Page 38 of Another Girl Lost

“The Judge told me you purchased my print at the reception.”

“I did.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s a stunning piece.”

The waitress arrived with our drinks, and I held mine up, toasting him, and took a sip. The cool, buttery liquid tasted good. I always allowed myself one drink when I was out. If I wanted more, I went home, locked the doors, and had a second.

There were moments like now, when I wondered what kind of person I would’ve been if not for Tanner and Della. Surely, I wouldn’t have been this paranoid or nervous. My ability to relax and enjoy was one of the many things that duo had stolen from me.

“So you’re on the board of directors for the Judge’s recreation center,” I said.

He nodded thoughtfully. “I had several good reasons why I wasn’t the best choice, but she wouldn’t hear my arguments.”

“Tried and sentenced.”

“Correct.”

“What do you owe her?” I asked.

He scratched his jaw. “I represented a kid on drug charges. When I argued my case to her, I detailed several extenuating circumstances. Instead of sending the child to juvenile detention, I asked the Judge to remand her to foster care. She took the kid in herself.”

I had met a couple of the kids who’d been under the Judge’s care. Based on his recap, I suspected he must be talking about Marissa. She was in college now.

“Happy ending?” College was a long way away from the finish line. So many pitfalls.

“Is there such a thing?” he asked.

“Good point. But if you don’t take the first step, you’ll never finish.”

“The Judge has fostered a dozen kids over the years.”

“I was number nine, I think. I believe Marissa was number twelve.” I smiled when the slight surprise sparked in his gray eyes.

“You mentioned that at the reception. How long did she foster you?”

“For a couple of years. Marissa was an angel compared to me. I tested the Judge often in the beginning, and then she sat me down and pointed out that I was headed to a bad place if I didn’t course correct.” I understood the true depth of darkness in bad places.

Luke raised a brow. “You pushed back against the Judge?”

“Once. Maybe twice. She talked to me like an adult, and for whatever reason her words clicked with me.” The Judge had been the first island of sanity in my life, and I didn’t want to be ejected. If not for eighty-eight days in hell, I might’ve pressed.

“How’d you get from there to here?”

“Art. It was a lifeline. It helped me focus and dream bigger.”

“Did you go to art school or were you self-taught?”

“A bit of both. Mostly just a lot of practice.” I sipped my wine.

He peered at me over the rim of his glass. “What broke your concentration on the climbing wall?”

“Didn’t you just ask me that?”

“You dodged the answer.” He didn’t like unanswered questions, puzzles, or unclosed loops.

I skimmed a calloused finger along the glass’s delicate stem. “I saw someone I thought I knew. It had been a long time since we’d crossed paths. I fell, and after that fuss and drama, she was gone, if it even was her.” I sipped my wine, desperately ready to shift the conversation toward him. In under five minutes he’d touched on my foster care stint and Della. “You said you never climbed the wall?”

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