Page 30 of And Still Her Voice
“A modern-day Renaissance man, you are. So many talents. What happened to your face?” He had a reddish bruise around his swollen eye.
“I fell off my horse during a jousting competition.”
I stopped laughing when I thought he looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. By now, I’d seen so many new faces I’d be unable to remember. He bowed his head slightly toward me, peering up, and then he said. “I know you. My name’s River.”
“My name’s Anna.”
“As I was saying,” Mary said. “The men end up taking credit for everything, while the women provide most of the organization’s income from welfare checks and social assistance.”
“Y’all provide the dough,” River said, and everyone laughed.
“Well, I don’t have any money to share,” I said. “I had a job, but it didn’t last.”
“Yeah, that bum was an asshole,” River said.
I stopped pushing the ball of batter and looked up. “Wait, you, you know him?” I was careful not to use the past tense.
He arched a manicured eyebrow. “Sure. I recognized you right off.”
Mary, stretching the dough, looked up.
River didn’t volunteer anything else. Terrified, I looked back and forth between Mary and him, not knowing whom to trust.
He reached for a small mound of batter, slapped it down on the table, and rolled it out, and then he rolled out a familiar tune:Iwanna be wicked!At once, I recognized those lips. He slapped down the dough . . .and throw mud pies!
River smiled at me as if to say your secret is safe with me, but was I just imagining that he knew anything about what happened over at Steinway’s or Dilbert’s death? And if so, why would he even keep a secret like that? In the meanwhile, I needed to try and act cool, before deciding whether it was time to run again.
CHAPTER 12
A Wild Duet
I was the boy my father never had. I loved the ocean where he and I spent a lot of time together. He told me our last name LeMar meant the sea. The young people flocking around us in Panhandle Park reminded me of the seagulls scrounging for food when Dad used to take me fishing out on a boat full of other fishermen. Sometimes, I thought my life would have been a whole lot better had I been born a seagull or a boy, not that I couldn’t do anything a boy could do, except pee standing up, but I believed my father’s life might have been better had I been the son he wanted. Actually, it might have been a whole lot better if Grandma had just stayed out of our lives.
The next morning, I accompanied Mary to the park to deliver the bread that got carried off in no time. All the while, I kept a close eye on River who ran ahead of us back to the Haight with the others. My mind got tangled up trying to figure out if he knew anything about what happened back at Steinway’s. It didn’t seem like he’d been talking to anyone about it, or maybe that was because he knew nothing. Walking back with Mother Mary, I tried to focus on anything else as I carried empty baskets and donated coffee cans.
When Mary spoke, I just wanted to sop up every bit she said as if she were a hearty soup full of knowledge. I loved listeningto the way she talked, so smart, like one of those news anchors in business suits and ties on the six o’clock news.
“Many of these young people are straight out of college and come from upper-middle-class backgrounds,” she said.
“Like you?” I asked, and she turned to me. “I mean, you mentioned you went to the university.”
“See that guy there?” She pointed to a skinny, pimply kid in Clark Kent glasses. “His dad is probably chairman of the board of a large corporation.” She pointed to another young girl wearing beads and striped bell bottoms, making out with a boy also in bell bottoms, at least I assumed he was a boy. I couldn’t see his face, but he had enviable luxurious long hair. “Her father is a successful lawyer. And his father is a rich stockbroker.”
I stared at all the souls, maybe not lost, but happy-looking, anticipating something wonderful to come up over the horizon—something revolutionary. Couples of different races holding hands, families pushing strollers, older people carting their groceries along.
“We’re a diverse group, ranging from professionals to runaways, from abusive or repressive families,” Mary said.
I should probably call home, I thought suddenly.
“Yes, I am sure everyone is worried about you,” Grandma said. “Let’s go home.”
I raised a hand to squeeze my temples. I can’t go back.
“You okay?” Mother Mary asked.
I nodded, dropping my hand.
“The streets aren’t safe for young girls like you—or boys. There are some out here as young as fourteen. How old did you say you were?”
