Fugitive Mom. Lynn Erickson

took her hand. “Okay.”

      She advanced up the walk, gulping air, trying to come up with an excuse should this be the wrong place. One step, two, three. As she rang the bell, her mind was so full of muddled thoughts she barely realized that someone was standing behind the screen—a young teenage girl.

      The girl eyed first Grace, then Charley, then called over her shoulder, “Hey, Mom, your friends are here.”

      Friends. No names. Just friends. So this was the place.

      “Come on in,” the girl said, pushing open the door, giving Charley a perfunctory smile.

      A woman was moving toward Grace, her hand out, a gracious smile on her face. An ordinary-looking woman, with brown curly hair and faded jeans and a tank top. A mother, too, but so different from Grace. So courageous. How many frightened women and children had she sheltered?

      Grace took her hand and tried to return the smile.

      “Well, let’s get you settled,” the woman said, and she gently ruffled Charley’s silky hair. “And I’ll bet you’re hungry, young man.”

      Charley looked up at Grace with soulful eyes.

      “Yes,” Grace said, “I’m afraid he’s always hungry this time of night. I didn’t think to…”

      “Of course you didn’t. Here, your room is just down this hall. It’s off the kitchen. There, the light switch is on the left. And there’s a small bath just to the right. And, by the way, don’t worry, no one can do much rational thinking in this situation. Don’t forget, it is your first night. Get settled and I’ll see you in the kitchen, okay? And you, young man, do you like cookies? Or maybe a Popsicle?”

      “A Popsicle.”

      “What do you say, Charley?”

      “Please.”

      The woman smiled again and closed the door behind her.

      “Wow,” Grace breathed, sinking onto a queen-size bed.

      “What’s wrong, Mommy? Can I get my Popsicle now?”

      “In a minute. I just need a minute, honey.”

      “But I’m hungry.”

      Grace sighed, trying desperately to collect herself. She felt as if she’d stepped onto a train on this so-called railroad, a train with no destination, a train that would never stop. Her heart pounded furiously and suddenly the room was too close. She rose and opened the window that looked out onto a square backyard and an alley behind it. The sound of children playing nearby drifted in, all so normal, so placid in the face of her predicament. She should be home, calling the cats in for the evening, telling Charley to brush his teeth, arguing about his bedtime on this warm summer’s night.

      After a few more complaints from Charley that he was hungry, she finally took his hand and led him to the kitchen, where the woman was doing dinner dishes.

      The situation was so terribly awkward. She and Charley were strangers in a strange place. She felt sick with confusion and unfocused dread.

      “Oh, there you are. We’ll get your suitcases and you’ll be settled in for the night.” The woman dried her hands on the dish towel that hung from the refrigerator handle and clucked at Charley. “And I’ll bet you want that Popsicle, young man.”

      “Yes, please.” Charley beamed.

      She looked at Grace. “Coffee? I have decaf. Or there’s iced tea.”

      “Iced tea would be nice, thank you.”

      “While I fix the tea, why don’t you bring in your bags.”

      “Will my car be okay? I mean…”

      “For tonight it will be fine.”

      And then what? Grace wondered. Could any of this be happening?

      Charley ate his Popsicle while Grace got their bags from the car and sat them in the bedroom. Then it was time to settle Charley down, to insist, despite the newness of his surroundings, that he put on his pajamas and brush his teeth.

      “I want to watch TV,” he said, and she was afraid he was going to pull one of his “terrible fits,” as she called them.

      She drew one of his favorite books out of his bag, and he snuggled against her. It was a short simple book called A Happy Sad Silly Mad Book, which she found effective with children when they were upset. Not that she did much therapy these days. No time for it since she’d taken on Charley. The book asked children how they felt, described the emotions, told them it was okay to feel them.

      The method never failed with Charley.

      She turned the last page and bent to kiss her little boy’s forehead.

      “Good night, Mommy,” he said, and he hugged her around the neck.

      “Good night, sweetie.”

      She stood, whispering up a prayer of relief. This was impossibly rough on him. Bad enough for her, but Charley was the innocent one, the victim of an unjust court system. He shouldn’t have to suffer. Damn, not this beautiful child.

      The ice was practically melted in her tea before Grace finally sat across the kitchen table from her hostess. Down the hall, the door to the bedroom she was to share with Charley was open, and the sound of the TV and the teenage girl talking on the phone came from the living room.

      She looked up from her glass and caught the woman’s gaze. “I…I feel so awkward,” she began. “It isn’t that you haven’t been most gracious…It’s just that…”

      “It’s your first night,” the woman put in. “And you don’t know where any of this is heading and you’re scared to death.”

      “In a nutshell, yes.”

      “You have to take it one day at a time. If you’re strong for your son, you’ll succeed. Things work out.”

      “Do they?”

      “Often enough.” The woman nodded, an inner strength shining through. The glow made her look beautiful.

      Grace tucked a stray strand of mousy hair behind an ear and adjusted her glasses on her nose. Oh, she knew she was a plain Jane and a little timid at that, and she couldn’t help wondering, if she’d been more outgoing and assertive in court, would the judge have ruled differently? If, for instance, she had carried herself more like this woman, would she be in this mess?

      “I wish I could give you all the answers,” the woman was saying. “But that would be impossible. Everyone’s situation is so different, you understand.”

      “Of course.”

      “There are a few things I can tell you, though, and maybe they’ll help.”

      Grace gave a strained laugh. “That would be nice.”

      “And a piece of advice here. Don’t let yourself become emotionally entangled in other sponsors’ lives. In my experience, most people who take you in are pretty closemouthed, but there’ll be some who’ll virtually dump their troubles on you. You’ve got enough problems of your own right now. Do you understand what I’m getting at?”

      Grace let out a breath. “Yes, completely.” She nodded. Oh, God, she thought, it was all too real.

      “As for your car…you’ll need to stash it with someone, a good friend, a relative, whoever. Use the bus or train, whatever feels comfortable. And keep moving. I know how awful all this sounds, but you need to lose yourself and, of course, Charley.”

      “Is this…forever?” she ventured, gripping her glass of tea whitely.

      “Yes and no. Everyone’s situation is so different. I can tell you my own, if it helps.”

      “Please.”

      “Well,