found her, and I don’t know anything else.”
“You weren’t her friend?”
“No.” Sadie shook her head, surprised by the question. “I’d never seen her before.”
He pulled his eyebrows together and looked back at the paper in his lap. “But I thought . . . I thought you must have been with her.”
Sadie’s confusion overrode her anxiety for a moment. Why would he think that? Had the newspaper insinuated something like that? “No,” she said. “I didn’t know her, and I don’t know anything about her now. I didn’t even know she had a son.” Her voice cracked.
Charlie pursed his lips together, and she noticed his face darken. Embarrassment? Disappointment? A moment later, his shoulders slumped forward, and he hung his head, staring into his lap.
Sadie sat back down in her chair, unsure what to do. Was he crying? Should she comfort him? She could imagine herself sitting next to him on the futon and pulling him into a hug, but she couldn’t move. She didn’t want to touch him. Just as she couldn’t have an in-depth conversation with her son about what had happened in Boston, she couldn’t bear the responsibility of trying to comfort this little boy.
“I’m sorry I can’t help,” Sadie said, feeling bad about how much she wanted him to leave. She wondered when her prescriptions would be delivered. She had a feeling she’d need the anxiety one very soon.
Charlie sniffed and wiped his eyes.
She felt horrible, but she really couldn’t help him. She didn’t have anything to give. “Can I call someone to come get you?”
He sniffed again and stood up, moving for the door. The paper from his pocket was crumpled in his hand.
She stood, too. “Wait,” she said, though she didn’t move. “Let me call someone, uh—Who . . . who do you live with?” What a horrible thing to ask him!
“I don’t live with nobody,” he said loudly as he grabbed the doorknob and pulled it open.
“No one?” Sadie asked, taking a nervous step toward him. “Now, that can’t—”
He ran outside without looking back. She hurried after him but stopped at the threshold as though it had a force field keeping her inside.
“Wait,” she called, but it was halfhearted. She couldn’t help this little boy? She was that messed up? “Wait,” she said again, but it was a whisper.
Charlie disappeared around the corner, and a moment later she couldn’t even hear the
“I read about you in the paper and then heard the police talking. They said you was staying at a condo in Puhi on Valley Street, and the guy in the other one”—he pointed his thumb over his shoulder, technically in the direction of the street but she knew he was trying to tell her which condo—“said you was probably in this one.”
He put all that together himself? If he could do it, anyone could. She wasn’t safe here anymore.
He looked back at the paper and smoothed it out again. “I just wanted to ask you some questions about her.”
Sadie held her shaking hands together in her lap and swallowed. “You don’t want to know anything about that, I promise,” she said.
“Everybody says she was high, but she wasn’t doing drugs no more so—”
Sadie stood up, cutting him off and wringing her hands as though the hair—Noelani’s hair—was still wrapped around them. “Look, I’m really, really sorry about your mom. I can’t even . . .” She paused for breath, trying to keep her anxiety at bay, but images of that day in the water flashed in her mind and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could focus. For the first time, she pictured some kind of tattoo on the woman’s forearm. She hadn’t remembered that before, and she wished she hadn’t remembered it now. She didn’t want to think about this anymore. “I’m so sorry,” she said again. “But I didn’t know her. I only . . . found her, and I don’t know anything else.”
“You weren’t her friend?”
“No.” Sadie shook her head, surprised by the question. “I’d never seen her before.”
He pulled his eyebrows together and looked back at the paper in his lap. “But I thought . . . I thought you must have been with her.”
Sadie’s confusion overrode her anxiety for a moment. Why would he think that? Had the newspaper insinuated something like that? “No,” she said. “I didn’t know her, and I don’t know anything about her now. I didn’t even know she had a son.” Her voice cracked.
Charlie pursed his lips together, and she noticed his face darken. Embarrassment? Disappointment? A moment later, his shoulders slumped forward, and he hung his head, staring into his lap.
Sadie sat back down in her chair, unsure what to do. Was he crying? Should she comfort him? She could imagine herself sitting next to him on the futon and pulling him into a hug, but she couldn’t move. She didn’t want to touch him. Just as she couldn’t have an in-depth conversation with her son about what had happened in Boston, she couldn’t bear the responsibility of trying to comfort this little boy.
“I’m sorry I can’t help,” Sadie said, feeling bad about how much she wanted him to leave. She wondered when her prescriptions would be delivered. She had a feeling she’d need the anxiety one very soon.
Charlie sniffed and wiped his eyes.
She felt horrible, but she really couldn’t help him. She didn’t have anything to give. “Can I call someone to come get you?”
He sniffed again and stood up, moving for the door. The paper from his pocket was crumpled in his hand.
She stood, too. “Wait,” she said, though she didn’t move. “Let me call someone, uh—Who . . . who do you live with?” What a horrible thing to ask him!
“I don’t live with nobody,” he said loudly as he grabbed the doorknob and pulled it open.
“No one?” Sadie asked, taking a nervous step toward him. “Now, that can’t—”
He ran outside without looking back. She hurried after him but stopped at the threshold as though it had a force field keeping her inside.
“Wait,” she called, but it was halfhearted. She couldn’t help this little boy? She was that messed up? “Wait,” she said again, but it was a whisper.
Charlie disappeared around the corner, and a moment later she couldn’t even hear the
Similar Books
Finding Cassidy
Laura Langston
Angelica's Smile
Andrea Camilleri
Hacking Happiness
John Havens
Autumn Moon
Jan DeLima
I Am Death
Chris Carter
Save Me
Kristyn Kusek Lewis
The Shadow of the Sycamores
Doris Davidson
Freestyle with Avery
Annie Bryant
The Cold Nowhere
Brian Freeman