Page 112 of Rage

“How are you doing?” I ask.

She sets the final cup on the saucer. When she runs out of things to do, she comes back to where I’m sitting. “I found an apartment,” she says a little too brightly. “In Charm. It’s small, but furnished and clean.”

“That’s great.” I sip coffee. “And the job?”

“The tips aren’t great, but Mrs. Anderson lets me work overtime. Pays me extra for cleaning.”

“Sounds like a good start.”

“I guess.” Bending, she pulls out a canister of sugar and starts to fill the countertop dispenser. “I heard about Lucy.”

She’s referring to Lucy Yoder, the young Amish woman who was also there that night at The Cheetah Lounge. She was slated not only to testify against the traffickers when the case goes to court, but to name some of the clientele who patronized the business. Unfortunately for everyone involved, Lucy flew the coop a week ago and no one has seen her since.

“Do you have any idea where she is?” I ask.

“No.” She shakes her head. “Her mamm’s worried.”

“I don’t blame her.” I wait a beat, then ask, “Do you know why she took off?”

“I only talked to her once. She didn’t know how to deal with…” She struggles to find the word. “The coming back, I guess.”

I know the Amish well enough to read between the lines. While they will welcome one of their own back to the fold with open arms, there are always a few individuals who don’t make it easy. The Amish may be obedient to God, but they’re also human beings and fall to gossip and small cruelties just like the rest of us.

“If you hear from Lucy,” I say, “will you ask her to call me?”

“I don’t think I’ll be talking to her again.”

Leaving the counter, she goes to one of the booths to refill the cups for the couple. She exchanges a few words and returns to the counter. The silence that follows isn’t quite comfortable.

“I don’t know how to fit back in,” she whispers in a low voice. “I tried, but … it didn’t feel right. I don’t think I can do it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

She looks incredibly young without all the makeup. Sky-blue eyes. Freckles on her nose. Pale mouth pulled into what seems like a perpetual frown born not of disapproval, but of genuine unhappiness.

“Be patient with yourself,” I say easily. “Give yourself some time.”

“I … went to worship,” she blurts. “With Mamm and Datt.”

“How was it?”

“Shlimm.” Awful. For an instant, I think she’s going to cry. To her credit, she doesn’t. “The Amish girls whispered about me,” she says.

“There’s nothing you can do about that,” I tell her.

“They thought I didn’t see it, but I did.”

“They’ll come around.”

Huffing in doubt, she looks away. “I want to go back, but I can’t. I miss my mamm and datt. My brothers and sisters. My Amish friends. I want it to be like it used to be. But … nothing is the same. I’m afraid it won’t ever be the same.”

“I know it seems impossible right now, but you’ll find your way back if it’s meant to be. You’ll find a new place for yourself. You’ll grow and learn and find a whole new you. I think you’ll find peace, too.”

“I can’t stop thinking about what happened.” She speaks the words so quietly I have to lean closer to hear her. “The things I saw. The things I did. I want to forget, but I can’t.”

“You may not be able to forget, but I do believe you’ll find a way to put this behind you and move on.”

“You make it sound like it’s an easy thing,” she snaps. “It’s not.”

“I can’t presume to know what you went through,” I tell her. “The one thing I can tell you is that I understand.”