Now, I turn off the highway and down a faded, run-down street and feel a shiver of nerves. Maybe I should have brought one of them with me, after all.
The GPS directs me to a shabby apartment building at the end of the block, sandwiched between a dry cleaner’s and a pawn shop. I pull over and try to collect myself.
Do this for him.
I get out, and cautiously climb the front stairs to the first floor. There’s a narrow concrete walkway, and I count down the numbers on the doors until I reach apartment fourteen, the number listed on Gage’s address.
I take a deep breath and raise my hand to ring the doorbell. But before I can, there’s a noise behind me from the stairs. A middle-aged woman emerges, balancing a heavy grocery bag in her arms.
She sees me standing outside the door and stops. Her eyes flicker with distrust. “Are you looking for someone?” she asks, keeping her distance.
“Yes,” I say, trying to figure out what to do. But I have nothing but the truth, so I try that. “Are you Dawn?”
She narrows her eyes. They’re tired, flaking mascara. Everything about her looks slightly worn out: from the cheap blouse and skirt she’s wearing, to the way her dishwater hair hangs limply to her shoulders, the trace of bleach at the tips still growing out. “Who wants to know?” she asks, her voice brittle.
“It’s about Ryland,” I say.
Her face changes.
“It’s about your son.”
Dawn shows me into the apartment, and goes to set the groceries down. I look around. It’s shabby and unkempt: a threadbare couch, a bookshelf weighed down with dog-eared self-help books. She fusses in the narrow galley kitchen, unpacking the groceries and shooting nervous glances back at me.
“Can I get you something?” she asks, her voice trembling. “Juice, iced tea?”
“Iced tea would be great, thanks,” I say, trying to put her at ease. She nods and pours us two glasses from a carton in the fridge before joining me in the small living area. She sits, awkward on the couch.
The iced teas sit, untouched, on the wobbling coffee table.
“So…” Dawn clears her throat. I look at her carefully. I don’t know what I was imagining. Ryland’s last image of her was so devastating, and I can see the shadow of that time in her features. She folds her hands in her lap. “You said this was about Ray Jay.”
I nod. “I need to find him. I thought maybe you could point me in the right direction.”
Dawn purses her lips. “What’s he got himself mixed up in this time? I don’t want any trouble,” she adds. “That boy was always running with a bad crowd. I haven’t seen him in months.”
“Not since he put you through rehab.” I give her a look, angry at the way she’s talking about him, after everything he’s done.
She flinches. “He told you about that, huh? I’m doing good now, real good. I’ve got a job down at the hospital, and I go to meetings twice a week.” Her tone turns defensive.
“That’s great.” I try to keep her calm.
Dawn twists her rings. “So what do you want with me?” She glances to the door. “I got plans I need to get to.”
I fight to keep cool.
“I need to find Driskell.”
That gets her attention. Dawn pales. “What do you want with him?”
“Ryland’s with him, somewhere. Stuck working off the debt he took on. For you,” I emphasize. “Look, I just need to find them both. Is there anything you can tell me? Anything at all? This is important,” I add, desperate. “I know you care about him, Dawn. You gave him that house, and it meant a lot to him.”
Her eyes water. “He went back to Beachwood?”
I nod. “He was trying to rebuild his life. He finally got out of that world, and now he’s getting dragged back in. Help me, please. I can’t give up on him.”
She looks at me for a moment. I can see the indecision in her eyes. Finally, she nods. “Give me a minute,” she says, getting up. She goes into the bedroom, and leaves the door ajar. The seconds tick past, and then I can hear her murmuring to someone on the phone.
“C’mon Wes… No, just need to repay an old debt… Uh huh… New Orleans? Yeah… Thanks.”
The bedroom door opens. I scoot back to hide the fact I was just eavesdropping as Dawn exits. She’s got an old takeout flyer in her hand with an address scribbled on it in dark marker. “Says Driskell’s holding court down in New Orleans,” she says, hesitating.
I reach out. “Please.”
Dawn sighs, then passes me the flyer. I fold it carefully, my heart racing. My first real break! “Thank you.” I grab my purse. “This means a lot to me.”
Dawn shows me to the door. “Did you see the others?” she asks, her voice catching. “Emerson, and my Brit?”
I turn. There’s a look in her eyes that’s equal parts fear and hope.
I slowly nod.
“Are they…?” she pauses.
“They’re happy.”
She swallows. “Tell my Ray Jay I’ll see him soon,” she adds as I step outside. “I just… I just need to get back on track. It’s been a tough year.”
I go cold. I remember the look in his eyes when he told me about her, the desperate hope that one day, she would keep it together long enough to be a real mother; the terrible disappointment every time she failed.
“He’ll always help, you know.”
The GPS directs me to a shabby apartment building at the end of the block, sandwiched between a dry cleaner’s and a pawn shop. I pull over and try to collect myself.
Do this for him.
I get out, and cautiously climb the front stairs to the first floor. There’s a narrow concrete walkway, and I count down the numbers on the doors until I reach apartment fourteen, the number listed on Gage’s address.
I take a deep breath and raise my hand to ring the doorbell. But before I can, there’s a noise behind me from the stairs. A middle-aged woman emerges, balancing a heavy grocery bag in her arms.
She sees me standing outside the door and stops. Her eyes flicker with distrust. “Are you looking for someone?” she asks, keeping her distance.
“Yes,” I say, trying to figure out what to do. But I have nothing but the truth, so I try that. “Are you Dawn?”
She narrows her eyes. They’re tired, flaking mascara. Everything about her looks slightly worn out: from the cheap blouse and skirt she’s wearing, to the way her dishwater hair hangs limply to her shoulders, the trace of bleach at the tips still growing out. “Who wants to know?” she asks, her voice brittle.
“It’s about Ryland,” I say.
Her face changes.
“It’s about your son.”
Dawn shows me into the apartment, and goes to set the groceries down. I look around. It’s shabby and unkempt: a threadbare couch, a bookshelf weighed down with dog-eared self-help books. She fusses in the narrow galley kitchen, unpacking the groceries and shooting nervous glances back at me.
“Can I get you something?” she asks, her voice trembling. “Juice, iced tea?”
“Iced tea would be great, thanks,” I say, trying to put her at ease. She nods and pours us two glasses from a carton in the fridge before joining me in the small living area. She sits, awkward on the couch.
The iced teas sit, untouched, on the wobbling coffee table.
“So…” Dawn clears her throat. I look at her carefully. I don’t know what I was imagining. Ryland’s last image of her was so devastating, and I can see the shadow of that time in her features. She folds her hands in her lap. “You said this was about Ray Jay.”
I nod. “I need to find him. I thought maybe you could point me in the right direction.”
Dawn purses her lips. “What’s he got himself mixed up in this time? I don’t want any trouble,” she adds. “That boy was always running with a bad crowd. I haven’t seen him in months.”
“Not since he put you through rehab.” I give her a look, angry at the way she’s talking about him, after everything he’s done.
She flinches. “He told you about that, huh? I’m doing good now, real good. I’ve got a job down at the hospital, and I go to meetings twice a week.” Her tone turns defensive.
“That’s great.” I try to keep her calm.
Dawn twists her rings. “So what do you want with me?” She glances to the door. “I got plans I need to get to.”
I fight to keep cool.
“I need to find Driskell.”
That gets her attention. Dawn pales. “What do you want with him?”
“Ryland’s with him, somewhere. Stuck working off the debt he took on. For you,” I emphasize. “Look, I just need to find them both. Is there anything you can tell me? Anything at all? This is important,” I add, desperate. “I know you care about him, Dawn. You gave him that house, and it meant a lot to him.”
Her eyes water. “He went back to Beachwood?”
I nod. “He was trying to rebuild his life. He finally got out of that world, and now he’s getting dragged back in. Help me, please. I can’t give up on him.”
She looks at me for a moment. I can see the indecision in her eyes. Finally, she nods. “Give me a minute,” she says, getting up. She goes into the bedroom, and leaves the door ajar. The seconds tick past, and then I can hear her murmuring to someone on the phone.
“C’mon Wes… No, just need to repay an old debt… Uh huh… New Orleans? Yeah… Thanks.”
The bedroom door opens. I scoot back to hide the fact I was just eavesdropping as Dawn exits. She’s got an old takeout flyer in her hand with an address scribbled on it in dark marker. “Says Driskell’s holding court down in New Orleans,” she says, hesitating.
I reach out. “Please.”
Dawn sighs, then passes me the flyer. I fold it carefully, my heart racing. My first real break! “Thank you.” I grab my purse. “This means a lot to me.”
Dawn shows me to the door. “Did you see the others?” she asks, her voice catching. “Emerson, and my Brit?”
I turn. There’s a look in her eyes that’s equal parts fear and hope.
I slowly nod.
“Are they…?” she pauses.
“They’re happy.”
She swallows. “Tell my Ray Jay I’ll see him soon,” she adds as I step outside. “I just… I just need to get back on track. It’s been a tough year.”
I go cold. I remember the look in his eyes when he told me about her, the desperate hope that one day, she would keep it together long enough to be a real mother; the terrible disappointment every time she failed.
“He’ll always help, you know.”
