Page 24 of Truck Stop Titan

“Breakfast sounds great. I just need to wash up, then I’ll be down.”

“Perfect. How do you like your coffee?”

“Strong.”

He chuckled. “All right then. See you downstairs.”

I nodded, shoving my hands into the back pockets of my jeans, and waited for Tucker to let himself out.

When the door clicked shut, I wiggled, shaking off the nerves, then made my way to the wall, and pressed my ear against the cold blue surface. I couldn’t make out their conversation, but someone left the room a minute later, the door clicking shut, heels clacking on the hardwood floor outside.

Heavy footfalls made their way across the room. The bed creaked. A low male voice started to hum. Oh, God, my heart. He was singing to her. Emotion got the best of me, and I made my way to the bathroom to dab my wet cheeks.

Didn’t feel right, leaving her, but down to my bones, I knew my niece was safe with that man, criminal or not.

I made my way downstairs and joined the Slade family for breakfast. I met Leticia’s husband, James, Tucker’s wife, Aida, his daughter, Lucia, and their dog, Lola, who managed to position herself between me and the baby, no matter who held the little angel.

We ate. And I readied myself for the challenges ahead.

# # #

“Good morning, sweetie.”

I laid the bag of toys down on the chair, then stood a few feet from the end of her bed, gauging her response.

My niece sat upright, clutching a doll to her chest. A pink hue dusted her cheeks. Her eyes shone brighter. She didn’t make eye contact, but she didn’t shy away, and that was progress.

“Lettie told me you ate some breakfast this morning. That’s wonderful. Breakfast is my favorite meal. I love pancakes the most. But only with peanut butter and real syrup. Maybe someday we can make pancakes together.” I moved closer, steps measured, and smoothed a hand over the bedspread, keeping to the corner.

She tracked my movement, hugging the doll tighter.

“What would you like to do today?” I retreated to the chair and rifled through the bag, pulling out a puzzle, a couple of books, drawing pads, and crayons.

I looked around the room. “We could read, or we could draw, or maybe you could help me put this puzzle together.” Her eyes darted from the doll to me, then she quickly turned her head.

“You like puzzles?” I asked. Paused. Continued. “I love puzzles. This one here…” I held up the box so she could see the picture, the bright spring flowers with kittens poking their heads through cheerful petals. “I’ve tried and tried to put it together, but I can’t seem to make the pieces fit. Then I realized that this is a two-person puzzle. Did you know there was such a thing? A two-person puzzle. Silly, right? Anyway, I was hoping you could help me. What do ya think?”

I searched her face for a sign, any hint that she would allow me close enough to put the puzzle together. She lay back down, rolled to her side, and brushed her fingers through the doll’s hair.

My heart ached. “Maybe we can do the puzzle later.” I laid the box down on the small table, settled for a book, curled up in the chair, and started to readThe One and Only Ivanout loud.

Three chapters in, the sleepy little girl hopped out of bed, padded to the bathroom and closed the door. The toilet flushed. The water ran, and a few seconds later, she came out, ran to the bed, and curled under the covers, tucking her hands under her cheek just like my sister used to do.

I continued reading until her breaths turned into faint snores. Then I let my own lids fall shut.

Whisper soft humming lulled me from a dream, and the room came into focus, the sun bright and unrelenting. I was drenched with sweat and covered to my waist by the comforter that had been on my niece’s bed.

She sat at the table in the corner of the room, the puzzle half put together, her head down, freckled face covered in wild waves of auburn hair.

I stretched, letting the blanket fall to the floor, and watched the little girl rifle through puzzle pieces, twisting and turning each one. No doubt, she would have finished the puzzle in record time, had the heavy stomp of boots not sounded outside the door.

The child gasped, ran to the bed, and buried herself under the sheet.

Male voices came from the hallway, footfalls moving at a fast pace. I waited for them to pass, then whispered, so as not to startle her, “Thank you for the blanket. Can I put it back on your bed now?”

No response.

“If you want me to put it back, you need to tell me.” I waited. Not a peep. “Or you could shake your head, or wiggle your toes.”

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