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talk more about it on the way home.”
Aidan’s mouth twisted into a frown, but he must have recognized the finality in Christina’s tone. “Can’t Saint take me home on his bike?”
“No.”
Both males’ eyebrows cocked up at her harshness.
“We’ll take the ‘L’ home after I’m finished working. Saint indicated he was in a big hurry to be somewhere else. We wouldn’t want to keep him,” Christina explained through stiff lips. She was quite proud of the fact that she’d controlled her anger at being abandoned in the middle of impulsive, hot sex sufficiently enough to sound only sarcastic instead of wildly furious.
Which she was.
Christina guessed it was true what they said. Hell hath no fury and all that crap.
Christina and Aidan paused in front of the Racine entrance to the “L” later that evening when they heard someone calling Christina’s name.
“Christina! Wait up.”
Christina was both glad and concerned to see that it was Alison Myers rushing up to meet her and Aidan. She hadn’t been able to locate the girl following Saint’s interruption of their conversation. Her roommate, Mirella, had told Christina that Alison had been to their room, but only to hastily grab her backpack and guitar. Christina’s concern had escalated when Mirella held up a record album.
“Check it out, Christina. The Pretenders on vinyl.”
“Isn’t that Alison’s?” Christina had asked.
“Yeah. She gave it to me before she left. Can you believe it? It’s a collector’s item,” Mirella had replied, awe spicing her tone. “Alison worships Chrissie Hynd. The Pretenders are her favorite.”
The back of Christina’s neck had prickled. The fact that Alison’d given Mirella the much-loved album was downright alarming. Years of experience working with disturbed adolescents and young adults told her it was a common gesture to give away cherished items before a suicide attempt. But Alison had been so adamant she wasn’t suicidal, and Christina had sensed the truth behind her words.
She’d waited as long as possible for Alison to return home, but she couldn’t keep Aidan at Altgeld House all night, especially when he had a baseball game in Evanston early in the morning. It wasn’t like she didn’t have a qualified staff, after all. She’d informed her night manager, Marianna, to page her without hesitation if there was any problem with Alison tonight or over the weekend.
Now the girl had finally shown up, but not to the safety of Altgeld House. Alison’s guitar was strapped to her back and she looked as though she had every intention of getting on the “L” with them.
“Alison, I’m glad to see you,” she told the young woman who jogged toward them.
“Yeah, you too. I know it’s stupid, but I get a little nervous riding the ‘L’ by myself at night. Stupid, considering what I do, huh? Hey.” Alison cuffed Aidan’s head fondly with an open palm and ruffled his hair. Aidan smiled and blushed. Christina suspected her son had a bit of a crush on the girl. Alison grinned back.
For whatever reason, no matter how scarred and hardened a soul was, they found a soft spot in their heart for Aidan. All youth possessed a special spark, but Aidan had a steady, life-affirming flame that never seemed to waver. It was a fact of life Christina had long ago ceased to question.
“You’re not going out to play when it’s so late, are you?” Christina asked, referring to Alison’s profession as a busker. The girl must do pretty well street entertaining, because she had never failed to make her small donation to Altgeld House for food and sundries. When Christina had discovered Alison was performing her music at various subway stops and on Michigan Avenue without a city permit, she’d insisted upon purchasing her one from the Altgeld House funds. Alison had been disdainful of the mark of legitimacy at first, but Christina noticed she wore the permit proudly on a string around her neck at the moment. “I’m not so sure that’s a wise idea, Alison. You remember the doors lock at Altgeld House at eleven-thirty?”
“I know, I know. But it’s not even nine o’clock yet. I’ll be able to get in over an hour at the Clark and Division stop. Good bucks from all those people coming down to party on Rush Street.” She must have noticed Christina’s doubtful expression. “Entertaining is what I do, Christina. And you can’t lock somebody up for having a borderline personality disorder, you know.”
Christina gave a disbelieving look before she saw the gleam of amusement in the girl’s eyes. She shook her head and chuckled. Leave it to Alison to tease about something as serious as her psychiatric diagnosis in the middle of a disagreement.
Christina couldn’t lock up her charges, no matter how concerned about their safety she was. She was hamstringed by any number of legalities. Alison was an adult and she lived at Altgeld voluntarily. Her wrist cutting had been alarming, but the wounds were superficial. The girl’s psychiatrist and Christina agreed that, while worrisome, given Alison’s history, her behavior didn’t warrant hospitalization at this time. Alison wasn’t suicidal. She had a long history of self-mutilation, but no obvious attempts at suicide.
“Promise me you’ll get back in plenty of time, Alison.”
Alison shrugged and flipped her raven hair out of her eyes. “Yeah, sure. No biggie.”
The girl flung her arm across Aidan’s shoulder and guided him over to the iron turnabout that led to the trains. “Hey, Aidan, you ever been to any shows at the Metro? Dude, you got to go,” she admonished when Aidan shook his head, wide-eyed. “Awesome venue.”
Christina gave a frustrated sigh, recognizing her dismissal as she followed her son and Alison while they animatedly discussed live music.
Ten minutes later, all three of them stood to get off at the Monroe Street subway stop. Christina hadn’t really noticed how empty the train was as they traveled downtown and Aidan and Alison talked about everything from the best skateboarding parks in the city to tattoos—Christina giving Aidan a forbidding glance at the latter topic, which Aidan chose to ignore. Once the well-lit train rumbled away, however, Christina noticed they were the only three passengers to have gotten off at the stop.
She squinted as she glanced warily around the dim, empty platform.
“Some of the lights have been broken,” Christina said, noticing the glass scattered across the painted concrete of the platform. She reached out to Aidan, putting a protective hand on his back. She peered north down the subway tunnel toward the Madison Street stop. Although there were usually at least a few emergency lights glowing along the subway tunnel, nothing penetrated the thick shadows tonight.
