Last Known Address. Elizabeth Wrenn
and reached for the big metal handle of the door, she saw there were different letters there. Not as large but bolder, as if that, in and of itself, delineated it as a separate business: ‘Mick’s Garage–Mechanic 24 Hr’. Shelly flung open the heavy glass door and almost leaped inside, glancing behind her. No bird. Still, only when the door closed and she felt she was safe did she turn and notice Mick, intently tapping away with two fingers at an old and very dirty computer on a battered wood desk. Shelly smiled, smoothed her hair, composed herself, trying to resemble a woman who hadn’t just been fleeing a chicken. Or rooster. Or whatever the hell it was.
She stood smiling, both her hands gripping the strap of her purse, hanging over her shoulder. She waited. Mick continued hunting and pecking with two fingers on the grimy keyboard, intent and focused. She hoped whatever it was he needed to tell them wasn’t bad news. Of course, ‘runaway’ didn’t immediately make one think of good news. But she felt she couldn’t take more bad news. Maybe there was a runaway car that had crashed, not a bad crash where anyone got hurt, but maybe where someone had left the parking brake off and it had slid down the hill and crashed into–something harmless–a dumpster, maybe, and they had been given its alternator to bring their ailing car back to health. Yes. A sort of automobile organ donation. For free. Sure, why not? Shelly was determined to remain optimistic, even implausibly so. Leave the doubt and worry to the other two. They more than had it covered.
Breathing impatiently, she looked out the window. The rooster strutted by, stopping to peck at something in the grass, not five feet from the door. Shelly shivered, turned away from the window and looked for a place to sit down. But the only other furniture in the tiny office, besides Mick’s desk and chair, was an orange plastic chair against the wall, also streaked with grime. She decided she would stand. A sign at the other end of the narrow room caught her eye: the universal man/woman silhouette, thumb-tacked onto the wall next to a closed door. Shelly suddenly felt her three cups of coffee. But, given the lack of cleanliness of the office, she thought it prudent to wait till she got back to their room.
‘Ah-hem,’ she said, tired of waiting. Mick looked up from the keyboard.
He rose, pulling off his cap. ‘Oh! Golly! Sorry. Didn’t see you there. Morning, ma’am.’
‘Good morning,’ said Shelly. ‘Your dad said you wanted to see me. Or one of us?’
‘Yeah. I got a sorta favor to ask. I wonder if you ladies could give M.J. a ride down south with you?’
Oh crap. No vehicle runaway. No free alternator. Probably some tattooed, preadolescent tart who’d scurried off on a romantic escapade with her much older boyfriend, and now wanted to go home to Momma.
‘No,’ said Shelly firmly, stepping to the desk. ‘I’m sorry but—’
‘Before you say no,’ Mick interrupted. He clicked at the keyboard for a minute, as Shelly cocked her head in irritation, thinking: but I just did say no. ‘Ahh! Here it is! And…’ said Mick, lifting his head and smiling, ‘…there’s some money in it for you ladies.’
Money?
He twisted the screen around toward her. Shelly stared at his email inbox as Mick highlighted then clicked on [email protected].
Holy shit. Was this from a porn site? Grimly fascinated, Shelly read the email silently.
Hi Kirby and Mick: I got your email about the ladies driving south! That’s fantastic!!!!!! It’s a miracle!!!!! It’s truly God’s work sending those ladies to bring my little girl home to me! now Mary Jo won’t have to fly! fingers crossed!!!! well, obviously she’s terrified to fly!! LOL!!!
Candy
Shelly stared, open-mouthed, at Mick. She didn’t know where to begin. She didn’t have children herself, but even she could tell that this mother’s screen name was enough to cast her under deep suspicion as an unfit parent. And kids who ran away usually had a reason. Not to mention this woman’s extreme excessive use of exclamation marks. Meg would have a field day with that.
‘How old is this M.J.?’ she asked, trying to keep her tone level, objective-sounding.
‘Uh, I didn’t ask. Does it matter? Can you take her? Please?’
Shelly already had the word ‘No’ formed on her lips again, complete with an exclamation mark of her own, when Mick held up his hand. ‘Wait. Before you answer, just meet her. She’s a sweet girl. She really is. Just scared, is all.’
She’s here? Shelly looked around, then out the window, uncertain what she should do. She could just walk out. But that bird was out there.
‘One second!’ Mick unclipped a set of keys from his belt loop and jogged toward the closed door at the end of the office. ‘I’ve got her locked in the bathroom so she don’t take off again.’
Locked in the bathroom? Forget the ride. Shelly realized they needed to grab this kid and take her as fast as they could to the nearest social services agency.
‘You’ve locked her in the bathroom?’
‘Yep.’ He looked a little sheepish as he put the key in the doorknob and tried to turn it. The key didn’t seem to be working. He jiggled it, pulled it out again, shooting a quick and embarrassed smile at her. ‘Never usually lock this thing, but sometimes it won’t latch tight and I didn’t want to take a chance of her taking off again.’ Finally, he turned the key in the lock.
Shelly put one hand on the side of the desk, steadying herself. C.C. or Meg should be here, she thought, not her. They’re the mothers. She took a deep breath. She was okay with Lucy, but otherwise she didn’t really enjoy children. Especially not teenagers. Especially surly, runaway teenagers. Mick fumbled at the door. Shelly lifted her sunglasses off the top of her head, set them on the desk. She tried to assume what she hoped was a maternal smile. Then she had a thought: if the kid ran away from her mom, maybe maternal wasn’t the way to go here. Maybe her real-estate agent smile would actually be better. She conjured the words ‘pristine’ and ‘move-in condition’ and ‘envy of the neighborhood’, and the smile slid on, natural, inviting, engaging.
Mick slowly cracked the door, standing in front of the opening. ‘Hey, M.J.,’ he said sweetly.
Shelly leaned to the side, trying to see around him, but it was impossible. Until he slowly opened the door wider. Then she saw a very worn-looking teddy bear face down on the floor.
Oh God. It was a little kid! She still couldn’t see her, but this was a whole new ballgame. Mick pushed the door fully open, revealing a small, plastic margarine tub, half full of water under the exposed gooseneck pipe of the sink. Christ! What a place to stash a kid. A little kid! She shook her head, but then noticed a second plastic tub. Filled with…? Cereal, maybe?
Just as the tired synapses of Shelly’s brain tried to process the information, Mick stepped aside. ‘I guess she’s not gonna make a run for it.’
Shelly scanned the little room, but saw no one. She stepped forward, tentatively. Then, she saw her. Hiding behind the toilet, a small, very thin, trembling…
Dog.
Her tired brain, like an old train, slowly but surely picked up steam, and headed through an entirely different information tunnel.
A dog.
Shelly guffawed, her shoulders slumping in relief. ‘It’s a dog!’ The three words echoed joyfully in her head, relief abundant. The dog appeared to be skin and bones, but Shelly thought that it was one of those breeds that looked that way naturally. But it was shaking like a