Searching Lucas

27 days to take Lucas home—wherever.

Monica didn't have to join Lucas down the lobby and into the secluded parking lot. It wasn't like we carried suitcases, just my old college backpack that Lucas used for his clothes. Monica Williams had that sorrowful stare since we woke up at dawn, the time to depart and take Lucas back home before Sylvia freaks out. I dreaded the drive back, the possibility of finding the red light on the receiver, blinking furiously, Sylvia's outrage waiting to unleash like a pressure pot.

I slid on the jacket past the lobby on the way to the lot. Bits of leather had begun to tether in chips on the edges near the stitching. At least it took weeks before the material started to reek. One of the advantages is that smoke only enhances its leathery scent into something richly vintage. Lucas, of course, disliked the fumes that emanated. He didn't have to tell me. His scrunched-up nose says it all.

I get to where Monica and Lucas awaited, Pamela in the middle. Lucas kept his gaze on me, and I knew something was up with him. He waited enough for me to come closer, and then he mouthed, almost embarrassed. "I have to pee."

"There is a bathroom in the reception area." Lucas and I turned our heads. Monica pointed a finger kindly. "Past your right, next to a golden urn. You can't miss it."

Lucas stared at Monica. Then at me. "Go. I'll wait for you," I said, resisting the urge to ask if he wanted me to join him. He can't be eight years forever—even I knew that.

Lucas rounded the corner of the building. The morning traffic was already building up slowly to the engine throttling and mufflers spewing carbon monoxide. It was enough to induce me a slight headache. Monica took a few steps forward, respecting the distance, our eyes meeting, hers with a sudden glimmer of what I could describe as hope.

"My sister would love to have Lucas." She added a sheepish smile. "You could give her a try. What do you say?"

Theresa Williams was a rags-to-riches story, moving to Orange County, California, with nothing but one hundred American dollars and a resume she made in ten minutes. When both their father was alive, Theresa made her worth as a part-time model and full-time DJ. A partier at heart, Theresa lived an extravagant lifestyle back in Los Angeles before she moved to a quieter part, Orange County, where she became a political commentator for a while before retiring at an early age. On the end table of Monica's living room is a book from Theresa Williams: a self-help title from a series she has spent the last five years writing. Monica told me the story last night: Theresa left the vices, the late nights, the guys, the parties. Theresa also told her about her next goal—a purpose, as she called it: to provide for someone.

She's never had children, nor has she ever married. Adoption was above her possibilities, but the state required Theresa to wed, and according to Monica, she was too intelligent for the whole marriage nonsense.

I pressed a thumb on the seat's fabric with a low hum. "Is she willing?"

"I'm positive. She always wanted to have children—to care for them. You can trust my sister, that I promise you, Jess."

"Do you have her number?"

***

Four hours back onto the road, we ended up in a small town in Georgia for gasoline and food fuel. Brick buildings adorned the sidewalks, and the food and smoke lingered along with the distant R&B from a stereo box near a barber shop. It was a lively evening, and today was my lucky day: a payphone with plexiglass walls blocking any sounds that could snitch me that I wasn't back in Charlotte.

I dropped my quarter into the slot and waited. As usual, Sylvia replied on the second dial—this woman had nothing better to do.

As expected, Sylvia was frantic. She didn't even return my hello, for that matter. Not that I ever expected to.

"Why didn't you answer last night?" She sputtered out.

"Stupid landlady must have cut the phone line. I was about to call you."

I could imagine Sylvia's expressions as though she was one foot away from me: arched eyebrows, squinted eyes, and her plump lips ajar with a few teeth showing: do you think I'm an idiot?

"You sound like you're up to no good, Jessica Jones," Well, that sucked.

"Why don't you tattle Michael?"

Sylvia sighed. She sounded defeated and tired as she accepted my snark as a sign of truthness. "Is Lucas there?"

Oh, now suddenly Lucas matters?

"Yes, he's here,"

"Put him on the phone."

I tapped a finger on the glass at Lucas, who leaned on the bike. Before I gave Lucas the payphone, I covered the mouthpiece with an open palm. "If she asks, tell her we went for a drive to the Zoo."

Lucas nodded quietly and closed the device to his jawline. "Hello?"

From the sidewalk underneath a streetlight with the banner, the city of peaches, I could hear the muffled conversation from here. Sylvia's line of questioning, and Lucas's vague answers, as expected from his teenage mindset. His tactic how to be careful not to defuse any of Sylvia's unsurprisingly sensitive buttons.

"Yes, I'm OK."

An extended pause.

"Jess was taking me to the Zoo."

Sylvia must have been hellishly skeptical throughout the weekend. But does that come as a surprise for the two of us anymore?

"Yes, I'm sure."

Lucas was nodding. He didn't notice when I moved onto the booth, a hand pressed against the metal fringe, waiting, watching.

"OK. Bye." Lucas hung up and then walked past me.

We walked side to side to where Pamela lay underneath a tree with Christmas lights—Christmas in July?

"What did she say?" I asked.

"Sylvia was worried,"

I scoffed unapologetically. "What does that woman get to worry about?"

But Lucas didn't laugh. "She wants you to bring me home ASAP,"

A frenzy of laughter emerged from ahead of the sidewalk: a group of elderly playing chess, all jolly, grey beards and checkered shirts. One of the talkative men reminded me of Terrance: always jovial with an unbothered sense of humor. I wondered if Mom fell in love with that side of Terrance. So many things have I questioned the secret of their titanium-like relationship. Even the arguments they've had were respectful. If Terrance was here, he would teach Lucas so many great things, as he did with me.

"Jess, are you listening?" Lucas said as he strapped on the helmet.

"Yes, Lucas. Get you home, whether Sylvia hurries me or not."

Lucas chuckled.