City Kid - Mary MacCracken

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      “Tell me what?”

      “Vernon, set up the checkerboard, will you? I’ll be with you in a minute.”

      Hud came over and stood close to me.

      “Luke’s not here.”

      “Why? Where is he?” My stomach plummeted down.

      “They can’t find him. At least the probation officer can’t, although they think he comes home at night and his mother just doesn’t let on.”

      “Why?” I asked again, not understanding. “Why would he do that?”

      Hud shrugged. “Because of the fire, I guess.”

      I sat down, suddenly nauseated, remnants of the flu rolling in my head and stomach.

      “You know about the fire, don’t you?” Hud asked.

      I shook my head.

      “Oh, Christ. I’m sorry. Tuesday afternoon some cosmetic factory caught on fire. No one was hurt, but they lost a back storage shed. The police are sure it was set by kids, but they can’t prove it. They got one kid, Wendell Higgins, who had been involved in a lot of other fires and grilled him. (He’s on our waiting list, too, I hear.) According to him, he didn’t have anything to do with it. It was all Luke.”

      “What does Luke say?”

      “That’s just it. Nobody can find Luke.”

      Vernon began pitching the checkers in our direction. I got up. “Thanks, Hud. I’ll talk to you later.”

      “Listen, Mary. I can stay when Vernon goes back to class. If I can help …”

      Again I nodded my thanks and headed for the office.

      The door to Mrs. Karras’s office was closed. I looked inquiringly at the secretary, who smiled sympathetically.

      “She’s in conference, one of the board members. Probably be awhile.”

      I nodded and asked for the file keys.

      Brauer, Lucas. I lifted out his folder, but there was nothing new except absence slips for Tuesday afternoon, Wednesday, and Thursday. I put it back and handed the key to the secretary. “Have you heard how much damage there was at the fire?”

      “Not much. Didn’t really amount to a lot. Just a storage shed for extra lipstick tubes, from what I heard. Fire Department got there fast. Kept it under control.”

      “Do you know where the factory is? Is it close by?” My face felt as if it were frozen. Lipstick tubes.

      “Sure. It’s right over on Jefferson. Just three blocks down. We could see the fire from the steps.”

      “The steps? Oh, yes. The front steps.”

      It was all like a bad dream. I headed for the door. “Tell Mrs. Karras –” I stopped suddenly. “She did get my message – I mean, Luke – uh, Miss Eckhardt knew why I haven’t been in this week, didn’t they?”

      A look of confusion passed briefly over the secretary’s pleasant face. “Not in? Let’s see, you’re Shirley, aren’t you? Let me see, here in my notes …”

      I didn’t wait for her to finish. Obviously, the secretary had been confused. Nobody had gotten my message. Nobody knew I was home sick. Luke must have thought I just hadn’t bothered to show up. One more person in his life he couldn’t count on.

      I walked across the street to my car. Not really thinking yet, just ordering my stomach to be still. I drove straight ahead. There it was, Jefferson. I parked my car and got out and walked down the street. Most of the buildings were empty, or else the windows were covered with grimy sheets concealing whatever went on behind them.

      The factory was immediately recognizable. There was an unpleasant acrid smell and then the sight of burned grass and piles of blackened tubes. Automatically I touched the outside of my front jeans pocket. I could feel the tube that Luke had given me for luck. I had carried it to each exam.

      I looked at my watch. Three-fifteen. Nothing to do now. I felt better, though. The walk had cleared my head and I went back to the car to wait.

      By four o’clock the last of the school kids had passed. At four-thirty the factory whistle blew and a dozen or so workers poured out. A few minutes later, what were evidently secretaries or bookkeepers or office personnel left and the plant seemed empty. I waited a few more minutes and then opened the car door and walked back toward the factory. It was quiet and in the dark, late winter afternoon, the ancient street lights were the only illumination.

      I walked without hesitation to the back of the factory and nudged the charred piles of metal with the toe of my boot, waiting, listening. Luke wasn’t here. I knew that, but somebody was. I walked in close to the building, leaning against the old bricks, invisible against the wall.

      A small, dark figure scurried past. Good. Not the police. Not Luke either, though. Maybe Higgins. Judas Higgins. The one who had ratted on Luke. I went out to the metal pile, once again stirring the empty tubes with my foot to make enough noise so whoever was there would listen.

      “Give Luke a message,” I said to the darkness. “Tell him to be at the doughnut place at ten tomorrow morning.” Not a sound. Not good enough. Think of something more. Ah! “Tell him I will give him two dollars to give to the person who brings him the message.”

      I went back to the side of the building and waited. There he goes! The same small figure scurried even faster across the back of the lot, this time not stopping by the piles of tubes.

      I was parked outside the Dunkin’ Donuts by 9:45.

      March had turned lamblike and April continued soft and warm, with white woolly clouds tumbling across the blue sky. I rolled the car window down and waited.

      I had surprised myself the night before. We had finished dinner before I mentioned the fire or Luke to Cal. I had even thought, for a little while, that I might not tell him at all. Cal, of course, knew nothing of what had occurred and attributed my silence to weariness or exams or the flu.

      I didn’t understand yet what had happened myself. I wanted to talk to Luke before I tried to explain it to someone else. In the end, I told Cal, briefly, almost abruptly. He listened, asking only for facts, not interpretations. He didn’t even remind me of what I knew, that it had been foolish to wander alone in the back of a factory after dark.

      Unexpectedly, I slept soundly, deep in a dream that I could not remember. When I woke, the last residue of the flu was gone and I was ravenous and wide awake.

      Now every inch of my body was alert. Where was Luke? Ten o’clock. He should be here.

      A small dark head appeared in the open window.

      “Luke say gimme the two dollars.”

      “Who are you?”

      “Wendell Higgins.”

      “You’re the one who said Luke lit the fire, is that right?”

      “No. I never said nuthin’.”

      “Listen, Wendell. If you know where Luke is, you go tell him to get himself down here right away. No money till Luke shows up.”

      “I dunno if I kin find Luke,” Wendell Higgins whined.

      “Well, you just try, Wendell. I’ll wait till twelve.”

      Wendell was instantly gone. He moved so fast I hadn’t seen him arrive or disappear; with Wendell he was either there or not there.

      At eleven-thirty he was back. Alone.

      “Luke’s skeered to come here.”

      “No two dollars then. Sorry.”

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