The following is an excerpt from the debut novel "Shine Through Night" by Mike McElhaney.
Chapter One
Marci twirled on the toes of her left skate, bringing her arms in closer, increasing the speed until she was a pink blur in front of the lake’s shining surface. Breaking out into a slow backward roll she extended her arms and legs, her long afternoon shadow trailing behind. Breathing in the late summer air, the smell of pine on the breeze, she closed her eyes, smiling. Sarah poked fun at her at times like this, saying she looked like a graceful heron out of its element.
Sarah.
Almost time to go meet up with Sarah and George, thought Marci.
Twisting about Marci did some elegant swooping motions. Had this been a foggy morning in central New Hampshire her thin, long limbs would have cut through the air without disturbing the roll of the fog. She ended a few large turns with a tight spiral before dropping to the smooth concrete, her legs spread forward and back in a controlled split, her faded blue jeans resting upon the ground.
Around her a few bystanders clapped while a nearby child squealed in appreciation. Marci waved and then drew her legs up to a standing position, rolling over to the bench which supported her skate bag and purse. There were many such iron-framed wooden benches sitting in the large circular concourse fronting the Arcade that marked the end of the Boardwalk. She leaned back to rest and looked out over the lake.
The water sparkled as if a breed of golden daytime fireflies had chosen the surface as their feeding ground, moving about in frantic patterns for every morsel they could find. Even in late August, with hundreds of tourists and locals alike flooding the Boardwalk, these spots around the lake gave Marci a sense of calm that even she, a kid knocking on the door of eighteen, could appreciate. Maybe it was because she had lived in the Lakeside neighborhood all her life. Maybe it was because she was weird.
Whatever.
Marci bent over and started undoing the laces of her skates. Made from a pair of white Converse sneakers with pink laces, pink stops, and pink wheels, Marci had hand-made the skates to fit her particular tastes both in style and function. Not as stunning to her eye as the skates she used indoor these outdoor skates were nonetheless cute and would hold up to the rigors of riding on pavement and concrete.
Slipping the first skate off she sat up and pulled open her bag, rummaging about for a skate cover. She pulled it out and tugged it around the disagreeable wheels. After a short struggle Marci won the battle and deposited her first skate in the bag before turning her attention to her remaining skate.
As she bent over to untie the skate, Marci blew some hair out of her face that had fallen in front of her eyes. Looking past her hair she saw a solitary figure sitting on a large wooden post near the water. He had a black skateboard tucked under one folded arm, loose black jeans ending in black Chuck’s on his feet, and a maroon designer t-shirt hung about his thin frame. The boy was about her age, with a mop of black hair, and while she did not know him from school he did seem familiar.
And he was looking right at her, a faint smile on his face.
Marci felt an involuntary blush and redirected her eyes back down. With a quick shake of her head and blink she focused on the task at hand — untying a stubborn shoelace. This one took more effort than the last, the lace pulling as much on Marci’s fingers as she was on it, threatening to leave marks where the pressure was too much. But again Marci won out in the end, pulling the skate off with a grunt before sitting up.
The boy was gone.
Shaking her head Marci finished covering and putting away her other skate, and then removed a pair of normal looking white sneakers from her bag. Slipping these onto her feet she closed up her bags and stood, stretching out, an involuntary yawn taking hold for a moment as she spread herself out like a giant cat. Collapsing back to her normal five feet of height she picked up her things and started walking along the water’s edge on the Boardwalk, heading off to meet up with Sarah and George.
Marci took in the view of the Lakeside neighborhood as she walked. Friday night activities were getting underway, neon lights already ablaze up and down the strip even though there were at least twenty or so minutes of light left to the sky. Up the hillside her home and many others sat in tidy rows. Only a handful of narrow streets wrapped along the hill, houses placed along their lengths, many of them former seasonal camps that had been converted into full houses. Each had its own character and style, providing an ever evolving panorama that, while incongruous at first glance, appealed to locals and visitors alike.
Marci’s gaze drifted up the hill to the street one up from hers, Lichen Street, searching for the house at the end. An older home, what her neighbors and mother referred to as a “Fixer Upper”, it had weathered, shingled sides not seen in most newer homes, and a great stone chimney rising from the center of the house. An abutting workshop built from fieldstone, large enough for a small car, was long ago a small stable some hundred years prior. The lot it sat on was rugged, wooded, and had a huge oak tree at the front face of the house blocking much of the waning summer sun.
The house had been on the market for a year now, the prior owner being an older woman who had passed away and whose children had moved elsewhere with no interest in keeping the home. Most people viewed the home as not being big enough justify the effort to fix up, especially for any young family that might buy it these days. The neighbors all assumed that some out-of-town land developer would come along to bulldoze the home at some point and raise one of those “McMansions” that were starting to pop up around touristy areas in the region.
To Marci the house was a quaint vision of independence. Few would imagine having their dream home a single street over from a childhood home, but for Marci it was perfect. Best of all it would still afford a view, filtered through the great tree, of the lake that lay before her. A hint of a smile crept onto Marci’s face, her eyes lingering on the reflected highlights from the exposed edges of aged flashing on the roof. It was Her House.
Making her way over to the start of the Boardwalk, near the bustling intersection where Main Street and Lake Drive met, the towering screens of the Strands came into view. The Strand’s gates were wide open, with three lanes of cars lumbering in through the ticketing booths. People came from all over the county and beyond to experience what was a diminishing opportunity: the drive-in movie theater. Cars and wagons, minivans, and pickups with kids in the bed all drove in one after another. By the start of the movie the two lots would be full.
The local kids, whether they had a car or not, made a habit of planting themselves a little higher up the hill facing the main screen at the Strands. They positioned themselves to take advantage of the deteriorating privacy fence that stood high around the screens. The owners of the Strands knew this was going on, but as long as there weren’t any disruptions, they let it continue.
But for those who worked there, like Sarah, special accommodations could be made. Employees and a small number of friends were sometimes allowed to watch the screens from the projection rooms, or the top of the concession building. Tonight though Sarah had expressed no intention of taking advantage of her work perk to watch “Back to the Future” with George and Marci. Rather, Sarah intended to sit on the hill in the shadowed dark. This would facilitate whatever devious plot she might have with George on their first official date.
George. George and Sarah. It wasn’t that she didn’t like George, quite the opposite. She considered him kind of a puppy dog, reliable, sweet, loyal, even if somewhat of a doofus at times. The three had grown up together, always close friends, and he wasn’t a bad guy. Maybe her feelings derived from her two best friends taking things to a different level. Sarah and George. It was just weird to think, let alone say. But both Sarah and George were happy, and they did seem to click, so Marci was happy for them.
What Marci wasn’t thrilled about was the prospect of being the third wheel while she tried to enjoy watching the movie for the fourth time. Every time she saw the movie she caught something new, and enjoyed it without fail. Having to swat at Sarah if she and George were making out next to her five minutes into the movie would get real old, real fast.
Marci’s path would take her opposite the Strands to a soda shop set close to the road, Mac’s Place. Her employer for years, so many happy memories with friends started or ended here. You could get every drink and fast-order food item imaginable at Mac’s, along with some Mac’s-only specials. Somewhere in it all, whether in the kitchen, waiting tables, manning the counter, or running the massive WWII-era fountain machine, the amiable but stern Mac stood with a warm grin and quick joke, welcoming young and old alike. For a generation teenagers had stopped here before moving on to other destinations on the lakeside.
Marci climbed the great wooden stairs heading up from the Boardwalk to the extra-wide crosswalk that spanned the road to Mac’s. As she approached she could see the shop was quite busy, most stools occupied, kids coming and going. She recognized many of them from school, though there were also tourist families mixed in, and even a smattering of twenty-somethings who had been kids working the place themselves at one time. Coming in under the pale yellow light at the front of Mac’s Marci heard her name called.
“Marci!” Sarah’s voice carried over from the main counter, her hands waving. George, a red-haired boy of strong build sat next to her, one hand lifted to wave while the other still clutched his drink, straw in his mouth. “Marci!”
Waving back Marci walked through a few knots of people, worming around the small tables set in the front section of Mac’s. Sarah, a shiny blond stood out even in this busy place. Marci’s sandy blonde hair, with bright pink highlights, was subdued by comparison to Sarah’s bright, flowing tresses.
Sarah also had a few inches on Marci, coming close to the height of the average boys in school. Not too tall but tall enough to elicit appreciative, if sometimes rude, comments from boys about her legs or other features. Today was no different, the attention of numerous boys fixed on Sarah even from several seats away. Only the presence, and size, of George acted as a deterrent against their possible advances.
Coming up to the open stool next to Sarah, the girls exchanged a quick hug, followed by Marci giving a quick peck on George’s cheek, the kind she might give to a brother if she had one. “Hi Marci,” George said, sheepish grin on his face.
Swatting him with a napkin, Sarah pouted. “Hey, you’re not supposed to enjoy Marci’s kisses. They’re hollow and meaningless. Who are you here with, anyway?” Marci gave another hug to Sarah and a peck on her cheek. “That’s better!”
Perching herself atop the cushioned diner-style seat Marci was greeted by the warm, leathered face of Mac.
“Welcome to your home away from home, Marci. Here hon, one on the house.” Mac pulled a Coke from the cooler and slid it across the glassy counter, straight to Marci’s waiting hand.
At Mac’s a Coke meant a glass bottle, tapered at the top, with the cap popped off and a straw tucked in, ice cold. So many places only carried the plastic bottles, or just the cans. Not only that, but this was a real Coke, not that New Coke stuff. Unlike most other places Mac had stocked up on pallets of the old Coke before the new stuff came out, so while other places were selling just New Coke, or struggling to stock the rebranded Classic Coca-Cola, Mac had the original.
“Looking like a busy night tonight Marci, sure you don’t want to pick up a shift?”
“I love you Mac but I worked the last four Fridays in a row.” Marci leaned forward, lifted the paper hat off Mac’s smooth-shaved head, and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. “Next week, I promise.”
Chuckling he turned to Sarah, as he picked up a glass from the rinse rack and dried it. “How ‘bout you girl, need some work?”
Tossing her head back in mock exasperation, she over-annunciated her reply. “Oh, but I am so busy, between preparing for my studies in the fall and providing high quality service, at the Strands you know, that I could not possibly find the time to work in just one more thing.” Moments later a great grin broke across her face.
“Yeah, yeah.” Mac placed the glass down onto the shelf and picked up another, shaking his head all the while. “Yeah, busy. Ol’ Mac’s not good enough, not when you got the Strands, I see how it is. What about him? George, you free tonight? Want some work?”
“Well Mac…”
“…he’d love to but he has a prior commitment tonight,” Sarah interrupted, grabbing George’s arm like she was a dog protecting a steak. George had a look of resignation and shrugged his shoulders.
Mac grinned. “Alright, alright, I get it. Well, I’m glad you kids swung by. Have a good time tonight, and watch out for yourselves.”
As Mac walked off to tend to another customer Marci looked into her friend’s expectant, shiny eyes, pausing for a moment, pondering how to start. “Ok, so here’s the thing.”
Sarah frowned. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“You’re on a date. For real. Like a real date.”
“As opposed to a fake date.”
“Look…I am glad you want me to come along, I really am, and I love that movie…”
“Or a certain guy in that movie.”
“What guy? I’m not in the movie, so what are you talking about?” George’s answer was another napkin slap.
“…but I will be a third wheel. No, really, I will be. I’ll cramp your style. And even if I don’t…that may be worse. Or weird. Or something.” Marci’s mouth drew thin, and she took Sarah’s hands in hers. “You know I want you to be happy, and have a good time. So go, have a good time. Both of you. I’ll see you tomorrow. Let me know how it goes. But only the PG parts…ok?”
Sarah sighed. “Ok. You know, you and your good intentions and grown up attitude really bum me out sometimes.”
“Somebody’s got to do it.”
George opened his mouth but stopped before voicing anything after he caught sight of the threatening napkin above his head.
With that settled, and spurred on by the rising noise level in Mac’s, the three focused on finishing their drinks. They kept up small conversation, replaying the events of the day, looking forward to the weekend, touching now and then on how busy it was tonight at Mac’s. After a good ten minutes Sarah excused herself to use the restroom and a minute later so did George, leaving Marci alone at the counter to exchange pleasantries with those working the counter.
As she panned the shop her eyes settled on the figure of a thin young woman with dark brown hair and sharp features. It looked like the lady who had moved into the house next door a few weeks back. Marci had not met her yet, but seen her a couple times coming and going from the house. The woman was pretty but seemed withdrawn, kind of a wallflower.
What caught Marci’s attention was the small cut in the woman’s lower lip. Maybe it was the stark difference between the dark mystery that this woman’s features conveyed and the vulnerability that even a small injury can suggest. In any case even in a place as bright and colorful as Mac’s the contrast stood out.
The woman was situated in front of the dessert case, Mac standing behind pointing out various treats. As the two continued to talk Marci noticed a little girl standing next to the lady, hand in hand. She was a young girl of perhaps eight or nine wearing a powder blue jacket, with bright red ribbons tying up the two long pig tails in her dark brown hair. But it was the face that held Marci captive, a mix of innocence and apprehension unlike any she had seen on a kid so small.
Marci watched as the girl seemed to pause from her perusal of the sweet delights in front of her. With a subtle shift of her head, the little girl turned and her deep eyes met Marci’s. The little girl’s unemotional face melted into a warm smile.
Marci blinked. Then, collecting herself, she smiled back.
The woman bent down to hand a small vanilla ice cream cone covered in sprinkles to the little girl, breaking the spell that a few moments of shared eye contact afforded. The woman began to head out the door with the girl in tow. The little girl stopped on the way out for a fleeting moment to wave at Marci who, with mechanical motion, raised her hand in a small wave back. Marci continued to watch them leave and walk away from the shop.
“Earth to Marci, Earth to Marci, come in Marci!”
“Wha-…what?” Marci shook the cobwebs from her mind, facing a perplexed Sarah and George.
“I’m been trying to tell you we’re back. It’s getting late, and George and I need to go find a nice spot behind the Strands. What’s up with you?” Sarah did little to hide her personal blend of concern and annoyance. “You spaced out. See something?”
“No, it was…nothing. I’m good. Let’s finish up.”
The three returned their attention to draining the last of their sodas, enjoying the ambiance of Mac’s. Over the speakers spilled “I Can Dream About You” by Dan Hartman, and in no time Sarah and Marci had begun belting out the lyrics, leaning together for the chorus, bopping on their stools…much to the apparent chagrin of George. Still bouncing their heads at the close of the song they pushed back their empty bottles on the counter and waved goodnight to Mac.
Sarah and George waved as they headed off to the Strands, leaving Marci sitting on one of the short patio-style chairs in front of Mac’s, the welcome task of putting her skates back on at hand. Sunset had begun not long ago, and now the full glory of the reddish and orange hues of the coming night painted the sky and the lake. High wisps of cloud drifted by, shadows lengthened, and the electric lights standing atop the dignified black posts along the Boardwalk blazed. Each bathed its surrounding area with an orange-tinged, yellowish light that was from another time.
“I like your skates…handmade, right?”
Marci looked up at the voice, not recognizing it. Standing there was a teenage boy about her age in black colored jeans, a deep maroon designer t-shirt, with black Chuck’s on his feet. Under his right arm he held a large black skateboard. It was the same boy from earlier.
“Thanks. Yeah, they are.” Marci continued pulling her skates from her bag, eyeing the boy. “Do I know you from somewhere? I haven’t seen you before at school…”
“Jeff. Name’s Jeff. I live in the Heights.” He swapped the skateboard from his right arm to left, brushed his hand on his pants, and extended it. “And no, you haven’t seen me at school. I go to the Academy.”
Marci paused, then took his hand. “Nice to meet you Jeff. My name’s Marci.” She began slipping the covers off. “So…Lake Academy…”
“I know. Stuck-up bastards…um…people…mostly. Don’t appreciate wheels, boards, or just lazing around on a summer afternoon. But some are ok. Really.”
“Really.”
“Well…a few. Maybe.” Jeff squatted down next to Marci, picking up one of her skates, turning it in his hands before handing it to her. “Here. This really is an amazing skate, if you don’t mind me saying. It’s a very good idea, taking a sneaker and turning it into a skate for out here. I assume you skate over in the Pond Rink a lot?”
“I do.” Marci’s interest was piqued, though she tried not to show it, dropping her eyes to focus on putting on the other skate. The sky was fast starting to shift into a much deeper purplish-red, and the hillside behind them had the dark blues indicating night was coming. “You go to Pond Rink? I thought that was just for roller skating.”
The Pond Rink was an open-air, concrete oval rink a hundred feet long and fifty feet across set on some land behind the Arcade. It had a few large circles extending off of it, wrapped all around by walkways and shrubs. It gave the impression of an organic concrete lake with coves. During the winter months, when ice fishermen setup on the lake proper, the town flooded Pond Rink to make free public ice skating off-lake. Meanwhile, in the summer, the Rink was kept open and clean for people to roller skate on. Marci had learned to skate on Pond Rink, and she felt a special attachment to it.
“It is. But as long as you don’t bother anyone, and you keep to the far side circle, you can board there too. I’ve been coming down here once in a while all summer. The people in the Heights don’t approve of boarding, nor does the Academy.” He paused, a touch of frustration sweeping across his face. “Anyway, sometimes I’ll even bring in a small ramp for the far end to practice stalls and stuff. Nothing big, but it’s kinda cool.”
“That’s cool. You do have wheels after all.” Jeff didn’t fit Marci’s image of a boarder, even if he did look the part. She looked over at the stunning black board with its blue highlights. There was a level of artistry to the graphic design she hadn’t noticed at first, and as she looked it almost leapt out at her. What’s more there was a beautiful sapphire dragon emblazoned on it that she had missed at first glance. “Your board is very nice.”
“Thank you. I have a thing for dragons, I don’t know why. Anyway you can see so much detail here, and here.” He pointed to parts of the picture on his board, holding it with care. “I poured my heart and soul into this board.”
“You made that yourself?”
“Yeah, wheels and all. Painted the dragon, too. This board is almost like a friend. On this I can do anything.”
Marci looked into Jeff’s eyes, seeing his happiness and enthusiasm, seeing in his love of his board the passion she had for her own skates, for skating. “On that you’re free.”
He nodded in response.
Popping to her feet Marci pulled her bag up, and Jeff rose with her. “Well, I need to start heading home.”
“That’s good, I was wondering how long I’d have to wait before I had the chance to walk you home. Or roll you home…that might be a little more accurate. Do you live far away?”
Marci shook her head. “Up the hill a bit.”
Jeff whistled. “I’m impressed. You’re going to skate up that?”
“Too tough for you?” Marci smirked, having had the same question dozens of times from people who just walked the steep incline.
“Not at all…I’m motivated.”
Marci looked once more at the lake, then into Jeff’s eyes. “Ok. You can roll me home.”
Music floated up from the Boardwalk, pop and rock, mixing with the various dance, jazz, or eclectic sounds escaping the restaurants along the road. There was a motion to the music, a rising and falling of the tempo like the gentle waves of the lake’s surface. Here and there teenagers would jump into dance or song if just the right tune played, while in other corners new and old lovers alike would steal a quick kiss. The atmosphere was a rhythmic accompaniment to Marci and Jeff’s slow roll up the hill.
Marci welcomed the sounds. They helped her think. She had been locked in reflection since she and Jeff had left Mac’s, and spent the last few minutes in silence except the background music from the Boardwalk. It wasn’t uncomfortable, which in and of itself was strange to her, and she wanted it to last a while longer. It made her contemplative.
“Do you know why I come here so often?” she broke the quiet, sounding more like a statement than a question. “To the lake, to the Boardwalk? Here I am free. I may come with my friend Sarah sometimes, or my mom, but mostly I come alone. Here I can imagine anything, I can dream anything, and time stands still. I can come to see a sunset and know that tomorrow I can make my dreams real.”
As Marci fell quiet the two looked at each other with understanding. Marci was lost in Jeff’s deep brown eyes, their slight hazel highlights harder to see now that dusk had settled. She realized that she had forgotten to breathe, and forced one in, shifting her attention back to the sidewalk.
“I’m glad I met you, Jeff. You’re not like most people. You’re different.”
“I’m glad I met you, Marci. Thank you for letting me bring you home.”
Coming up to the base of her driveway Marci slowed to a stop, turning toward Jeff. “I know I said this already, but I am really happy I met you. I hope I will see you again.” The words came out before she could catch them.
“Me too. And you will. Do you think…” He paused, uncertainty in his hesitation. “Do you think I may have your number?”
Marci answered by loosening her hands and digging into her purse, sorting through countless items until coming up with a pen and little spiral notepad. She scribbled her name down in flowery letters, adding a little heart-shape above the “i” in her name as she did with all her close friends, and added her phone number beneath. “Don’t call after 7, ok. My mom would get mad.”
“Ok, I won’t. Thank you.” He looked down at the paper, then tucked it in his wallet.
Time dragged for a few more seconds. Then Marci leaned forward and hugged Jeff, a little longer, and a little stronger, than she had ever hugged a boy before. Then she pulled back and smiled at Jeff. “Bye Jeff. See you later.”
“Bye Marci. I’ll call you, I promise.” With that, Jeff turned and fluttered his board down, landing it wheels first. He jumped onto it and gave a strong kick, rolling down the street with the characteristic sound of the wheels on the pavement, dipping back and forth. Seconds later he was gone.
Marci looked after him with a touch of longing, and then sat down on the curb in front of her house. She had nothing specific in her mind. She just sat replaying the events of the day, the events of the last hour, and couldn’t get Jeff’s face, those eyes, out of her head. She was happy. That was all she knew and all she cared to know.
Crash!
Marci flinched at the sound of a dish crashing against a wall or floor, she couldn’t tell, though the sound came from the house next door, and was followed by raised voices arguing. The intensity was palpable, greater than anything she had experienced before. Curses and insults, accusations flying back and forth between what sounded like a big man and a small woman, leaked from the house and filled the air in the neighborhood.
More dishes crashed, and the voices escalated. Front porch lights on some of the other neighboring houses started to flick on, and dogs in the neighborhood started to bark. What was going on? And where is the little girl? I hope she’s having a sleepover at a friend’s right now, prayed Marci.
Crack!
The sound of skin smacking on skin, only with more pressure, shattered the air. It was the type of sound Marci had only heard when seeing clips of a boxing match. Then the sobs of the woman returned, intermixed with more yells, screams now in anger and pain. It sounded like a melee in the house. The noise was so loud it rolled like thunder through the screen windows and doors, causing a flurry of insects to take flight, an assortment of flies, moths, beetles, and who-knows-what taking to the air in a smattering of shiny blues, greens, and other colors as they sought safety.
Marci brought her hand to her mouth in shock. Without realizing it tears began rolling down her face and under her hand her lips parted wide as her mouth hung open, quivering.
The front door of the house burst open, and the little girl Marci had seen earlier ran across the porch, tears streaming down her face, and ran down the stairs. She stumbled coming down, her feet catching the walkway edge, drawing down her legs hard to the paved walk. She cried out in pain as she stumbled into the middle of the walk.
Marci jumped into motion without hesitation, forging a path up the curb, into the lawn, and to the little girl at a full sprint despite her skates. Pain tore up her leg as she twisted her ankle on the uneven ground, causing her to gasp in reaction, but she pushed on. Reaching the little girl she helped her to stand and limp down the walk. It was the longest ten feet Marci had ever crossed. Coming to the edge the two fell together at the yard’s edge, Marci’s ankle no longer able to take the strain.
“Help!” screamed Marci, “Help! Someone please, help!”
Then she heard the screen door open, and turned to see a broad shouldered, giant man, his face a shroud of cold determination beneath a short crew cut. There is nothing in those eyes, Marci thought, fixated. Nothing. How can there be nothing?
The man strode with confidence across the porch and down the stair, acting oblivious to the screams and sobs echoing from the house behind him. He looked with those stone eyes at the little girl, then glared at Marci. The veins in his neck were obvious, and anger flashed on his face. Clenching and unclenching his fists, Marci noticed a red smear on his hand.
Marci could not run, and could tell from the look of the little girl’s leg that she couldn’t either. I’m sorry sweetheart, she thought, her heart torn into pieces. There was nothing she could do. Marci pulled herself up to a sitting position, and drew the girl to her, embracing her and burying the girl’s face into her chest. Marci ran her fingers through the girl’s hair and kissed her head, keeping herself between the man and the girl. “It’s ok sweetie, you’re not alone.” Marci forced her wavering voice to be strong. “I’m here.”
The man walked halfway down the path before stopping, looking down in dominance at the cowering little girl and struggling teenager. A disdainful smile crossed his lips. With visible power and an almost aggressive gait he turned and jumped into his Chevy pickup. The engine roared to life followed by a few quick revs, and then the truck threw itself backwards, cutting a wide swath into the middle of the street before tearing off, the smell of sooty exhaust lingering for a time.
Marci coughed as the cloud of soot and dust rolled over them, her eyes stinging, forcing her to squint. For a moment, as she did, she flinched. The man hadn’t left, he was there, she could see his shadowy form standing in the drifting dust, an oppressive form staring down in hatred at her. Rubbing her eyes and pulling the little girl closer to her, Marci looked again, seeing nothing. The dust rolled past. There was no one there.
Doors were swinging open now on houses, more lights coming on above garages or on porches. Marci’s mother charged out the front door of Marci’s house, a tired and confused look on her face, but fear mirrored there too. “Marci? Marci?”
The front door of the little girl’s house up the walk opened up and the tear-soaked face of the young woman that Marci had seen earlier, mascara staining her cheeks, appeared in the frame. She held a hand to her mouth as she sobbed, making her way down the path toward where Marci sat with the little girl.
“Marci! Marci!” Her mom caught sight of Marci and the girl, running to her daughter, reaching her in a flash.
“I’m ok, mom, I’m ok, it’s fine.” Marci’s mom nodded in response, tears coming down her cheeks. Already a squad car was pulling down the street, lights and siren ablaze, and after a brief solid embrace of Marci, Marci’s mom stood and waved her arms at the approaching cruiser.
The young woman came to a stop a foot away from where Marci and the little girl were huddled. Her eyes were uncertain and she looked disheveled, wobbling a bit, and was unsteady on her feet. Whatever the woman had just been through must have been terrible. What made it worse was that this little girl had to witness it…and she needed someone now. Marci just held onto the little girl for a few more moments, rocking her back and forth, comforting her. Their tears mixed on the ground between them, and the little girl was trembling. “It’s ok, I’m here,” Marci reassured her.
She hoped it would be ok.
Copyright © 2015 by Mike McElhaney