Anonymity (25 page)

SHOAL CREEK had returned to its good-natured ways, but the flood's aftermath was starkly apparent. The high water line was drawn in dried mud ten feet up all the tree trunks. Limbs were strewn with random urban oddities. The stench was earthy with a hint of sewer.

David led Emily down into the park along a well-worn path. It was nearly noon, around the time the urban campers began to stir. At shelters, the homeless were kicked out as early as seven, a big reason sleepy headed, homeless teenagers avoided them.

After David picked up Emily, they'd stopped by Bouldin Creek Coffee and bought a gallon carton of dark brew and a dozen bagels. They'd stuffed a bag with containers of cream cheese and plenty of sugar, cream, napkins, plastic knives and spoons.

It was a cool day. A slight breeze carried the welcome scent of a campfire. Burning restrictions had returned to normal. The city was on the mend.

They were all gathered around the fire—Mook, Elda, Freestyle, Minion and two new girls David hadn't seen before. Elda took over the job of food distribution. The new girls helped pour coffee. David and Emily took cups and perched on logs. They watched the ravenous kids chew and chew.

“So, David,” Mook said, “I appreciate the feed and all, but I get the feeling you need something. What can I do for you, man?”

“It's Lorelei. We need to find her.”

“None of us have seen her.”

Elda said, “Last time we saw her was at the Ramp Ranch.”

“The skate park?” David said.

“No, wait,” Mook said. “Remember? After that we saw that article in
Be Here Now
, and she went off to bitch out Emily. By the way, what the fuck? I asked you not to take pictures of us.”

“I know,” Emily said. “That's one of the reasons I came today. I want to apologize. I was wrong. I just felt this pressure to prove myself and I didn't think how my actions would affect you. I'm sorry. Really sorry.”

“That was messed up, but I'm not mad anymore. It was a good article, you know? I thought it was really real, like, dead-on how things are for us. That Travis dude's a jerk, but he sure can write.”

“Thank you,” Emily said. “I don't think I could stand it if you guys hated me.”

“No worries.” Mook hit his chest lightly with his fist. “No room for hate in my heart.”

David could see something significant had happened.

“What's up, Mook?” he asked.

“Betsy died,” Elda said softly.

“What? Oh, Mook. No,” Emily said.

“Really, man,” David said. “If there is anything I can do.”

Mook hung his head, and his hair fell into a wall of tangled mats around his face. “It is what it is, man.”

They all knew his reality. Mook was truly homeless now.

“I have a couple of photos of your mother. A great shot of your mother and Fiona. Would you like to have those?” Emily asked.

“Yeah, man. Thank you. I'd appreciate that.”

“Okay. Sure. I'll print them out and leave them at the drop-in this week.”

Their hungry, morose little group ate and sipped and stared at the fire.

Elda finally said, “So, did Lorelei ever make it to your house? She was super-freaked about the picture.”

“Oh, she came to see me all right. She threw a clay pot through my front window.”

“You didn't tell me that,” David said.

Emily shrugged as if to say,
What difference would it make?

“She probably just hopped a train,” Elda said. “That's what I would do.”

“To where?” David asked.

“I don't know. Sante Fe, Phoenix, New Orleans? Somewhere north. Take your pick.”

“If she's still around town, any idea where she might hang out?”

“She's weird. She did a lot of library time.”

“Okay, thanks,” David said. “And Mook, I thought you'd want to know—Fiona's mother identified her body.”

“How'd that happen?” he asked.

“Mother had her fingerprinted when she was about seven. Morgue matched the prints.”

He nodded. “Did she come get her?”

David shook his head. “No. They buried her in the potter's field outside of town. I can show you where if you want to go see her.”

THEY CHECKED the library, the Ramp Ranch, Zilker Park, Town Lake and Bouldin Creek. They tried University Baptist and other churches along The Drag. They searched the train depot at Lamar and Fifth, and with permission, walked the switching yard. David called his contact at the Austin PD, but the BOLO hadn't produced any results. They searched all day without a trace of Lorelei.

When David brought Emily home, they were exhausted.

“Come in,” she said. “I'll feed you.”

He quietly followed her inside and collapsed onto a kitchen chair.

She handed him a glass of Chianti.

“I guess we have to tell her parents we really have lost her,” she said. “And then they'll go home and forget about her all over again.”

He sighed. “But they won't forget about her.”

“Seems to me they're not that interested in getting her back. Well, maybe the mother is, but the father, he's relieved to not have to deal with her anymore. I can see what would make Lorelei run. I mean I know she's sick, but that father of hers, he's not helping the situation any.”

“They're conflicted. They've tried. Parents get worn down by a difficult child. I'm sure they're financially exhausted, mentally exhausted, emotionally exhausted.”

They sipped wine while Emily booted up her laptop. David had never seen her gutter tribe shots. As she looked for the ones of Betsy and Fiona to give Mook, she clicked through all of them. David scooted his chair closer and leaned in to watch.

Each photo told a story. These kids were animated, dirty, laughing, passed out, dancing, crying, fighting, begging, eating, hugging, resting, running away. Those hollow eyes, the rotten teeth, the layers of dirt. Most people couldn't hide their disgust, their trepidation, but David looked at them with love. It made Emily ashamed to think how she used to pass by these kids and consider them just an unseemly part of Austin's landscape. Now, she wondered what brought each of these young people to such desperation.

Emily whispered, “My parents would go to the ends of the earth to find me. They'd sell the last thing they owned to see that I got treatment if I needed it.”

David studied the photos.

“That may be true, but you have to understand the psychology that affects the Kimballs. They're still grieving their well child. They have to mourn the loss of their ideal, healthy child before they can accept one who is chronically ill. A bipolar diagnosis can devastate an entire family.”

“You make it all sound so sterile, so…I don't know…unemotional.”

“No. It's very emotional, but you can't help people if you get overly emotional too. You have to have healthy…”

“Boundaries. I know, healthy boundaries. I get it now.”

She came across her series of black-and-whites of Lorelei against the rough kitchen walls. Her tattoos were bold while her eyes were so pale they seemed translucent.

“Wow,” David said.

“The day I took these, she tried to put the moves on me. Right here in this kitchen. She kissed me. Only time I've ever been kissed by a girl.”

“Don't take this the wrong way, but it was probably just survival sex. It's an easy barter for shelter or food. Their bodies are their only currency.”

“It was like she thought she owed me something.”

“Like Mook said, ‘It is what it is.’ Just get ready. A new batch of them arrives every spring just in time for the South by Southwest Festival. I've always thought of them like the Congress bridge bats. They migrate here in the spring, stay all summer, then start moving on in the fall.”

“Interesting observation.”

“Hey, I've got a favor to ask you.”

“What?”

“Our annual fundraiser is coming up. An art gallery in town has offered to host it this year. How great would it be if we used your photos? This is real. You can feel the emotions in your shots. We could use them for our publicity materials, maybe our brochure. That is, if you would let us. We don't have any money to pay you, but we can give you credit.”

“I don't expect to get paid. Of course you can use them. We should get my mother to write the brochure for free. She cranks those things out all the time.”

“Sure. Great.”

Emily fished her mobile from a pocket and held down Barbara's speed dial number.

“Emily?” she said. “Is everything all right? Did you find the girl?” Emily had been keeping her mother abreast of the Lorelei situation, had told her about their meeting with the Kimballs.

“No. No luck.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I've got a favor to ask. Would you volunteer your time to write a brochure for Tumbleweed Young Adult Center's spring fundraiser?”

She paused only a moment. If she said no, Emily was going to remind her mother of all the times she had been dragged into her PR projects, but Barbara said, “Absolutely. I'd be happy to.”

“They want to use my photographs to hang in an art gallery as the backdrop for the event.”

“That's wonderful. Tell the gallery owner I want to write the media release for the show too.”

“Okay, I will. Thanks, Mom.”

“Happy to do it. And Emily.”

“Yes?”

“I like it when you call me Mom.”

Emily didn't know how to respond, so she simply said, “Okay. I'll remember that.” Then she touched a button and her mother was gone.

“She's in,” Emily said.

David smiled. Emily smoothed a curl away from his forehead and lightly kissed him on the lips.

“Why'd you do that?” he asked.

“Because you're a sweet person. Because you're a guy who really cares about somebody other than himself.”

Emily moved to straddle his lap. He held his hands out to his sides, surprised by her boldness, but not protesting. She folded into him and laid her head on his shoulder. It felt natural, like on the bike, only now he could hug her back.

“Hold me,” she whispered.

David ran his fingers through her hair and cradled her head against him. After a while their breathing synched, and their hearts fell into the same peaceful rhythm.

“Don't worry about Lorelei. She's street smart,” he said. “She's a survivor. She'll be okay.”

He raised her face to his. His kiss was a gift.

They stayed that way, slowly kissing. Their touch expressing things they had both felt, but had never dared speak.

David stood up and Emily clung to him, her legs around his waist. He carried her into the bedroom, still kissing her. There was no hurry. His movements were fluid as he gently lowered her to the bed. She watched from a pillow as he shed his shirt and loosened his jeans to reveal the taut stomach that she'd clung to on the bike.

He gently kissed her right arm up to her neck until he found that sensitive spot behind her ear. Emily's mind floated. He slid her shirt away and then her jeans.

David took his time. There was no urgency, no need to prove himself. As his mouth explored her body, she felt his heartbeat in every touch.

She needed him inside her, and she whispered, “Come here.”

He held himself above her, and she watched the wave of his stomach muscles with each push. Her hands roamed his pulsing torso. He didn't look away or close his eyes to drift into fantasy. He focused on her. Their eyes locked as they moved together.

She pulled him down, and they shifted, scissoring their legs. He cupped her shoulders in his strong hands and buried his face in her hair. It was perfect. She let herself go. Her whole body vibrated with pleasure.

She felt his climax building, and she held him tight. His breath was halting in her ear, his body rigid with desire.

They fell apart, panting, smiling, staring at the ceiling.

“Oh my God,” Emily said.

“Yeah, I know. Wow.”

Emily felt satisfied in a way she didn't recognize.

“Water?” he asked her as he rose.

She watched him walk naked into her kitchen. As Emily's breathing slowed, her mind wandered, and suddenly, she was flooded with a reality. She had let many men into her bed, but she'd never opened her heart. The more men she was with, the less she had believed in love. But David was different. He was more real, more present.

She was used to the flush of desire. It was her overwhelming feelings for him that shocked her. She wanted him and not just for one night. David was not a man to play with and then discard. He was an adult, not the half-drawn men of extended adolescence that Emily was accustomed to. David was a man of substance, and if she let him in, he'd be around for a while. And she wanted that. For once, Emily was absolutely certain of what she wanted.

He returned with a cool glass of water. He crawled into bed and pulled the sheet up over them. He didn't fall asleep even though she knew he must be exhausted.

“You're an interesting guy, David.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I guess I should say you interest me.”

“Good.” He rolled over and kissed her slowly. “Because you interest me.”

They stayed in bed, talking until morning light fell in lacy patterns across the sheets.

“So why did you decide to do what you do? Help these kids?” she asked.

“Because people get better. I believe that.”

“Really?”

He considered his words. “How can these kids endure life if nobody ever shows them love? How can they love themselves if they've not been told they were worth loving?”

“That's sad.”

“I've led a fortunate life. Other people aren't so lucky. Helping people seemed the right thing to do, for me anyway.”

His explanation made sense. She had always criticized her own home as bourgeois, but it had been a good, solid home with devoted parents. Perhaps, in some twisted way, it had been reassuring to have something solid to reject.

“I need to figure out what I'm going to do when I grow up,” Emily said. “Maybe I'll do what you do.”

“You're an artist.”

“I'm a bartender. That makes me practically a psychologist. I listen, give advice, provide a shoulder to cry on. I think I'd be good at what you do.”

“People choose it because their heart tells them they have to.”

She rolled onto her stomach and propped herself up on her elbows. “In some strange way that I can't explain, I feel like I understand them.”

“That's because you see them as people. They aren't just an annoyance or a burden or menace. They're real to you.”

He reached up and gently touched her face. He pulled her to him and folded her into his warmth, a perfect fit. He stroked her hair, his breath tender against her cheek. His voice was a deep, soothing vibration.

“You do seem to have a way with the kids. They trust you. Think you'd like to volunteer? We could sure use your help. That way you can see what you're up against.”

“I could do that, but that doesn't sound very hopeful.”

He kissed her hair. “As long as people like you care, there is always hope.”