myself and the children?
It wasn’t easy for her to make a judgment. She’d reached her limit of unexpected situations and difficult choices and was emotionally tapped out. Marty could sympathize.
“I’ll make it easy for you,” Marty groaned as he struggled to his feet. “There’s no reason to be afraid of me. The only reason I’m here is to pick up one of the kids, Clara Hobart.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “Are you her father?”
“No. I’m a family friend.”
“Is something wrong, Faye?” a man’s voice called out from behind her.
“I haven’t decided yet,” Faye replied.
“Why don’t you decide back here where I can see you and whoever you’re talking to,” the man said.
She stepped aside and then, as an afterthought, held open the gate so Marty could hobble past her.
The large backyard had been turned into a playground. Three kids ran around a swing set and jungle-gym. The two boys and Clara froze when they saw the stranger come in and swallowed their laughter, their little stomachs going in and out as they tried to catch their breath.
Clara looked like her photo, but there was a difference he wasn’t prepared for. It wasn’t the matching scrapes on her knees, or her braided pony-tail, or even her radiant blue eyes. She had a band of freckles over her nose.
Just like Beth. No, exactly like Beth’s.
He didn’t see that in the photo, or he would have fallen in love with Clara long before that instant.
There was no way he was going to leave without her.
The man who’d called out to Faye sat on a bench, his left leg in a crude splint made out of duct tape and two fence slats. He saw Marty looking at his leg.
“A bookcase fell on me, broke my leg like a twig.”
“I think the whole world fell on me,” Marty replied, noticing a jug of water and some paper cups on the picnic table.
“Looks like it, too if you don’t mind me saying so,” The man said with a friendly smile and a soft voice that reminded Marty of Mister Rogers. “I’m Alan Plebney, the headmaster of Dandelion Preschool; this is my wife Faye.”
“I’m Martin Slack,” he said, returning the smile. Things were getting off to a good start. “May I have some water?”
“Help yourself.”
Marty guzzled down four cups and half expected to see it all leaking out of the hole in his gut. Instead, the water flowed through him like an electric charge.
“Where are the other teachers?” Marty asked.
“I let them go home to their families. As headmaster, I have to stay until all the children are returned to their parents. Besides, I can’t go anywhere with this leg anyway.” He motioned to his wife and his eyes glowed with admiration. “My wife walked all the way here from Studio City to make sure me and the children were okay.”
Marty glanced at Faye, and saw her having a muffled conversation with Clara. The little girl looked fearfully back at him, a look that wasn’t lost on either Faye or her husband.
“How do you know Clara?” Alan asked protectively.
Marty decided to go with honesty. “I don’t.”
“Then I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re doing here, Mr. Slack, besides having a couple cups of water.”
Marty reached into his pocket, took out the singed picture of Molly and Clara, and whispered as he showed it to Alan. “Her mother gave this to me. Just before she died.”
Alan glanced over at Clara, then back to him.
“She asked me to take care of her daughter,” Marty said. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Were you a close friend?” Alan asked.
“Not until that moment.”
Alan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I can’t let this child go with a complete stranger, no matter how well intentioned he may be.”
“Is there any one else? Did Molly give you a name of someone she trusted as an emergency contact?” Marty asked, but he already knew the answer.
Alan shook his head. “She said she had to think about it. That was three months ago.”
Faye rejoined them, leaving Clara with her friends.
“You can’t let this man take her, Alan,” she said firmly, then lowered her voice so Clara couldn’t hear. “He could be a child molester.”
“Take a good look at me, Mrs. Plebney,” Marty said. “Do I look like I’m in any shape to hurt anyone?”
From the expressions on their faces, he knew he’d scored a point with that. Marty reached into his pocket, took out his wallet, and handed them his driver’s license. “This is me. You keep it. If anyone else comes for Clara, you can tell them that’s who has her and that’s where she is. But we both know that’s not going to happen.”
Alan took his license and studied it, as if the answer to this problem was written on it in very fine print.
“I walked here from downtown Los Angeles, carrying that picture in my pocket. Along the way, I’ve been shot, poisoned, burned, impaled, and nearly drowned. I want to go home to my wife now, and I’d like to bring Clara with me. I don’t know if my house is still there, or if my wife is even alive. But I promise you, no matter what I find, Clara will be safe. I will take care of her.”
Alan and Faye Plebney stared at him, wrestling with the decision. And while they were, Clara came up and touched the picture in Alan’s hand.
“That’s my mommy,” Clara said. “Is she coming to get me soon?”
“She asked me to get you, Clara,” Marty spoke up quickly, before the Plebneys could answer. “My name is Martin.”
Clara looked up hesitantly at Marty. She wanted to believe him. “What’s the secret word?”
“Please,” he replied.
“No, the other secret word,” Clara said.
Marty had no idea what it was.
The Plebneys and Clara were staring at him, waiting. Like it was a challenge. Like they all knew he didn’t know.
Why didn’t Molly tell him? She had to know her kid would ask.
“She said not to go with a stranger who doesn’t know the secret word,” Clara repeated, just in case he needed reminding.
In a few seconds, Clara was going to turn against him, and then the Plebneys would follow suit. Marty couldn’t let that stop him, even if it meant calling in Buck and using force. Because if Marty didn’t leave with Clara, he’d be haunted for the rest of his life with that last image of Molly, holding that picture out to him, her eyes pleading, calling to him with her last breath…
And by remembering that, what didn’t make sense before now was perfectly clear. Molly did tell him.
“Angel,” Marty said.
Clara nodded.
“Is that the secret word?” Alan asked Clara gently.
“Yes,” she said, then looked up at Marty with big, wishful eyes. “Will you take me to see my Mommy?”
Marty looked at the Plebneys. It was up to them now.
Alan glanced at his wife, who gave her nod of acceptance, then he turned to Clara. “Martin is going to take care of you for a while.”
“Where’s my Mommy?” Clara asked, stuffing the burnt, wrinkled picture into her pocket.
The three adults shared an awkward moment of silence. None of them wanted to tell Clara the horrible news yet. Some day soon, perhaps even today, Marty would have to tell Clara that her mother was dead. And on another day, a long time from now, he would have to tell her how her mother died and all the things she said to him. Eventually, he’d have to hurt her and it was a pain he knew would never go away, for either of them.
“We don’t know,” Alan replied. “But we know that wherever she is, she loves you and wants you to be safe. That’s why she sent Martin to take you home.”
