Weep In The Night (3 page)

Hands cradling her coffee mug, Debra corrected him. “Central High's mascot isn't a cougar. It's a panther.”

 

 

 

 

3

 

Sadie couldn't believe she'd fallen for Sam's trick. Did he deliberately choose the wrong mascot or was he flying by the seat of his well-fitting pants?

Once safe inside her apartment, she lingered in the shower and tried to wash away the slip of her tongue. It had been a long time since she'd accidentally divulged details of her previous life. Why to Sam? Obviously he wasn't who he claimed to be. Although he'd covered his goof by saying he remembered the mascot as a cat of some kind. Still, his answer gave her further proof of his brand of truthfulness. She needed to maintain her guard around him.

At work the next day, Sadie kept busy in her department, surrounded by sweet scents from young spring flowers and primordial whiffs of damp earth. She hadn't heard back from Griff since supplying him with the new guy's last name, so she made a point of sitting with Sam at lunchtime.

Swallowing a bite of pasta, she studied him. In another blue shirt, his eyes mirrored the early morning sky. “You said you worked up north. Which state?”

“Indiana. Ever been there?”

She shook her head and stabbed a piece of chicken onto her fork. “What kind of work did you do?”

With his last meat filled sandwich in hand, Sam took a bite and chewed. “Construction.” He drained his soda and then squeezed the can, collapsing the middle. “Where did you live before moving to Austin?”

One more lie wouldn't hurt. “Miami.” That was far enough away from Seattle.

And so the questions continued. By the end of the break, she hadn't learned much and had been extra cautious about what she revealed. If only her traitor heart would ignore his dimple, his eyes, his charm.

Immersed in purple verbena and blue plumbago, her cell phone rang. Caller I.D. indicated Griff. “What did you find out?” she asked.

“First off, I couldn't get anything on a Sam Boudine in Ohio. Are you sure that's the right name? Without a Social Security number or driver's license information there's not a whole lot I can do.” Griff's slow drawl filled her ears.

“That's the name on his time card, but I'll try to get something else on him. Even though he was raised in the foster system, kids usually keep their family name. But I think he's lying about his background.” She related the mascot incident from the previous evening, and Griff said he'd investigate further. Sadie terminated the call and concentrated on the gold lantana display.

The professionally landscaped yard from her home in Los Angeles flashed in her memory. Undulating rolls of nostalgia crashed over her, crushing her already weary soul and sapping her energy. All this business of keeping her guard up around Sam hurled her back to the past and made her stomach churn.

Julian Geis, the floor manager, found her sitting on bags of river rock with her chin resting in her hands.

His brow furrowed. “What's up, Debra?”

Embarrassed to be caught slacking, she jumped to her feet and brushed dust off her blue jeans. A deep gulp of air helped ease the band squeezing her heart. “Sorry, I was taking a breather.”

“No problem. I know you give a hundred percent every day. And that's what I want to talk to you about. Come to my office before you clock out today.”

“I get off at three.”

“See you then.” Julian plucked a couple of dead leaves off a potted honeysuckle before departing.

One hour to wait. What did he want to discuss? Thinking up possible scenarios added to the volcano in Sadie's gut. Preoccupied with the meeting, Sam slipped from her mind.

Close to three o'clock, she knocked on Julian's door. He told her to enter, smiling from behind his desk.

He motioned towards a chair and opened a brown folder. “Have a seat, Debra. I see in your record you've been with us for a year. You get consistently good reviews. Why haven't you applied for a supervisory position?”

Of all the questions she'd considered he may ask, this one never made it to her list. For the moment, she couldn't speak. How could she answer truthfully? She wanted to stay under the radar with as little added responsibility as possible. Sadie wiped sweaty palms on her thighs. “I guess I don't think of myself in that role.”

“I want you to apply. The next round of promotions is set for the middle of next month. That'll give you four weeks. OK?”

Refusing at this point would put her in a bad light, but she'd have to think long and hard about a promotion. “All right.” She shifted uneasily. “Is that it?”

“One more thing. Tomorrow when you arrive, please set up a display close to the main entrance. You know, something colorful and eye-catching.”

“Like the one I did last year?”

He nodded. “That's settled then. Thanks for stopping by.”

Headed to the break room, she mulled over Julian's suggestion. Would a promotion be so bad? It would mean more money and more predictable shifts. Naturally, the money would be helpful, but she liked the odd shifts she worked. It gave her security knowing her comings and goings varied from day to day. Maybe a chat with Griff would help make up her mind.

On the trip home, she stopped at a grocery store and purchased items for the week. Since Griff had given her no information on Sam, she planned to spend the evening at an Internet café. She owned a laptop but had no Internet access. If family members of the man her testimony sent to prison ever found her, it wouldn't be because she left a cyber trail.

Refreshed from her shower, Sadie slipped into a sweat suit. The mid-March evenings still held a chill. Her meal of salad and mesquite flavored chicken took minutes to prepare. Although delicious, she left half of it uneaten, and drove to a café about ten miles away where she settled at a computer in the corner. Knowing Griff must have searched the usual places for information on Sam, she used her research skills to check sites with accessible backdoors. Hour after hour, she explored databases.

When she left the café, she had proof Sam Boudine was a liar. He'd never been married; no record existed of an accident in which Paige and Sadie Boudine died, and he hadn't graduated from Central High.

Although excited at the results of her research, a twinge of disappointment accompanied her home. The faint romantic stirrings Sam's physical appearance generated had been squelched. Too bad. She relegated him to a dark corner of her mind and then spent a restless night weighing the pros and cons of maintaining their friendship. Her rationale, however skewed, included the fact he lied about his past, but that didn't mean he came to Austin for the purpose of finding her. After all, she lied about her past all the time.

Early the next day at Rhodes, still groggy from lack of sleep, Sadie selected decorative pavers, bags of moss, and a variety of potted plants and flowers. With the dolly loaded, she proceeded to the main entrance.

Pavers arranged in various heights, daylilies, Mexican Heather, coreopsis, and tropical greenery strategically placed, moss covering the bare spots—finally the display met her expectations. Sadie gathered all her supplies and lugged the dolly towards the garden center.

Halfway there with clipboard in hand, April stopped her. “Julian wants me to update the list of employees' first aid skills. Check this out and initial what's appropriate for you.”

Sadie took the pen and clipboard from April and scanned the page. She initialed next to care of minor burns, bleeding control, treatment for shock, CPR, Heimlich, and then hesitated. Infant CPR and Heimlich were the last items. No one had marked them yet. After a minor battle with her conscience, she initialed next to both and then handed the board back to April.

With an arm draped on Sadie's shoulders, April whistled. “Hey, girl, why do you know all this stuff for babies?”

How could she explain her knowledge of the infant Heimlich maneuver? The truth. “It's required for my volunteer work.”

“No kidding. They teach you how to do that? Great. Got to go,
chica
. See you at lunch.”

April disappeared down the next aisle, and Sadie turned to find Sam standing behind her. His eyes held a question, and she dreaded what he might ask. With her head down, she clung to the handle of the dolly.

“So, Miss Debra, you're full of surprises. Where do you volunteer?” Sam helped her steer the dolly towards the garden center.

She'd not shared her volunteer work with many co-workers. This would be one less thing to lie about. “I volunteer at the Travis County Children's Shelter. CPR proficiency is a requirement.” Telling the truth felt good.

“Oh.” His eyebrows shot up. “The children's shelter. That's interesting.”

By now they'd entered the outdoor garden area, and she expected Sam to return to the lumber department, but he lingered.

“I'd like to volunteer. Do they need more help?”

His question sent her mind reeling.

“I suppose. They're always looking for people, but they do a background check.” Did Sam blanch? “Come to think of it. They're doing renovations and could use your carpentry skills.” Had she encouraged him to volunteer when she should have treated him like a leper? But if he passed the background check her suspicions of him would fade and she could relax. Her face heated as blood rushed up her neck when she realized she wanted him to volunteer.

He adjusted his apron ties. “Sounds like a plan. Whom should I contact?”

Sadie recited Carmen Rios's number and lifted a half-full bag of potting soil to hide her flaming cheeks.

“Here. Let me.” Without hesitation, he took the bag from her and deposited it in the corner where she indicated.

She couldn't help but notice how the muscles of his arms rippled under his short-sleeved, tan T-shirt. His chivalry intensified her blush. Her ogling his arms hadn't helped either. “Thanks, I can get the rest.”

“No problem. You sound like my Nana. She never let me help her either.” He dusted his hands off on his pants, dug in his pocket for a pen, and wrote the shelter's phone number on his palm.

“Nana? I thought you were raised by foster families?” Sadie gathered her tools and returned them to the shelf.

He propped against the shelving unit and lowered his gaze. “Right. My brother and I lived with Nana until she passed away. Then the state took over.”

Sam's chatting provided her with more information about his background, but could any of it be true? Although her heart ached for the lost little boy, she figured a little more probing couldn't hurt.

“You have a brother?”

“Yeah. Just the two of us. I'm the youngest. How about you? Do you have any brothers?”

A cold wave hit her, dousing the flush. She hadn't thought of Aaron's brother for months. He was the closest person she—Sadie—ever had to a brother. Cal Malone had been the perfect brother-in-law, but Debra Johnson had no one.

“No. I don't have any family.” She grabbed the handle of the empty dolly and focused on its rusty, scraped surface. “Thanks for the help. I need to get back to work.”

With the dolly rumbling in front of her, she left Sam standing in the corner. She vowed to stay away from him. Every question he asked catapulted her into the past. True, she had to refresh her CPR skills to volunteer at the shelter, but she already knew how to do the infant Heimlich. She and Aaron had taken CPR lessons before Hannah's birth.

Hot tears pooled. But these skills couldn't save her precious child the day Aaron's car slithered off the bridge into the dark waters of the Santa Ana River.

 

 

 

 

4

 

Hairspray fumes and the fragrance of a bouquet of floral shampoos filled the Hair To Dye For Beauty Shop. While Sadie sat in the hot pink vinyl chair, a black rayon cloak covering all but her head, Yolanda's incessant chatter bombarded her. The petite, olive-skinned beauty shop operator had already touched up Sadie's dark roots and now trimmed her unruly curls.

The salon, around the corner from Sadie's apartment, had been one of her first stops after moving to Texas. At her initial appointment, Yolanda had chopped off her dark wavy locks. The resulting curls still surprised Sadie. She guessed the drier California climate and the weight of her hair had held them in check before.

Yolanda fluffed curls with her fingers. “There you go, honey. All set for another six weeks.”

“Thanks.” Sadie tilted her head to examine the curls in the large mirror above Yolanda's workstation. “You have magic fingers, Yolie.”

She paid the receptionist and headed home. Plans for the rest of her day off included laundry, dusting—which she hated—and relaxing with a novel she bought last week at the book exchange.

Three washers were already occupied in the overheated and musty laundry room. Sadie piled her sorted clothes into the other two machines. When the water trickled into each one, she gathered detergent, fabric softener, and her basket, and sauntered towards her apartment. She once made the mistake of leaving her basket on the machine, only to have it disappear. Now she lugged her supplies back and forth.

Mrs. Gaffney, her neighbor, stuck her head out and called as Sadie approached her door. “Debra, dear, I need to talk to you. Can you come inside a minute?”

“Of course.” She set the laundry basket by a stack of flattened cardboard boxes on Louise's living room floor. “What's up?”

Mrs. Gaffney motioned to the sofa while she sat in a plush maroon armchair rocker. “Sit, please.”

Sadie sank into the chintz-covered cushions.

Intertwining her gnarled fingers, Mrs. Gaffney rocked back and forth. “Remember I told you my kids in Dallas want me closer?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I'll be moving soon. My daughter bought a house with separate quarters for me.” Her voice wavered and she hiked a bony shoulder. “I guess her heart's in the right place, but…”