The Garnet Trilogy
By Willa Jemhart
Book 1: Sketch of Secrets
Copyright 2012 Willa Jemhart
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters and events are the product of the author`s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.
CHAPTER ONE
She stepped out of the front door of her high school, shading her eyes from the blast of bright prairie sunlight. Her hand reached into her purse to retrieve her sunglasses which she hastily shoved onto her face. Martie Johnson’s chest filled with anticipation. Not only was this the last day of school, but it was also her 17th birthday. She could barely wait to find out what her mother’s surprise would be this year.
She skipped down the smoldering cement steps while fishing her cell phone from her bag. Powering it up, she moved into the shade of a nearby tree. Friends passed by with wishes of a happy birthday or a good summer vacation, before bustling on to their own two months of freedom from teachers and homework. Martie gave them each a smile and a thank you, and passed on return well wishes.
But what she really wanted was to know what this year’s birthday surprise would be. Her mother was a master at coming up with the greatest ideas. She worked as a receptionist at a travel agency, and therefore had taken Martie on a number of great trips. She would never let on where they were going, saying only that she needed to pack. Last year, for her 16th, the surprise had been helping her with the purchase of a car. Martie had managed to save one thousand dollars and her mother matched that amount. They spent the following Saturday car shopping. She had eventually settled on a little red Toyota. It was old, with dots of rust here and there, but it was in good running order, and best of all, it gave her a sense of independence. Last birthday’s surprise was going to be hard to beat.
Her phone, having found a signal, beeped, indicating there were messages waiting. The first was as expected - a text from her mom. Martie grinned eagerly as she opened it.
I love you with all my heart. Never forget that. Do what Fran says.
A small snicker escaped her mouth. Fran was her mother’s closest friend, and obviously she had enlisted her help this year. Her mother was outdoing herself, and the fun and mystery of this game of surprise had Martie’s insides bubbling over. She scrolled to the next message. It had been sent only five minutes after her mother’s. As expected, it was from Fran.
Martie, DO NOT go home. Come straight to my house. HURRY!
A couple of passers-by gave her sidelong glances as Martie squealed with glee while sprinting to her car. Her mother had never involved Fran before, so she was certain this year’s gift was going to be something great. They were by no means wealthy, but her mother always came up with the perfect gifts.
The short drive from J Brooks High to Fran’s house was impossibly long. Though the traffic was light, it moved in slow motion. Pedestrians had to cross at every single crosswalk she neared, and the traffic lights turned red just in time for her approach. Her fingers drummed frantically on the wheel, and her bottom lip became sore with chew marks. When she finally pulled into the driveway of the small white house where Fran lived, she was afraid she was going to spontaneously combust.
The second she put her car in park, Fran flew from the house, opened the car door, and grabbed her by the hand to pull her out. As Martie tripped along, trying to keep up with Fran she thought how great it was that Fran was totally getting into this too. It was an awkward maneuver to pull her mini jean skirt down properly while being yanked up the few steps and into the front door. She laughed out loud. What could it be? What had Mom and Fran done?
Fran immediately slammed the door shut and turned to Martie. Her usual tanned face was pale and she looked sick. Martie’s smile vanished as she looked into Fran’s swollen blue eyes. She had obviously been crying.
She trembled as she released her grip on Martie.
“What’s wrong?” Martie asked.
Before Fran could respond, her seven year old daughter skipped into the entryway and grabbed Martie around the waist, hugging her hard. Martie had a soft spot for the cute little girl with big blue eyes and wavy dark brown hair that never looked freshly brushed.
“Hi Ainsley,” she said affectionately as she ruffled her hair. Martie was aware that Ainsley idolized her, and she welcomed the admiration because she never had a little sister of her own. In fact, she had no siblings, but always wished she had.
“Ains,” said Fran a little too sternly. “Can you please go downstairs and watch T.V. I need to talk to Martie alone.”
“Okay,” Ainsley pouted and looked up at Martie with grumpy eyes, hoping her hero would come to her rescue. But Martie couldn’t this time.
“I’ll hang out with you another time,” she promised. Clearly not happy with the rejection, she released her hold on Martie and slowly shuffled away.
Martie turned back to Fran with eyebrows raised and lips parted.
Fran was clearly not her usual self. Her make-up was smudged and her clothes were disheveled. She ran a quick hand through her own messy dark brown hair before taking Martie’s hand again to lead her to the living room, where she gestured for her to sit beside her on the couch. She then grabbed her other hand and faced her with a wild eyes. “It’s your mom Martie,” she blurted. The worry glistened in her eyes.
Martie swallowed, trying to gauge what was happening. Surely her mom wouldn’t get this elaborate to surprise her. She examined Fran’s distraught face carefully, and decided there was no way this could be a game. Fran was incapable of keeping a straight face. She was the type of person who started giggling long before the punch line when telling a joke. No, Martie decided that whatever was going on, she needed to take it seriously.
“She’s gone,” continued Fran. “She called me about forty-five minutes ago. Told me to get you here. You’re not to go home. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Um, no. I don’t understand. What do you mean she’s gone? Gone where?”
“All she said was that they found her. And they are taking her back. She didn’t know what they would do to you, or if they would do anything at all. She said it’s best for you to just not go home.”
Martie’s face twisted in confusion. “They? Who are ‘they’?”
Fran paled to an even whiter shade. “You don’t know?” she asked.
“Know what?” Martie’s voice had risen and her face began to flush. She suddenly felt a little light-headed.
Fran dropped her head, but quickly raised sad eyes back up to gaze at Martie. This time when she spoke, her voice was no longer frantic. It was almost a whisper. “I don’t know. She would never tell me. But I always assumed she would have told you.”
Martie stood and threw her arms up in the air. She shook her head as she marched to the other side of the coffee table. Her fingers began to rub her temples, attempting to block an emerging headache. She wasn’t sure if she should be mad or terrified. Fran remained on the couch with her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.
“Fran,” Martie begin, trying to keep herself together. She spoke slowly and decisively. “What exactly is it that you think she would have told me?”
Fran took a deep breath and ripped her fingers through her hair. Her eyes were wide with fear when she looked up at Martie. “About her past,” she breathed.
Martie furrowed her brow, shaking her head. This wasn’t making any sense. Her mom was gone. ‘They’ came to take her back - whoever ‘they’ were - and wherever ‘back’ was. If her mother had a dark or strange past, she knew nothing about it. For a
brief moment, she decided this was all just a big weird misunderstanding.
She took out her phone and dialed her mom’s number, but it just rang and rang. Her voice message didn’t even come on. Frustrated, she slammed the phone onto the end table.
Fran sat speechless for a moment, staring at Martie, and Martie reflected the same back. Suddenly Fran rose from the couch and scurried out of the room.
Martie began pacing back and forth in the small living room, trying to sort out what Fran was telling her. It occurred to her then that this might have something to do with her father. He was the only mysterious thing about her mom’s past that she could think of. Her mother was always very vague about him. He’d remained a mystery to Martie her entire life. There was only one picture of him; a tiny one of him with her mom. It was pasted inside a gold heart-shaped locket her mother wore on a chain around her neck. For the first part of Martie’s life, her mother never took the locket off. But the photo was so tiny that the only clear feature of her father was that he had sandy colored hair.
Martie had asked about him over the years. The facts about him that her mom had been willing to share amounted to very little. His name was Martin Jones. Martie was named after him. Her mother referred to him as a good man. He loved her mother dearly and was elated they were going to have a child, but he had to leave before Martie was born. Her mother would never tell her why, saying that it was complicated, and he had no choice. To Martie’s knowledge, the two of them hadn’t been in touch since.
When she was younger, Martie would imagine that her father was some sort of important secret agent, travelling the globe on special assignments that ensured the safety of the world. She would often make up stories about these missions and share them with her friends. They would listen wide-eyed and think that it was all very cool.
But as she grew up her opinion of him started to change. From time to time Martie would see her mother lying on her bed holding the locket and crying. Eventually she took it off, and Martie never saw the locket again. She began to wonder what kind of a man would just leave like that. He had a beautiful, kind woman, who obviously loved him, and at the time when he left, he had a new baby on the way. What could be more important than that? No longer in Martie’s mind was he a mysterious hero. In fact she grew to have a small hatred for the man who, the way she saw it, chose to remain out of her life. Her mother always got very defensive when she spoke badly about him. She would say he loved her and that he didn’t want to leave, but he had to. That’s all she would say. She refused to give any sort of explanation. Martie couldn’t lie to herself. The mystery surrounding her father had always bothered her, and now she couldn’t help but wonder if he had something to do with what was going on now.
Fran abruptly stopped Martie’s ponderous pacing by standing in front of her with a black duffel bag. “Here,” she said, holding it out for her.
“What’s this?” Martie asked, but left Fran holding the bag.
“I’ve been keeping this here for your mom for years now. She told me there might come a day when the two of you would have to leave suddenly. She said if that day ever came she wanted to be prepared - that she would have to grab this bag and just go.” Her pale blue eyes welled up. “She said if that ever happened, I would never see the two of you again.” Slow beads of moisture were trickling down her cheeks now.
Martie’s eyes curiously scanned the bag. She didn’t recognize it.
Fran’s sobs became loud as she struggled to continue. “I never really believed Maggie would ever come for this bag and take the two of you away.” She sniffled. “But this is worse. Much worse!”
Martie’s eyes grew round and she gave herself a mental slap for not thinking of it sooner. She darted around Fran, making a dash for her phone on the end table, “The police! We need to call the police.”
“No,” Fran wailed as she ran to Martie and snatched the phone from her hand. “No police. I promised your mom.”
Martie glared at her incredulously, shaking her head in disbelief, her face full of unanswered questions that Fran seemed to have no answers for. Fran’s eyes softened. She handed the phone back to her and said, “I’m sorry.”
Martie sat down on the couch with a sigh. “But why? I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this.”
Fran joined her again on the couch, sitting close. She pulled Martie into a hug, crying softly, restraining her sobs. Martie’s forehead was pressed against her cheek and she could feel the moisture of Fran’s fresh tears. “I don’t understand either. I just don’t know Martie. I tried to get more information from her, but she wouldn’t budge on it.” Fran took a moment to compose herself before continuing. She looked deeply into Martie’s eyes, as if assessing whether or not to continue. “I questioned her about it many times. Witness protection? Or I thought maybe she took you and ran from an abusive relationship…”
“And?”
“She assured me it was nothing like that. She told me again and again that she couldn’t talk about it. You have to understand, I love your mom. She’s like a sister to me, and so I had to respect her privacy. For whatever reason, she couldn’t share her past with me, and I learned to live with that. And I never believed anything like this would actually happen.”
They sat there for an eternity, lost in their own thoughts. The faint sound of a cartoon show drifted up from the basement as Fran sat crying soundlessly. Martie was in a state of stunned shock, her mind going in a million different directions.
Eventually the silence was broken by Fran. “You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need…as long as you want. I wish I had some advice for you. I’m so sorry Martie. I’ll do whatever I can to help.” She’d been gripping the duffel bag the whole time. She looked at it like she was saying good-bye to an old friend, and gently placed it on Martie’s lap.
“What’s in it?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I never asked, and I never looked.” Fran smiled in a motherly sort of way. Martie was aware that her heart was breaking for her, as Fran gently brushed some hair away from her eyes. “Why don’t you settle into the guest room? Take the bag.” She gestured at it with a tilt of her head. “Maybe there are some answers in there.”
Five minutes later Martie was sitting on the bed in Fran’s small guest room with the bag laying in front of her. The long zipper on the top sagged slightly at each end, giving the impression of a malevolent grin daring her to peek inside.
Martie stared at it, hesitating. While she was curious, she wondered if she might be on the verge of learning things about her mother that she didn’t really want to know. How bad could her past be? Thousands of possibilities whirred through her mind, none of which were good.
Her heart was thumping against her ribs. She reprimanded herself for thinking poorly of her mother. Maggie was a good, honest, hard-working person, she reminded herself. She sucked in a big shaky breath of air and unzipped the bag. Exhaling, she turned it upside down and dumped the contents onto the bed. Then she sat staring in disbelief.
Lying in front of her on the bed was money - and not just a few dollars. It was more cash than her eyes had ever seen before. Stacks of bills neatly piled and secured with rubber bands; both Canadian and U.S. currency. There were mostly hundreds and twenties, with a few stacks of fifties. There must have been at least fifty thousand dollars staring her in the face. The first thought that ran through her head was, holy shit! Did Mom rob a bank? Or worse, did she steal this from someone? A drug lord, a powerful millionaire? Her mind became a mess with overactive imagination.
Martie had to make a conscious effort to calm her shaking hands. She reminded herself again of her mother’s good nature. She told herself that Maggie wouldn’t be involved in anything illegal. It simply didn’t fit with the kind of person she was. But there had to be thousands of dollars there. She couldn’t imagine where it might have come from.
Her eyes scanned over the pile; the green, the brown, the red, the pictures, numbers and
faces together reeled in her head, making her dizzy. Then her eyes focussed on something that was out of place. She spied the corner of a neatly folded piece of paper poking out from under one of the piles.
She plucked it out carefully, unfolding it to reveal a beautiful charcoal sketch. Unfortunately the paper had been folded too many times and for far too long, creating ugly lines and smudges across the sketched face. But it was still blatantly obvious who the person in the drawing was. It was her mother; she guessed she had been in her twenties at the time it was drawn. The sketch accurately depicted her mother’s large curious eyes, and showed her with lips slightly parted, as if she was about to give all her secrets away. A title across the top read ‘Magda’. Martie squinted, wondering what that could mean. It sounded like a name to her. But her mother’s name was Maggie. Martie had seen her mother’s various pieces of identification and they all stated that her given name was Maggie. In the bottom right hand corner of the sketch were the initials M.J. in fancy script. Her mother’s initials were M.J, but then again so were her father’s. She had a hazy memory of her mom telling her that her dad was an artist. Studying the picture one more time, she concluded that he must have drawn the portrait.
She turned her attention back to the bag, and wanting to make sure nothing was missed, felt around inside it. Her fingers located an interior zipper pocket on one side. She opened it to find a single piece of note paper. Turning it over, she found writing on one side that she immediately recognized as her mother’s. Larzel - 5325 Treeridge Lane, Calgary, AB.
It was a name that Martie had never heard before, and she couldn’t recall her mother knowing anyone who lived in Calgary. She wondered if this Larzel person could give her some answers. The thought even occurred that he might know her father. Or stranger yet, maybe he was her father.
She had just finished stuffing all the cash and papers back into the duffle bag when there was a small knock at the door.
“Martie, can I come in?” asked a squeaky little voice.
She quickly zipped up the bag and let Ainsley know that she could come in. She happily skipped through the door and bounded up onto the bed beside Martie. Fran appeared in the doorway. “Ains, leave Martie alone,” she scolded.
“It’s okay.” Martie smiled at Ainsley and gave the top of her head a ruffle. “I’d love to hang out with her for a while.”
Fran nodded and walked away.
Sensing that something unusual was going on, the little girl asked, “Is everything okay?”
“No everything is not okay,” Martie snapped teasingly. Ainsley looked at her with scared little eyes. “I haven’t given you a make-over in forever,” Martie announced.
She giggled with glee, and then looked at Martie with all the seriousness in the world.
“Martie, can you make me as pretty as you?”
She pulled her little friend close and smiled. “You’re already prettier. Now let’s do your hair.”
Fran and her husband Bryce were like family to Martie. Between attending family barbeques over the years and babysitting Ainsley, it felt like a second home to her. She wished she could go to her house to get some clothes and other personal items, but Fran had forbidden it. Thankfully Fran was able to find a spare toothbrush and loaned Martie a nightshirt.
Sleep was a long time coming that night. Her restless mind swirled in vicious circles of unanswered questions. Where was her mother? Was she safe? Who were ‘they’? It occurred to Martie that she had yet to cry over her mother’s absence, and for a moment she wished she would. She felt guilty for not being the sobbing mess she thought was appropriate. She dismissed the guilt quickly, realizing the absence of tears was due to the fact that she hadn’t completely absorbed the reality of the situation. Part of her was still waiting for her mom to pop out of nowhere and yell ‘surprise’. One single drop tracked its way down her cheek. She missed her mother, but could not accept that she was truly gone.
Sleep eventually found her, and when it did, she dreamed about the boy. She had dreamt about him for as long as she could remember. They’d had many adventures together, and he almost always appeared in her dreams at times when she was worried or stressed about something.
He was about her age, and they had grown up together in the world of her unconscious mind. When Martie was little, so was he. When she was a pre-teen so was he, and so on. He had grown into a very good looking dream guy, with brown hair and intense deep brown eyes. His hair was a little long for a guy, but it suited him. He had a great build on a firm lean body that stood at around five foot ten. Martie loved his dazzling smile, which made her feel like she could take on the world, and be the bold person she couldn’t be in her waking life. In her mind he was the ultimate candidate to be her boyfriend. That might explain why she didn’t date often - no one else could compete with the flawless boy of her imagination.
That night Martie dreamed she was running for her life, and screaming scared. Something or someone was chasing her and closing in fast. She was choking on her own breath and drenched from head to toe in heavy sweat. The boy suddenly appeared in front of her, one arm outstretched, reaching for her. She ran faster when she saw him, but whatever or whoever was after her was getting closer all the time. She couldn’t reach the boy. His hand was so close she could feel the warmth of it, but she couldn’t quite touch. She picked up her pace again and again, but he was always just barely out of reach. His eyes were narrowed and almost completely black as he stretched his arm further and further toward her. She inched closer, but still just out of reach, the tips of their fingers only a millimeter apart. She turned back to check the distance of her hunters. And when she brought her eyes back to the boy, his face had softened. He was smiling encouragingly with his arm outstretched. His eyes bore into hers and though his lips didn’t move, she knew what he was saying. “You can do this. Reach.” She forced her body forward with a sudden lurch. They were finally able to clasp hands, and he swiftly pulled her to the safety of his arms. She whipped her head around to face her pursuers, but there was no longer anyone there. The boy’s comforting face and soft smile soothed her. “You’re safe now.” She knew that’s what he said, though no words came from his mouth. He pulled her into a tight reassuring embrace. She sighed knowing she was safe in his imaginary arms.
Martie woke up the next morning wet and shivering. Blinking away the sleep in her eyes, it took a moment to remember why she was in Fran’s spare bedroom. Without warning, the realization hit her hard. Her mother was gone, and nobody seemed to know where or how to begin looking for her. Uncontrollable guttural sobs erupted as she buried her face into the pillow. Her body shook as she started to wonder if her mother was even still alive. She sat up abruptly and swiped the back of her hand hard across her eyes, forcing herself to stop that line of thought. She couldn’t allow herself to think that way. She told herself if her mom was dead she would know it. She would feel it.
She slowly dragged herself out of bed and made her way to the bathroom. The mirror was not kind. Her long blonde hair was a tangled mess and her normally bright green eyes were dull and droopy. She stepped into the shower and stood motionless, letting the water slowly spill life back into her. Yesterday had been the worst birthday ever. Why was this happening?
After she had dried and dressed she felt slightly more human. She walked into the kitchen where Fran immediately handed her a cup of coffee. “How are you feeling?” she asked. Fran picked up her own cup and gripped it tightly in both hands, her smile forced.
Martie sat at the table and stirred some sugar into her coffee, not knowing quite how to respond. She wasn’t sure how she felt. Scared? Sick? Worried? Mad? Confused?
Fran, having not received an answer, took a seat across from her best friend’s daughter. She examined her for a moment, seeing what Martie knew to be a girl who looked pale and lost. She set her cup down on the table and wrung her hands nervously. “Bryce went by your house early this morning,” she told her.
This got
Martie’s attention and she lifted her head to meet Fran’s eyes.
“It’s a mess. Stuff thrown all over the place. Drawers and cupboards all opened and emptied. Promise me you won’t go there?” she pleaded.
“Was anything taken?” Martie asked.
“Your mom’s computer is gone. That’s all he noticed, but he didn’t stick around long, just in case.”
Fran’s words helped Martie decide how she was feeling - sick to her stomach. What could anyone want with her mother? She was a secretary at a travel agency - just an average person. None of this made any sense, and she wished there was something she could do. She knew she would go crazy just sitting around waiting and wondering. She had to do something. She had to find her mother. But what could she do? She considered the bag with the money, and the note…
“Do you have a computer I can borrow?” she asked Fran as she rose from the chair.
“Of course,” Fran said. “It’s in the den.”
Half an hour later Martie returned to the kitchen feeling lost and depressed. Fran, who was now dressed and tidying up, saw the drawn look and drooping shoulders and quickly rushed to her side.
“What is it Martie?” She laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“There was a name and address in that bag,” Martie explained. “For someone in Calgary.” Fran prompted her with a nod to continue. “It’s Larzel, but I don’t know if it’s a first name or a last name. It doesn’t show up as a last name at all in the phone directory, and I’ve typed the name into a bunch of different search engines, and there’s nothing to go on that makes any sense. It’s as if the person doesn’t really exist. Have you ever heard my mom mention that name?”
“No I haven’t. I’m sorry.” She paused, but when Martie said nothing she asked, “What are you going to do?”
Fran watched with concerned silence as Martie walked away from her to the kitchen sink, where she poured herself a glass of cold water. After downing it, she leaned forward against the counter and gazed out the window. It was a beautiful summer day. This was Martie’s summer vacation. In fact it was her last summer vacation because in the fall she would be starting grade twelve. She rubbed her eyes wearily. She had so many plans, none of which included wondering where her mother was or why she was taken. The guilt of feeling selfish played on her heart. But her gut told her that her mother must be in danger. Surely she would contact her if she wasn’t.
The ping of her cell phone sounded from the kitchen table and a trickle of hope rose in her throat. She rushed to it as Fran clasped her hands together in front of her chest with her own unspoken hope. But Martie’s quickened pulse slowed to a dull thud when she saw it was a text from her friend, Becky.
We’re going to the mall. You coming? Or are you busy with a fab birthday surprise???
All she wanted was to hang out with her friends. She wanted to tell them all about what had been going on. The need for their ears, their shoulders, and their advice was what she longed for. But her mother didn’t want the police involved, so Martie assumed that she probably didn’t want anyone else to know either. Know what? This whole situation was so aggravating.
Then in an instant she knew what she had to do. It would mean putting off her friends but for now she had to. She swallowed hard as she realized the enormity of her sudden plan. It was something that was out of character for her; a quiet girl who spent a lot of her time in the background, letting others take the lead, letting others make her decisions for her.
Martie noticed Fran looking at her suspiciously. Her daunting idea must have changed her whole demeanor. Martie was standing up straight, she felt some of the color creep back into her cheeks, and she could have sworn she felt a twinkle in her eye.
She quickly replied to Becky.
Sorry Becks. Can’t make it. Birthday surprise is a quick trip to Calgary. Will call when I get back. Hi to everyone. Luv Martie
Fran was still watching her, the unanswered question still lingering on her face. Martie had made a decision, a decision that terrified her. But she knew she had to do it. “I’m going to find Mom,” she announced. “I’m going to Alberta.”
Fran narrowed her eyes. It was obvious this idea did not sit well with her. She stood and placed her hands on her hips in a classic parental pose. “Oh I don’t know,” she said. “We don’t know anything about this Larzel person. We don’t know what your mother is involved in. I think you should stay here until we get more information.” Although she used the words ‘I think’, Martie knew to interpret it as a firm no.
She scoffed. She loved Fran and she respected her, but she was ready to argue her point to the end. She had made her mind up. No matter how fearful she was of setting off on her own to track down her mom, she knew she had to do it. “So I’m just supposed to sit around and wait? From what I can tell, this Larzel person is our only source of information. Please let me go. I have to do this - for Mom, and for me.”
Fran bit her upper lip. Martie could see that Fran knew she was right, and had she been in Martie’s situation, she would probably have already been on her way to Calgary. “What about money?” she asked. “How can you pay for travelling expenses?”
She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t mentioned it sooner, but now Martie told her about the stash in the duffel bag. Fran didn’t seem the least bit surprised. She knew Maggie as well as Martie did, and they both knew her to be extremely organized and always prepared for anything.
“But Martie…a young girl travelling alone. I just don’t think this is a good idea.”
Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? “Fran! I don’t have to go alone. You could come with me.”
Fran shook her head. “Martie, if I could just drop everything and go, I would. You know how much I love your mom. I’m sure she must have mentioned that I’m going to be covering a maternity leave at the travel agency soon. Jen could have her baby any day. I can’t just go running off. There’s also Ainsley to consider and Bryce has work responsibilities. I’m sorry, but you’re on your own with this one.”
Martie knew by Fran’s words that she wouldn’t stop her. And Fran must have known by the resolute look on Martie’s face that her decision was firm.
“Okay,” Fran sighed, her hands dropping to her sides. Then one hand rose with an outstretched finger in typical parent lecture mode. “But you have to promise me that you’ll call every day. I need to know you’re safe.”
“I promise. If not a phone call, at least a text. Deal?”
With hesitation, she said, “Deal.”