The memory keeper's daughter - Kim Edwards [165]
Yet the world was no less cruel than ever. On Tuesday, while they were in the dining room eating meat loaf and mashed potatoes and green beans, Phoebe reached into her pocket and took out a little plastic puzzle, the kind with numbers printed on movable squares. The trick was to put the numbers in order, and she pushed at them in between bites.
“That’s nice,” Caroline said idly, drinking her milk. “Where did you get that, honey?”
“From Mike.”
“Does he work with you?” Caroline asked. “Is he new?”
“No,” Phoebe said. “I met him on the bus.”
“On the bus?”
“Uh-huh. Yesterday. He was nice.”
“I see.” Caroline felt time slowing down a bit, all her senses growing more alert. She had to force herself to speak calmly, naturally. “Mike gave you the puzzle?”
“Uh-huh. He was nice. And he has a new bird. He wants to show me.”
“Does he?” Caroline said, a cool wind rushing through her. “Phoebe, honey, you can’t even think about going off with strangers. We talked about that.”
“I know. I told him,” Phoebe said. She pushed the puzzle away and squirted more ketchup on her meat loaf. “He said, Come home with me, Phoebe. And I said, Okay, but I have to tell my mom first.”
“What a good idea,” Caroline managed to say.
“So can I? Can I go to Mike’s house tomorrow?”
“Where does Mike live?”
Phoebe shrugged. “I don’t know. I see him on the bus.”
“Every day?”
“Uh-huh. Can I go? I want to see his bird.”
“Well, what if I come too?” Caroline said carefully. “What if we take the bus together tomorrow? That way I can meet Mike, and I’ll come with you to see the bird. How’s that?”
“That’s good,” Phoebe said, pleased, and finished her milk.
For the next two days, Caroline took the bus with Phoebe to and from her job, but Mike never showed up.
“Honey, I’m afraid he was lying,” she told Phoebe on Thursday night as they washed the dishes. Phoebe was wearing a yellow sweater, and her hands sported a dozen little paper cuts from work. Caroline watched her pick up each plate and dry it carefully, grateful that Phoebe was safe, terrified that some day she would not be. Who was this stranger, this Mike, and what might he have done to Phoebe if she had gone with him? Caroline filed a report with the police, but she had little hope that they’d find him. Nothing had actually happened, after all, and Phoebe couldn’t describe the man, except to say that he’d worn a gold ring and blue sneakers.
“Mike is nice,” Phoebe insisted. “He wouldn’t lie.”
“Sweetheart, not everyone is good or wants what’s best for you. He didn’t come back to the bus, like he promised. He was trying to trick you, Phoebe. You have to be careful.”
“You always say that,” Phoebe responded, throwing the dish towel on the counter. “You say that about Robert.”
“That’s different. Robert isn’t trying to hurt you.”
“I love Robert.”
“I know.” Caroline closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Look, Phoebe, I love you. I don’t want you to get hurt. Sometimes the world is dangerous. I think this man is dangerous.”
“But I didn’t go with him,” Phoebe said, picking up on the sternness and fear in Caroline’s voice. She put the last plate on the counter, suddenly near tears. “I didn’t go.”
“You were smart,” Caroline said. “You did the right thing. Never go with anyone.”
“Unless they know the word.”
“Right. And the word is a secret, you don’t tell anyone.”
“Starfire!” Phoebe whispered loudly, beaming. “It’s a secret.”
“Yes.” Caroline sighed. “Yes, it’s a secret.”
On Friday morning, Caroline drove Phoebe to work. That evening, she sat in her car, waiting, watching Phoebe through the window as she moved behind the counter, binding documents or joking with Max, her co-worker, a young woman with her hair pulled back in a ponytail who went out to lunch with Phoebe every Friday, and who was not afraid to take her to