The woman walked out, closing the door behind her. It closed with a frightening whump. It sounded sturdy and airtight. It made Allie think the woman had left her with not enough oxygen to breathe. Allie felt suddenly claustrophobic in the small cell.
She lay on the bed for a few minutes, sure she wouldn’t sleep. Marveling at the fact that, once again, she owned nothing more than the clothes on her back.
A moment later she got up and stood on the bed, peering out the high, small window. She hadn’t quite discussed it with herself in her brain, but in her heart she knew what she was hoping to see.
Maybe Bea had driven back to that police station. Maybe she had followed Allie here. Maybe she was packing Allie’s scant belongings in those two wonderfully familiar South American bags, just waiting for the chance to deliver them. To be Allie’s support team. To prove she still cared. Maybe she hadn’t just driven on and left Allie and her troubles behind.
The window overlooked the parking lot, and Allie saw two official-looking government vehicles—something like unmarked police cars—and a couple of passenger cars that might have belonged to employees.
No vans as far as her eyes could see.
Chapter Thirty-One
A Close, Personal Relationship between Woman and Cash “So when can I go to the foster home?”
The Polyester Lady only stared at Allie, then back down at her files. She never answered the question.
They sat in an office in the second juvenile detention facility Allie had occupied in little more than two days. This time in Southern California.
“I’m starving here,” Allie continued, to break the weird silence. “I didn’t eat on the plane because they didn’t have anything I could eat. Then I got here in time for dinner last night, and all I could have was some iceberg lettuce and a slice of dry white bread. What’s the point of eating white bread? It has no nutrition.”
Polyester Lady looked up from her folder of . . . Allie had no idea, really. There was always paperwork in this woman’s polyester world, but Allie had little idea what any of it meant, or what purpose it served. She stared at Allie again, unblinking. Seeming not to comprehend.
“Did you tell them about your dietary restrictions?”
“I told the girls who were serving the food. I’m not sure yet who else to tell. They told me if I’m hungry I should eat what they serve.”
“Well . . .” As though it were an idea of some merit.
“Oh, no. Not you, too.”
“What’s this foster home you were asking about?”
“Some policewoman in Washington told me you had a foster home for me. She said you were going to take me there the morning after I ran away. Was that true?”
Polyester Lady took off her reading glasses and set them down on her file. Like an actor in a TV movie, portraying sudden grave concern.
“Yes. It was true. The key word being ‘was.’ That vacancy has been filled. We couldn’t just hold it for you when there are other children in need. We had no idea where you were or whether we’d ever see you again.”
“I’m sorry,” Allie said.
Allie grasped for the first time that her social worker was angry with her. Also that Polyester was hurt in some personal way Allie never would have anticipated.
“I think we can get you another one. Things are not as scary-tight as they were when I first met you. But you’ll be here in detention until we get you in front of a judge. A judge needs to make the determination that you’re not a flight risk, and that he sees no need to sentence you to more detention.”
“Oh,” Allie said. She was looking up, watching dust motes fly in a beam of morning sun shining through a high, small, dirty window. Maybe because everything below was so abnormally awful. “When do I do the judge thing?”
“When we have a date, I’ll let you know.”
Polyester Lady stood to leave. Halfway through her dramatic bustle to the door, Allie stopped her with a question.
“Wait. Don’t go away for a minute. Did you hear anything from Bea?”
“I have no idea who that is.”
“Did anybody call and ask about where I am, or how I’m doing?”
“I’ve talked to your parents. But nobody else. But you should ask the staff. In case somebody called here.”
“I did,” Allie said, followed by a sigh. “Nobody called here.”
“I’m starving,” Allie said to her roommate, a minute or two after lights-out.
Her cell was much the same as the one in Washington, except the floor was painted brown, and it housed two uncomfortable slab beds instead of one.
“They give you vegetarian if you ask for it,” the girl said.
Her name was Manuela, and she was a year or two older than Allie. She seemed wise to the ways of this place, yet cautiously nonaggressive at the same time. Which Allie found to be a great relief. No, more than a relief. A blessing of a magnitude that brought tears to her eyes when she dwelled on it. It was the first break Allie had gotten in what seemed like a very long time.
“I tried that. They gave me this mushy pasta covered with some kind of dairy. Like milk and cheese but mostly milk. I couldn’t eat that.”
“If somebody visits you they can bring you food.”
“Oh,” Allie said. “Wish I had someone to visit me.”
They lay in the dark for a moment in silence. Allie figured Manuela would be just as happy to go to sleep, but she also knew that if she said more, her roommate would listen. Allie was so full of longing and loneliness and uneasiness that her seams felt ready to burst. So she said more.
“I thought maybe that old woman I was riding with might come. I wrote down my full name and date of birth. I figured if she cared enough to want to find me, she could make some phone calls and figure out where I am.”
“So now you figure she don’t care enough?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to decide that yet. It’s only been like three days. Maybe she couldn’t even drive down from Washington this fast. But I was hoping at least she’d call. Even if they didn’t let her talk to me. I was hoping she’d call to find out where I am. But nobody called.”
A brief silence. Allie thought that might be it for their talk.
“You were close with her?”
“I don’t know. I guess I thought so.”
“How long’d you ride with her?”
“I’m not sure exactly. I lost track of days. Probably eight or nine days. After a while it was hard to keep it all straight.”
“That’s not much time.”
That seemed to be Manuela in a nutshell. Just the facts. Just the least she could get away with saying.
“It felt like a lot, though. Like we got to know each other a lot.”
“So, like . . . she just one of them people you latch onto real fast? Like, all loving? That sorta thing?”
Allie laughed out loud. “Oh, no. Not at all. At first she kept wanting to put me out of the van. We didn’t really get along.”
“When’d you start getting along?”
“Well . . . Let me think. I figured out how to get some money for gas and food. Then she seemed much happier to have me.”
“Uh-huh,” Manuela said. Just that. Uh-huh.
“What does that mean?”