A Blind Eye (2 page)

A knock at my window made me jump. I rolled it down a few inches, and the traffic guy in a bright-yellow vest informed me that this lane was for active loading and unloading only. As if we hadn't been listening to a woman's voice repeating that exact phrase over the loud speakers since we'd pulled up to the curb.

“Sorry,” I told him. “We were just leaving.”

Scarlett closed her door and smiled at me—or at least in my direction. This chink in my plans irritated me, but I was willing to be the Good Samaritan.

I drove out of the airport and back toward the freeway. Might as well continue north. We were right on the state border, and I wanted to get into Washington before it got too late—just in case my dad turned paternal. I shook my head. I didn't know why I thought that. I could've moved next door, and he wouldn't have come looking. He'd probably be first in line at the post office filing a change of address for me.

I pressed my fingertips to my temple, massaging in circles, and took a deep breath. “Okay. Let's just start over. My name is Christian,” I said in the most pleasant voice I could muster. “How about we stop for some dinner and you can tell me what your deal is and where you're supposed to be.” I could always double back and drop her off somewhere later.

“Thanks.” She turned her head away, like she was looking out her side window. But then she slipped her fingers under the sunglasses and wiped her eyes.

Oh great. Tears again. “Hey,” I said. “It's okay. I'm sorry I left you on the side of the road. I was an idiot.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, her face still turned away.

“I'll help you find whoever you're here with, okay?”

“I'm here alone.”

How did she get in the middle of Portland without someone to help her? How does a blind girl from London end up hiding in the back of your car in Oregon? I opened my mouth to ask then changed my mind. It might upset her more. I filed my questions away, saving them for the restaurant.

We crossed the Columbia River, the setting sun reflecting orange off the water. I drove a few minutes into the suburbs of Vancouver—Washington—and then exited the highway. A billboard announced a Shari's coming up. Not my favorite restaurant, but since they specialized in breakfasts, I hoped it would be quiet.

I pulled into a parking space and killed the motor. “How long have you been blind?”

“Since birth.” She didn't seem surprised that I'd figured it out. But I had to admit, she'd done a good job keeping it to herself. She could've mentioned that in the beginning and saved us both a lot of hassle. But judging by her Day-Glo hair and less-than-subtle outfit, she didn't want her impairment to be the first thing people noticed.

“Now, tell me again. How did you get here? Alone?”

“I was kidnapped,” she whispered.

Christian vs. The Women's Bathroom

I stared at Scarlett, one hand frozen on the steering wheel and one on the gear shift. Jaw dangling somewhere in between. “Are you serious?”

“D'you see me laughing?”

Uh, no. Definitely not laughing. Should I ask her about it? If she wanted to talk, wouldn't she tell me on her own? Or was she playing me? She could have made the story up to garner sympathy. I had a very small comfort zone, and at the moment, I was so far out of it, it wasn't even a speck in the distance. She'd finally stopped crying, and I really wanted to keep it that way. “You okay for dinner?”

“Yeah.” She opened her car door and slid out, closing it behind her. Then she just stood there under the cloudy evening sky, waiting.

I scanned the parking lot hopefully, but there weren't any spare seeing-eye dogs lounging nearby. I got out and walked around to her. Should I hold her hand? That seemed a little . . . intimate. I reached down and took her wrist.

“Is this okay?” I asked, trying to pretend I didn't feel completely awkward. I'd never guided anyone who couldn't see before. At least, not for real. I'd done those trust exercises in Scouts, where you lead a blindfolded friend around an obstacle course. But we mostly tried to see who could mess up the other person more, leading them into poles and trees or forgetting to mention concrete steps.

She pulled her wrist free and then hooked her hand around the crook of my arm. “It's easier like this.” Her head came to my shoulder.

I'd do the dinner thing, figure out where she wanted me to drop her, then
hasta la vista
. We'd go our separate ways.

“Two?” the waitress asked. She was a middle-aged lady and looked pretty fit for her years.

“Yeah. Booth, please,” I said.

She nodded and led us through the maze of tables to the booths lining the far wall. Scarlett moved closer to me, the side of her body pressed against my arm. The waitress gestured to a booth, and we settled into our table in the back. The place was practically empty for six o'clock on a Thursday night.

The waitress placed a greasy plastic menu full of color pictures in front of us then asked if we wanted something to drink. I ordered a soda, and Scarlett asked for hot chocolate. It was then I noticed she was shivering. She wore only her short-sleeve
Mind the Gap
T-shirt, and the fall evening was cold.

I shrugged off my jacket and held it out to her. “Here.”

After a pause she said, “What?”

Stupid me. I stood up and draped it around her shoulders.

She slipped her arms into the sleeves and pushed them up to expose her hands. She looked even smaller, lost in my big jacket.

I skimmed the menu, trying to decide what I was in the mood for. “Do you know what you're having?” I asked without glancing up, falling back on the standard restaurant question when you needed to make conversation.

“I'll have what you have,” she said.

Her menu lay untouched on the table in front of her. This was harder than I thought.

“What do you like? They have a little bit of everything. Pasta, hamburgers, chicken, and sandwiches. Or breakfast stuff, if that's what you want.”

“Is it expensive?”

“No. Anyway, my dad's paying, so you can get whatever you want. He's loaded, and I'm sure he won't mind.” I grinned.

I spent his money all the time, and he never said a word. A couple of years ago, I stole his credit card. He didn't say anything. When it expired, I found a new one sitting on the kitchen counter. I figured it was his way of giving me money without having to be in the same room with me. He kept me as far away from him as possible, and with my own card, I'd never have to bother him with financial needs.

Right before I left, I'd taken five thousand in cash from his safe. I'd never done that before.

“I want something with chips,” Scarlett said.

It took me a second, but I got it—she meant french fries. “Okay, that doesn't really narrow it down because you can get fries with pretty much anything. Are you thinking hamburger or a steak? But I'll tell you, this probably isn't the best place for a steak. They have fish 'n' chips?” She was so thin, maybe she only ate salad. Fries and a salad.

“A burger's fine.”

The waitress brought our drinks. “Are you ready to order?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I'll have the double bacon cheeseburger.”

“And you, miss?”

“I'll have that as well.”

The waitress looked at her, I'm sure calculating her size versus where she would put a double bacon cheeseburger. She must have decided it wasn't her problem because she finally nodded and made for the kitchen. More food, more tip.

“So, Scarlett,” I said as I took a sip of soda and set my drink to the side, “tell me where you want me to take you.” But where she was going didn't interest me nearly as much as what she'd told me in the car. I redirected. “I mean, what were you doing, sneaking into a stranger's car?” She must've been pretty desperate. “You know, something a lot worse than getting left for five minutes on the freeway could have happened.”

“I know.” She shrank into the depths of my jacket.

“When did you get in? At the gas station or the cemetery?”

“The cemetery.” Only with her accent, it came out like “symmetry.”

She put a hand on the table and searched for her hot chocolate. The waitress had set it too far away. I moved the mug to the middle of her paper place mat, rotated it so the handle was on her right, and placed her hand on it. Her fingers were icy cold. She wrapped both hands around it.

“Why did you hide in my car?”

She blew on her mug of chocolate. “Dunno. I needed to get away, and yours was the only car I heard.”

“So you thought you'd just secretly ride with a stranger to whatever unknown destination he was going to?” Her plan had serious flaws.

“I thought I could hide and then get out at the next stop. Didn't figure it'd be the middle of the motorway, did I?”

“Hey. That wasn't my fault. I said I was sorry.”

She took a tentative sip of cocoa.

Could I ask about the kidnapping thing yet? More gently I said, “What happened to you?”

Too soon. She shook her head, and her lip quivered. I could see it, even through her big, dark sunglasses. She was going to cry again.

Switching over to a just-kidding voice, I said, “Anyway, what did you expect, breaking and entering like that? How was I supposed to know you weren't a terrorist or something? I was afraid for my life.”

She laughed a little. Crisis averted.

The waitress appeared with our food and clunked the plates on the table in front of us. “Anything else?”

“No, thanks,” I said, and she left.

I grabbed the ketchup and squeezed it on my burger. Then squirted a pile for my fries. The hamburger fixings were stacked to the side, trying to trick me into thinking they were something special rather than the restaurant's way of avoiding special orders. I layered on the lettuce, tomato, and pickles, pushed the onions away, then topped it off with the bun. I opened my mouth to eat and glanced at Scarlett. Her food was untouched. I really stank at this.

“Okay,” I said, unrolling her silverware from the napkin. She wouldn't need the utensils so I set them aside, but I pressed the napkin into her hand. She laid it on her lap. I named the fixings on her plate, asking if she wanted them all.

“No onions,” she said.

“Good choice.” I built her a sandwich just like mine. Then I lifted her hand and touched it to her food. “Here's your burger, and here's your fries. Do you want ketchup for your fries?”

“No ketchup. Have they got malt?”

Malt. Not sure what she meant by that, but since the only things on the table were salt, pepper, ketchup, and a sticky pitcher of maple syrup, I assumed no. “Negative. No malt.”

“Right.” She lifted the burger with surprising skill and took a huge bite.

We ate in silence for a while. She really packed it away. I'd expected a bite or two and then,
Oh no I couldn't; I'm way too full
. But she wolfed it down as fast as I did. Score one for the miniature blind girl.

We neared the end of our meal, and I still knew nothing about her supposed kidnapping or where I should take her. “Now will you tell me how you got here?” I asked. “And what I'm supposed to do with you? If you were kidnapped, shouldn't I take you to the police?”

“No police.” She nearly shouted it then cleared her throat. “I already went to them, and there's nothing more they can do.”

“Okay.” That worked for me. A visit to the police station while leaving town with my dad's money wasn't high on my priority list. “Isn't there someone you know who can help? Somewhere that's home? I could buy you a ticket and send you back to England, to your school?”

“We only go to school till we're sixteen. I have no place there.”

“There has to be something. Where did you live after school and before my car?”

“Shh!” she hissed.

Wow. She
really
didn't want to talk about it.

She sat completely still for a moment, and I'm not even sure she took a breath. Then she said, “Christian, where's the loo?”

“The loo?”

“The loo, the toilet, whatever.” She sank so low in the booth that her head barely peeked over the top. “Quick. Take me to the toilet.”

“Okay, sure.” Who was I to argue with a girl's bathroom needs? I took her hand, and she latched onto my arm like it was the only thing keeping her from falling off the face of the planet. I led her to the restroom door, and she pushed it open, dragging me inside.

“Dude,” I protested. “This is the girl's bathroom. I'm not coming in with you.”

“Are we alone?”

I checked for feet under the stalls, glad that the only person to witness my humiliation couldn't see. “Yeah.”

“Christian, listen. I climbed into your car because I needed to get away. They kidnapped me in London and brought me here. I ran away and hid. First in the cemetery, then in your car.” She breathed hard, and her pale face grew even whiter. “But he's here. I heard his voice in the restaurant. How did they find me?”

Kidnapped from London and dumped in a Portland cemetery? Unlikely. Plus, if she really was kidnapped, wouldn't the police have shipped her home? And there's no way they—whoever
they
were—could have tracked her here to the restaurant. The only person who saw us together was the airport traffic guard.

Either she was taking me for a ride, or she was crazy. A lunatic. An escapee from the Shepherd Hill School for the Totally Insane. I'd wasted enough time with this pink-haired psycho. Maybe I should let whoever scared her into the bathroom take her home to her padded cell.

I cracked the door and peeked out. Our waitress stood by our table, talking to two men in dark suits. She lifted a napkin, probably looking for money. The men showed her something in a black wallet that looked suspiciously like a police badge. Perfect. Crazy and a criminal. I knew it. I turned to Scarlett.