A Blind Eye (14 page)

I thought for sure she'd mention Dr. Wyden, but she didn't.

“No,” she said.

She still didn't trust the police. She believed her crazy idea that some kind of international
abduct kids from the Shepherd School
ring was going on. After today's visit, I trusted Parker. And I wanted Scarlett to be safe.

“Actually, something weird happened yesterday,” I said, fishing out the little advertisement from my pocket. I slid it along the countertop to the detective. “We went to a place called the Center for Vision Repair, just—well, it doesn't matter why. Anyway, the lady there, Dr. Wyden, she seemed to recognize Scarlett. Really gave Scarlett a scare.”

Parker read the brochure, flipping it over front to back.

“I just thought it was odd, you know, that she could identify Scarlett. I'm not sure if that means anything.” There. I'd told him about Wyden without bringing up Scarlett's death dreams. She should be okay with that.

“Did you speak with her?”

“No, we just spoke to the receptionist. About the eye stuff. The Wyden lady came out as we were leaving. I heard her call Scarlett's name, but then we drove away.”

He pocketed the flyer with a nod. “We'll look into it.”

I walked him to the door and peered out, checking the neighborhood for an unfamiliar car. One house down and on the other side of the street, two men sat in a dark-blue Crown Victoria. I waved, and they waved back without smiling. Bored to death, no doubt—babysitting a stupid rich kid.

Some protector I was. A strange car had been parked on my street for two days and I didn't even notice. What if it had been Connor? It was a miracle Scarlett was still alive.

“Well,” Parker said. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay.”

Parker climbed into a black Dodge Charger and pulled away. He tossed a head nod to the cops as he passed.

Scarlett waited for me in the kitchen, still sitting on the bar stool, leaning on her elbows over the counter. “That was pretty cool of your dad. To get us a watchdog, I mean.”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

Scarlett cleared her throat. “He seems nice.”

“Parker?”

“No.” She grunted. “Your dad.”

And that right there was exactly why I didn't tell people about my problems with my father. He could charm the socks off of anyone. “Of course he's nice. To you. To the detective. To people he wants to impress.”

“But he said—”

“Look. You've been here, what, thirty-six hours? I've lived with him my whole life.” I stood up and started pacing back and forth between the sink and the refrigerator. “Do you think it's easy for me? Watching him smile at everyone else? Watching him take an interest in someone else's life but never mine? Why do you think he insisted on surveillance?”

She shook her head without looking up.

“Because he likes
you
, Scarlett. Not me. Because he doesn't want his name in the papers if you go missing again. Because he wants Detective Parker to know that he has some power in this stupid city and that he knows how to use it. Not because of me.”

Her fists curled up into balls, but she kept her face down, like she was studying the stone pattern in the granite countertop.

My voice rose, filling the kitchen with heated words. “He hates me. He can't stand the sight of me. He wishes I had never been born. I lay unconscious for over twelve hours on my bathroom floor, and he never knew.” I leaned over the counter beside her. “So don't try and convince me he's this really great guy. You don't know anything.”

She lifted her face, and her lips were pressed into a thin line. “Don't tell me what I know and don't know. I'm sorry your life has been such a bugger. Must be rough not having loving parents while you drive around in your fancy car and sleep in your giant bed. At least you have a place to stay without bumming flat space from your friends.”

I stared at her. “So now it's a competition for whose life bites the most? You're blind. You won the day you were born.”

She dropped her forehead onto her crossed arms and whispered to the granite, “Doesn't feel like I won.”

“Well, then, I'll buy you a gold medal so you can feel better.” I fled the kitchen and pounded my way up the stairs to my room. I stood in front of my window, looking toward Forest Park in the direction of my mother's grave. People always thought that because I had a handful of cash, all my problems would be solved. I was sick of it. Sick and tired. I flopped backward onto my bed and stared at the ceiling.

I thought Scarlett saw past all that. Beyond the money and the lifestyle to the real me. Maybe buying the clothes and the watch was a mistake after all. I just wanted her to be happy. I shook my head at the irony. I knew better than anyone that having nice stuff and happiness were not connected.

I lay there for a long time with my eyes closed. I heard some dishes clanking in the kitchen. Scarlett was getting herself some food. I should've gone down to help her, but I didn't. Truth was, she didn't need me. Pretty much no one did.

I must have dozed off for a while because when I opened my eyes, the sun had crossed to the other side of the house, leaving my room in cold shadows. Or maybe it was guilt that made me shiver. I shouldn't have blown up like that. She didn't do anything wrong.
Don't be like him
, I reminded myself.

I went downstairs to check on her. To apologize. With any luck, we could still be friends.

She sat on the couch reading her book, her pink halo of hair just cresting the back of the leather cushion.

Her face turned partway in my direction as I approached. I took a seat beside her.

“Scarlett,” I said in a soft voice. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

She sighed and closed the book. “I know. I should go. You've been very kind.”

She thought I wanted to get rid of her. “That's not what I meant. Parker said the police will only watch the house for one more day. It might not be safe here after that. I don't want them coming after you again.”

She nodded. “You could just take me back to Detective Parker. He can help me get home.”

“You hate the police,” I said. She was still mad. She had her dark sunglasses barrier back in place—she hadn't worn those for a while.

“I'm thinking the sooner I leave, the better.”

“Scarlett.” Did she really mean that? I'd only known her a few days, but I felt closer to her than anyone. Not even Jay knew about the overdose thing. It seemed to me that running for our lives from two kidnappers was sort of a bonding experience. But maybe she didn't feel that way. Maybe she saw what everyone else saw, that I wasn't really worth it.

It didn't matter anyway. She'd have to go home eventually, and probably sooner
would
be better—for her own safety.

“Let's wait until tomorrow. If it seems all clear, we'll figure out a plan.”

“Yeah. Brilliant,” she said quietly.

It didn't seem that brilliant to me either. I'd devised a plan to procrastinate a plan. But what else could I do? Except make amends for the kitchen scene.

“Scarlett, I'm sorry.”

She took her sunglasses off and set them on the couch beside her Braille book. I took that as a good sign. But she didn't say anything.

“I'm sorry I yelled. I was tired. I was bugged because of my dad. I shouldn't have taken it out on you. You deserve better.”

She still didn't speak. She just sat there staring at the wall with the phantom of a frown across her face. Finally, her expression cleared.

“It's okay.” She rested her hand on my leg. “I'm sorry too. I didn't mean what I said.”

“So you don't want me to hand you over to Detective Parker?” I teased.

She grinned. “Well, he's not so bad for a Yank. But I'd rather stay with you.”

There was my Scarlett. She was back. I pulled her in and kissed the top of her head. “Thanks.”

“Berk,” she said but made no attempt to move away.

“So what do you want to do now?” I asked.

“What do you usually do on a Sunday afternoon?”

Well, thanks to Parker's visit this morning, we'd missed church. On a normal Sunday at this time, I'd probably be at Jay's house for dinner. I hadn't turned my phone on to check it since the Lloyd Center. My inbox was probably jammed with messages of panic from Jay. He always went into overprotective mode if he thought I was anywhere near falling away from the Church again.
Note to self: Send a calming text to Jay!

Or about this time, I'd be sitting home alone watching TV. Even on Sunday Dad worked until nine thirty or ten. Occasionally, Gloria watched with me. We were on civil terms. She knew I struggled with her, and she seemed understanding about it. She was careful not to interfere. I was fairly certain she also knew Dad didn't really love her, but he liked Gloria more than me, and that pleased Gloria.

“I guess nothing. Pretty boring life,” I said. “Maybe watch a game.”

“That's fine. I'll read while you watch.”

She picked up her book. The cover was plain white paper with no picture, just a group of raised dots in the center and the title and publishing information in print underneath. The larger-than-notebook–size pages had a black plastic edge thing holding them together, like it had been bound down at the local copy center.

The papers were solid white with Braille bumps in rows. She opened the book flat across her lap and ran the fingers of both hands over the paper. She turned the page and kept going, moving quickly across the bumps. Then she stopped and moved back and forth a few times over the same set of dots.

“What's this word?” she asked.

I shook my head. “I don't know. There's no print at all. I'm sorry I'm so useless.”

“Get off,” she said with a laugh. “I'm just taking the Mickey. I could feel you watching me.”

“How can you even read that?”

“Like this.” She took my hand and placed it on the page, then she put her fingers in front of mine. She slid our fingers across the Braille, reading aloud.

How could she form those dots into words? It felt like nothing to me. Like the bumpy surface of a basketball. Maybe there are subliminal Braille messages on basketballs. Had anyone checked on that?

“You're a genius, really. I can't feel anything.” Actually, I was feeling something, but it didn't have anything to do with Braille. Her body, small as it was, fit perfectly next to mine.

She transferred her mystic reading powers to me and put her fingers on my face. Every time she did that, my blood boiled. I lifted her hand off. “You know, that's not really fair.”

“Blind from birth, yeah? I don't have to be fair.”

Ugh. Did I really say that? Why was I such a dimwit? “Scarlett, I didn't mean that. I'm an idiot.”

“S'pose I should disagree, shouldn't I? But sometimes you are a bit daft.” She placed her soft touch back on my cheeks then ran her fingers through my hair.

I leaned down and kissed her, putting my arm around her shoulders. She closed her book and set it carefully on the floor while at the same kissing me with very effective enthusiasm.

The doorbell rang, and both our heads jerked up, instantly alert.

“Are they here?” she asked.

“I doubt it. Not with the cops out front.” Maybe one of the policemen needed the john or something.

I went to the control panel on the kitchen wall and pressed the button to view the front door. A man stood on the front steps, waiting. He didn't wear a uniform, so not one of the surveillance team.

“I don't recognize him,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“We have security cameras. I can see him outside, and it's not someone I've seen before.”

He rang the bell again and stepped back, looking at the house.

I pushed the speaker and asked in a voice that I hoped sounded like a parent and not a seventeen-year-old kid, “Who is it?”

“My name is Simon Lawrence. I'm looking for Scarlett Becket.” He had a British accent.

Scarlett grabbed my arm. “It
is
Simon. I know his voice. Open the door.”

“The guy who never answers his phone?”

“Yes.” She tugged on my arm again. “The man who let me stay at his flat after I left the Shepherd.”

Yeah, yeah. I knew who he was. I checked the monitor again. He looked a little old for Scarlett. Maybe he really was just a friend.

“Christian, let him in. He's my best friend, my only friend.”

Best friend? Only friend? Where did that leave me? Did a little kiss on the couch not qualify me for the list of friends? What more had Simon given to make the cut?

She gave up on me and headed for the door, running her hand along the wall.

“Scarlett, wait.” I wasn't going to let her answer the door alone. We'd already covered that in the bathroom. “I'll let him in. Let's just go carefully. What if it's a trick?”

“How can it be a trick? I know him like a brother.”

Brother? That sounded a little better. “I'll open the door, and you just hang back until I find out what he wants, got it?”

“Fine.”

She stood behind the door while I cracked it open about two inches. “What do you want?”

“Hello, my name is Simon Lawrence. I got a call from the police about Scarlett. I'm her guardian, and I've come to take her home.”

Christian vs. The Nightmare, Reprise

I opened the door a little wider, and Scarlett slipped past me. “Simon!” she cried.

Simon touched her hand, letting her know where he was. She jumped into his arms. He was shorter than me by several inches but well built. Younger than my father, although definitely older than I'd expected based on what Scarlett had told me.