Part 7 (1/2)
”Good luck, Miss Kayla,” the guard said, setting her free.
”Ma!” Noah repeated, going to her, putting his face against her chest, his arms around her waist, smiling with a crazy happiness.
She looked bewildered, uncomfortable.
No one moved, so I went forward, took the duffel bag from her hand.
”How are you, Kayla?” I asked.
”I told you not to come,” she said through clenched teeth.
”He wanted to see his mother.”
”G.o.ddammit, Wiley,” she said. ”Will you get him off me?”
I dropped her duffel bag, glad to hear something or other break when it hit the concrete. I pulled Noah away, held him back.
She s.n.a.t.c.hed up the bag, looked down at him. She did not know what to say.
”h.e.l.lo, Noah,” she offered at last, her voice stiff.
”Ma,” he repeated.
”So what's happening?”
”I fine,” he said, offering his brightest smile.
He was still learning to read lips, could work out some of the basic interactions. He knew the first question someone would most likely ask was how he was, so he automatically said he was fine.
Kayla's lower lip trembled and she pulled her eyes away from him and looked around, the expression in her eyes dazed.
”I know it's not good timing, but I was hoping to get a picture of you and Noah,” I said quietly. ”He doesn't have one, you know.”
She rolled her eyes and exhaled rather sharply.
”I want him to have at least one one,” I said softly.
She gave me furtive look, as if she couldn't believe her ears.
”Ma,” Noah said, pulling on her s.h.i.+rtsleeve, trying to get her attention.
”What?” she snapped, looking back to him. Her face was tense. Noah was sure to notice it.
”I love you,” he said. It came out sounding like ”Ai of ewe.”
”Oh,” she said, frowning.
Her mother and father came forward.
”Come with us, Kayla,” Mr. Warren said in a voice that was obviously used to being obeyed.
”I'm not going with you, Daddy,” she said firmly, glancing at the young man who had propped himself on the hood of his car, watching us.
”Kayla,” he said in warning.
She looked at us with uncertain eyes. She was close to tears. I could sense that. Fl.u.s.tered. Unhappy. Wringing her hands together nervously.
”I've got to go,” she announced suddenly, her decision made.
She turned away from us and headed for the young man with the cool car.
”Kayla!” her father shouted angrily.
She shook her head but refused to look back.
”If you go with him, don't you ever come back!” Mr. Warren shouted. ”I'm warning you!”
”Ma!” Noah called in alarm.
He broke free from my grip and ran after her.
I went after him.
”Don't you dare come back!” her father screamed.
”Kayla?” her mother called. ”Kayla!”
Noah ran around to the front of her, grabbing her again, squeezing his arms tightly around her waist, hugging her with all his little might. She struggled with him, trying to push him away.
”Ma!” he sobbed.
”Stop it!” she exclaimed angrily.
”Ma!”
”Let me go! G.o.ddammit!”
He wouldn't let her go, didn't understand what she wanted.
She shoved him roughly, fearfully, and he fell backwards on the concrete, throwing out a hand to break his fall.
”Jesus!” Kayla exclaimed loudly, smoothing out her s.h.i.+rt as if she had been covered with little-boy cooties.
She hurried to the car, got inside, and slammed the door shut with a terrible finality.
The tattooed man got in, started the car.