But Adam didn’t let go of my hand, instead he held it tighter. My heart broke for the little boy, crying on the sidewalk because his mommy was gone. And she wasn’t coming back no matter how hard we would have searched for her.
Since I’d lost my mother when I was about his age, I could definitely sympathize.
“Be brave for me, Adam. Can you do that?” I touched his face, wiping a tear away with my thumb before brushing the jet-black hair back from his forehead. “You’re going to be OK, I know it.”
“I’ll be brave.” Adam inhaled, and it sounded shaky. He still clutched my sketch in his left hand. “Th-thanks, Sophie.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You’re nice.”
I smiled at him. “Your uncle will look after you now.”
He shook his head as he finally let go of my hand. “He’s not really my uncle.”
I frowned. “But I thought he said—”
“You should mind your own business. It’ll get you in trouble one day.” The man pulled Adam away from me, his large hand clamped on the boy’s small shoulder.
I looked over my shoulder to see if there was someone around to help. A police officer would come in real handy right about now. “If you’re not his uncle, then who—”
When I turned back, they were both gone.
Feeling confused and shaken I walked up and down the street for ten minutes but there was no sign of them.
It was as though they’d vanished into thin air.
The bus nearly killed me.
My heart rate went a million miles a minute as I stood shaking on the sidewalk. Somebody had yanked me back just in time and saved me from my monstrous stupidity. I’d been glancing down at my BlackBerry to check an email that had just come in and wandered on to the crosswalk before the light changed.
I was also still distracted about what happened last week with the little boy. I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him, seeing his sorrow-filled little face whenever I closed my eyes, and worried about where he’d gone and if he was OK. I’d lost a lot of sleep that week over Adam.
However, just because that man wasn’t really his uncle by blood, it didn’t mean he wasn’t an official caregiver. Adam would be OK. I hoped like hell I was right about that.
Looked like I really should have been more worried about myself, though. One wrong step – one moment frozen in time – put me inches away from becoming a splattered piece of modern art on the pavement.
“You didn’t even see the person who saved your life?” my best friend Anna asked that night at the gallery.
“Nope. There were a bunch of people there witnessing me wandering aimlessly about in traffic like an escaped mental patient, but my guardian angel never revealed him- or herself.”
“You almost died.”
“Yeah.” It was still a stomach-churning thought.
“Dead on arrival. Like, you wouldn’t have even had a chance.”
“Thanks for rubbing it in. Really helpful. And by the way it was an email fromyouI was reading at the time, smarty-pants.”
“Don’t even try to pin the blame on me, Sophie.” Anna grinned, obviously not taking my brush with death even remotely seriously.
It was so great to have friends who cared.
She snagged two glasses of sparkling wine off a passing tray andhanded one to me. “To your first official show. May Sophie Shaw and her fabulous talent with oils become the next big thing.”
I clinked glasses with her. “I’ll drink to that.”
“You know what’s funny?”
