“Wow. I can’t believe this. It’s so nice of her.” I picture Kevin and me walking into the ballroom at the Langham in our fancy clothes. If only…
“So, Sabine, you stopped by for a reason. What is it?” Florence steps back into the hall, my signal to stop marveling at the tickets and tell her why I came.
Florence has no reason to suspect me of anything, but for some crazy reason I don’t want to appear overeager. “Um, I haven’t seen Julie around. Not since last Friday.”
“Neither have I, but that’s not unusual.”
“I’m worried about her. Do you think she’s okay?” I feel stupid saying this. “I mean, I know she’s sick, but…”
“I believe I’d have heard if she was in trouble. An officer friend keeps an eye on my regulars.”
“I’d like to give her some of the money I got for the painting, but I don’t know the best way to do it.”
Florence nods. “You’re worried cash could make her a target out on the street.”
“Yeah, I thought maybe I could cover some of her medical bills.”
“Sabine, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Julie has refused treatment.”
“No. Why would she do that?”
“Treatment’s painful. Debilitating. It would require a hospital stay.” Florence frowns at the ceiling as if she knows she’s breaking a rule before saying, “I’ve located a sister of hers who lives outside Phoenix and would take Julie in, but she needs convincing to go.”
“I don’t understand. Why doesn’t Julie want to be with her family?”
“Sounds like that’s hard for you to imagine.”
Florence is trying to turn this conversation to me, but I don’t want to talk about myself. “It is. Did something happen in Julie’s past?”
“You know I can’t answer that.” We exchange looks. Florence has told me way more than she should have, and now she’s drawn the line.
“So if I see Julie first…?” I ask.
“You let me know.” Florence goes to open the exit door for me. Santa beams at us from a poster for a Christmas dinner and toy giveaway taped to the door.
I point to the poster. “Do you still need volunteers?”
“We do,” she says, “but there’s another way you could help that we could use even more.”
“What is it?”
“We offer day camp over the holidays for families with schoolchildren who stay at our shelter. Could you organize some art activities?”
My chest floods with sadness, remembering how alone I felt last spring break. Until then, I didn’t realize how much I counted on being at school to feel halfway normal. “Yeah, I’d love to.”
“I’ll send you the dates,” she promises.
Walking to CALINVA, I scan the street for Julie, but she’s not in any of the doorways. The thought flies through my head that Adam got to her, but I bat it away. Julie’s smart. She sized him up fast, and if he ever tried anything with her, I’m pretty sure she’d cut him.
Julie’s in my thoughts all morning. Every time I overhear someone talk about Krell, I worry I won’t find her, so it’s almost eerie that she’s waiting on the sidewalk when I leave CALINVA. I slow down as I approach her, afraid my eyes are playing tricks on me. “Julie, hey, I’m glad to see you.”
She’s layered a thick red sweater with an even thicker orange one despite how warm it is today. Even though she’s smiling, her hand’s laid across her stomach, so she’s either hungry or in pain.
“Have you had lunch?” I ask.
“No, can’t say that I have.”
Julie’s face is puffy, but those sweaters are swimming on her. I’ve been so caught up in my own drama, I haven’t noticed she’s getting worse. “Let me treat you. What would you like to eat?”
Her eyes brighten. “Chicken salad,” she says like it’s the food of the gods.
“A chicken salad sandwich?” I speed through a mental list of restaurants where I could get one.
“Not a sandwich, just chicken salad.”
The nearest deli I know is blocks away on California Street. “How would you like to take a ride?” I say.
The two blocks to my car, Julie shuffles beside me as if all her joints hurt. The scuffing of her dragging feet makes me feel guilty and weirdly angry. She shouldn’t be sleeping on cold cement every night, so why can’t she accept her sister’s help?
We reach my car, and before I even get my seat belt fastened, the car fills with a cheesy, moldy smell. It’s not her fault, I tell myself as I quietly crack open the windows.
Driving over to the deli, I ask her where she’s been, but Julie ducks the answer and instead talks about Sweetie, who’s tucked in the kangaroo pocket of her sweater.
Julie waits in the car while I go inside. I return with cartons of chicken salad, a big one for her and a small one for me, along with packets of saltines and two forks. There’s an empty table in front of the deli, but the other customers will probably stare at us if we eat here, so I drive to the park down the street.
As we walk over to an empty table, I steal glances at Julie. Her bony wrists stick out of her sleeves, and her pants flap around her legs. I swear they weren’t this loose before.
I unpack our lunch, weighing whether to ask her about Adam’s car or her sister first. Julie’s in bad shape, and talking about Adam is probably less likely to spook her. I stack saltine packets in front of her, thinking whatever she doesn’t eat now she can save for later. Yeah, right, Sabine. As if a few crackers are going to save her.
“Julie, I need your help.”
“That’s why I’m here.” She scoops some chicken salad onto the lid of her deli carton and sets it on the table. Sweetie scurries down her arm and goes right for it.
I pick up my carton and prop my elbows on the table. I trust Sweetie, sort of. “That man, the one you warned me about—”
Julie cuts me off. “He’s gone.”
“I need to find him.”
“You shouldn’t court danger.” She eyes me like I’m about to do something stupid.
“I swear I won’t go anywhere near him. But he broke the law, and I want to help the police find him.”
She considers this while she chews. “You got a question for me?”
“You told me he has a truck. You said it was green.”
“Not green. Gray.”
“But you called it a green mountain truck.”
“It is. The license plate’s got green mountains on it.”
I pull out my phone and search pictures of license plates until I find one with green mountains. Colorado. “Like this?”
Julie nods and crumbles a cracker into her chicken. “That’s it.”
“So it’s gray with Colorado plates.” I take out my sketchbook, and we begin to play a version of twenty questions. I know I’m pushing her hard, and I try not to act frustrated. Julie can’t tell me the model, but by the time we finish I’m fairly certain we’re looking for a Ford pickup with two doors, running lights, and a scratch on the passenger door. All I’ve got of the Colorado plate is an X and a J in no particular order.