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By six o’clock that summer evening her car was packed, Stacey given her key and shown the twenty-pound bag of Cat Chow.
“And could you collect my mail? I’ll get it from you in a little while. Maybe you can send it. I’ll call.”
“God. You’re sure in a hurry,” Stacey said.
“Uh, yes, my dad is sick. My mother called. An emergency.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I hope he gets well soon.”
“Yes, we all do. Thanks, Stacey.”
She took one last look around her side of the duplex. Her home. The only home Charley had known. But she had to be strong and leave it behind. For her son.
“Come on, sweetie,” she said, and they went out the front door together. Grace let it lock behind her, walked down the path to her car, put Charley in the back seat and fastened his seat belt.
She drove away, down the familiar tree-shaded street, past her neighbors’ houses, past the large red-roofed, sandstone buildings of the University of Colorado, out to the Boulder Turnpike and south to Denver. Behind her was her whole life. If only she could see ahead.
CHAPTER TWO
GRACE NAVIGATED through Denver’s tidy Bonnie Brae neighborhood, craning her neck to read the street signs. Part of her was calmly aware of how mundane everything seemed in the quiet, middle-class area. Another part of her quivered with nerves in the warm summer evening as the shadows of the trees and houses reached darkly toward her. A dog raced out of the growing dimness and barked, chasing her tires.
“Mommy,” Charley said from the back seat, “that’s a bad dog. He’s going to get in my window. Mommy!”
Grace studied the house numbers. This couldn’t be the street. It was too…ordinary. In her distress, she must have written down the wrong address.
She shook herself mentally. What did she know about a safe house? She realized she’d been envisioning some foreboding, secret structure set back in trees, all shuttered up, no lights and windows. But she supposed the house could be any sort, even a mansion, for goodness’ sakes.
“Mommy, the dog’s jumping at my window!”
“Oh, honey, he can’t get in the car. There. See? He’s leaving, going home to his yard.”
“I don’t like him.”
“Well, he was probably just curious,” she said, on motherly autopilot.
She slowed the car to a crawl, squinting at the house numbers. There it was, the house near the corner of Adams and Mississippi. Could this place, this innocuous, square brick home, really be part of the underground railroad?
“Are we there, Mommy? Are we there?”
“Yes, ah, yes, sweetie, it looks like we’re here.”
Grace parked at the curb, as there was already a car in the narrow drive. She got out, noticed the weak watery feeling in her knees and took a breath. What if this wasn’t the place? What if…?
But she wouldn’t think about that now. She’d memorized the telephone number. If this really were the wrong address, she’d call the number again. No big deal.
No big deal? her brain cried. But Charley was undoing his seat belt and opening the back door. “I’m hungry, Mommy. You didn’t give me dessert. Do they have ice cream?”
“I’m sure they have something, sweetie, but let’s make sure this is really my, ah, friend’s place first. Okay?”
Charley took her hand. “Okay.”
She advanced up the walk, gulping air, trying to come up with an excuse should this be the wrong place. One step, two, three. As she rang the bell, her mind was so full of muddled thoughts she barely realized that someone was standing behind the screen—a young teenage girl.
The girl eyed first Grace, then Charley, then called over her shoulder, “Hey, Mom, your friends are here.”
Friends. No names. Just friends. So this was the place.
“Come on in,” the girl said, pushing open the door, giving Charley a perfunctory smile.
A woman was moving toward Grace, her hand out, a gracious smile on her face. An ordinary-looking woman, with brown curly hair and faded jeans and a tank top. A mother, too, but so different from Grace. So courageous. How many frightened women and children had she sheltered?
Grace took her hand and tried to return the smile.
“Well, let’s get you settled,” the woman said, and she gently ruffled Charley’s silky hair. “And I’ll bet you’re hungry, young man.”
Charley looked up at Grace with soulful eyes.
“Yes,” Grace said, “I’m afraid he’s always hungry this time of night. I didn’t think to…”
“Of course you didn’t. Here, your room is just down this hall. It’s off the kitchen. There, the light switch is on the left. And there’s a small bath just to the right. And, by the way, don’t worry, no one can do much rational thinking in this situation. Don’t forget, it is your first night. Get settled and I’ll see you in the kitchen, okay? And you, young man, do you like cookies? Or maybe a Popsicle?”
“A Popsicle.”
“What do you say, Charley?”
“Please.”
The woman smiled again and closed the door behind her.
“Wow,” Grace breathed, sinking onto a queen-size bed.
“What’s wrong, Mommy? Can I get my Popsicle now?”
“In a minute. I just need a minute, honey.”
“But I’m hungry.”
Grace sighed, trying desperately to collect herself. She felt as if she’d stepped onto a train on this so-called railroad, a train with no destination, a train that would never stop. Her heart pounded furiously and suddenly the room was too close. She rose and opened the window that looked out onto a square backyard and an alley behind it. The sound of children playing nearby drifted in, all so normal, so placid in the face of her predicament. She should be home, calling the cats in for the evening, telling Charley to brush his teeth, arguing about his bedtime on this warm summer’s night.
After a few more complaints from Charley that he was hungry, she finally took his hand and led him to the kitchen, where the woman was doing dinner dishes.
The situation was so terribly awkward. She and Charley were strangers in a strange place. She felt sick with confusion and unfocused dread.
“Oh, there you are. We’ll get your suitcases and you’ll be settled in for the night.” The woman dried her hands on the dish towel that hung from the refrigerator handle and clucked at Charley. “And I’ll bet you want that Popsicle, young man.”
“Yes, please.” Charley beamed.
She looked at Grace. “Coffee? I have decaf. Or there’s iced tea.”
“Iced tea would be nice, thank you.”
“While I fix the tea, why don’t you bring in your bags.”
“Will my car be okay? I mean…”
“For tonight it will be fine.”
And then what? Grace wondered. Could any of this be happening?
Charley ate his Popsicle while Grace got their bags from the car and sat them in the bedroom. Then it was time to settle Charley down, to insist, despite the newness of his surroundings, that he put on his pajamas and brush his teeth.
“I want to watch TV,” he said, and she was afraid he was going to pull one of his “terrible fits,” as she called them.
She drew one of his favorite books out of his bag, and he snuggled against her. It was a short simple book called A Happy Sad Silly Mad Book, which she found effective with children when they were upset. Not that she did much therapy these days. No time for it since she’d taken on Charley. The book asked children how they felt, described the emotions, told them it was okay to feel them.
The method never failed with Charley.
She turned the last page and bent to kiss her little boy’s forehead.
“Good night, Mommy,” he said, and he hugged her around the neck.
“Good night, sweetie.”
She stood, whispering up a prayer of relief. This was impossibly rough on him. Bad enough for her, but Charley was the innocent one, the victim of an unjust court system. He shouldn’t have to suffer. Damn, not this beautiful child.
The ice was practically melted in her tea before Grace finally sat across the kitchen table from her hostess. Down the hall, the door to the bedroom she was to share with Charley was open, and the sound of the TV and the teenage girl talking on the phone came from the living room.
She looked up from her glass and caught the woman’s gaze. “I…I feel so awkward,” she began. “It isn’t that you haven’t been most gracious…It’s just that…”
“It’s your first night,” the woman put in. “And you don’t know where any of this is heading and you’re scared to death.”
“In a nutshell, yes.”
“You have to take it one day at a time. If you’re strong for your son, you’ll succeed. Things work out.”
“Do they?”
“Often enough.” The woman nodded, an inner strength shining through. The glow made her look beautiful.
Grace tucked a stray strand of mousy hair behind an ear and adjusted her glasses on her nose. Oh, she knew she was a plain Jane and a little timid at that, and she couldn’t help wondering, if she’d been more outgoing and assertive in court, would the judge have ruled differently? If, for instance, she had carried herself more like this woman, would she be in this mess?
“I wish I could give you all the answers,” the woman was saying. “But that would be impossible. Everyone’s situation is so different, you understand.”
“Of course.”
“There are a few things I can tell you, though, and maybe they’ll help.”
Grace gave a strained laugh. “That would be nice.”
“And a piece of advice here. Don’t let yourself become emotionally entangled in other sponsors’ lives. In my experience, most people who take you in are pretty closemouthed, but there’ll be some who’ll virtually dump their troubles on you. You’ve got enough problems of your own right now. Do you understand what I’m getting at?”
Grace let out a breath. “Yes, completely.” She nodded. Oh, God, she thought, it was all too real.
“As for your car…you’ll need to stash it with someone, a good friend, a relative, whoever. Use the bus or train, whatever feels comfortable. And keep moving. I know how awful all this sounds, but you need to lose yourself and, of course, Charley.”
“Is this…forever?” she ventured, gripping her glass of tea whitely.
“Yes and no. Everyone’s situation is so different. I can tell you my own, if it helps.”
“Please.”
“Well, I was on the underground railroad for three years.”
“Three…years,” Grace gasped.
The woman smiled ruefully. “And my case, unfortunately, is very typical. I’ve heard of women and their children being on the run for…Oh, never mind, you really don’t—”
“Tell me. How long?”
“Ten years, longer. And even now they live under false identities.”
“But…”
“But how? How do they manage? You meet people on the route. People who can help with new Social Security numbers, new names, jobs, everything.”
“I didn’t…realize.”
“Why would you? But that aside, you need to stay on the move until it’s impossible to trace you. You need to change. Become someone else. And you need to be strong. Above all else, you can never give up. It’s your child you’re protecting. It will be hard. Worse than hard. I hope you don’t think I’m a doomsayer. I’m simply being straight. But better to know now just how tough it can be rather than to be shocked later on.”
Grace said nothing.
“Anyway, tomorrow you should leave Denver. Leave Colorado, in fact. And I’ll warn you, other than maybe parking your car with them, stay away from family and friends. The authorities will be watching them for a very long time. If you decide to ditch your car with them, do it soon and do it quickly. Just get rid of it and take off. You don’t want to put friends or your family in jeopardy. It’s bad enough as it is. You’ll just have to learn to be alone in this. You and your child.”
Grace bit her lip.
“I know, that’s the worst. It’s not forever, though. Someday your son will be old enough to take care of himself. And after what he’s been through, he’ll be strong. You’ll never have to worry about that.”
“But I won’t ever be my real self again, will I?”
She shook her head. “There will be charges against you. Federal charges. They won’t disappear.”
And then Grace had to ask. “But you, your job…? I mean, how did you manage?”
“I was lucky. One of the lucky few. My ex-husband never contacted the authorities when I disappeared with our daughter. Not him.” The woman sneered. “He was very wealthy, you see, and he hired private investigators to trace me. I never stayed two nights in the same spot. For three years we ran. During that period I even had to school my daughter myself. We had no friends, no family we dared to contact.”
“But now…?”
“Well, my very wealthy husband finally messed up with the wrong people. He beat up a girlfriend. Badly, I’m afraid. Anyway, her father was a lawyer and made damn good and sure Larry was put behind bars for a very long time. My daughter will be grown and out of college before he sees the light of day again.”
