Page 2 of Edge of Desperation

“Yes,” I confirm. “Are you Lace?” She nods as she slides into the booth. “Do you care if I take notes?”

Lace looks around nervously. “I guess not,” she whispers.

“What can I get you?”

Both of us jump at the waitress’s approach, neither of us paying attention. I recover quickly. “I’ll take a coffee. Lace, what about you?”

“Do you have hot chocolate?” she asks.

“Coffee and hot chocolate,” the waitress repeats. “I’ll be right back with that. Menus are on the table.” She points to the stack of laminated papers behind the old-fashioned napkin dispenser. “I’ll take your food order when I get back. Pot roast with mashed potatoes and gravy with a slice of Dutch apple pie is the special today.”

“That sounds good,” I say to Lace as the waitress walks away. “Are you hungry?”

“I don’t have enough money to eat.”

“Don’t worry about that.” I hand her a menu. “This is a business meeting so I’m buying. They have good cheeseburgers and shakes here too.”

Shyly, she says, “Whatever you want to get me, is fine.”

“Do you have any allergies?” She shakes her head. “How about two specials then? That sounds good, and then I won’t feel so bad having dinner and dessert by myself.” I wink.

She giggles, but quickly shuts it down as if she can’t believe she even still knows how. I’m relieved she hasn’t scared herself into regretting this meeting. Instead, I get the sweetest smile that steals my heart, when she softly says, “That soundsamazing.”

The waitress returns with our beverages, and I order two specials with whipped cream on the pie. Again, the corner of Lace’s mouth turns up when I ask for extra whipped cream on her piece, but this time, her eyes glisten as if I’m her hero.

“How did you find out about me?” I ask, diving right in.

“You did a story a year ago on foster kids in the public schools and how much our education suffered from being passed around from family to family and school to school.”

“You were one of the foster kids I interviewed?” I ask, incredulously.

“No, but my foster sister was,” she admits. “She always talked about how nice you were and about how you actually listened and believed them.”

I nod, remembering that story. It was so sad listening to children talk about packing up their belongings in trash bags like they were nothing and being shuffled around like their feelings didn’t matter. Once the story broke, the state took measures to try its best to keep children in the same school districts so they would have some sense of stability. It didn’t fix the entire issue, but I always prayed it helped a little.

“Can you tell me what happened to you?”

Lace picks at the hem of her shirt. “We weren’t supposed to go out, but there were these boys from school we liked.”

Thousands of questions bombard my brain at once, but this isn’t my story to tell. Unlike others I’ve interviewed, this is a fragile child who has seen and been through things that others can’t even imagine, let alone survive. Instead of pushing, I bite back my inquisition and let her lead me down the broken world she’s been living in. I’m fortunate to be her voice once she’s done and help her and others find justice.

I smile, encouragingly. “I remember those days.”

“It was a Friday night. We snuck out and met them at the basketball courts.” Lace takes a deep breath. “Everything was going great until one of them got a text from his parents telling him to get his ass home before he got grounded.” Her eyes glass over. “My sister and I took off in the opposite direction to head back home. Halfway there, we cut down an alley. A van pulled up blocking the exit, and we tried to run, but they were too quick.They grabbed both of us and tossed us in. They put black hoods over our heads and told us they would shoot us dead if we made any noise.” Lace’s head drops in defeat as a single tear slips free and hits the table.

“It’s okay,” I encourage. “We can take a break if you need to.”

“No.” Her head snaps up, and her blue eyes blaze with fury. “I need to finish.”

Even though we just met, I’m proud as hell of this girl’s grit. “Go on.”

“I didn’t make a sound, but Sam wouldn’t shut up. She kept screaming. I prayed she would s-s-stop,” Lace stutters. “I heard a loud bang and then nothing. I kept my mouth shut, but I was still crying.” I reach across the table and squeeze her hand. “It seemed like we drove for hours, but I don’t know how long it was. I didn’t have a watch. When they finally removed the hood, I was in a warehouse with other girls.”

“What happened next?”

She gulps. “Nothing I ever want to talk or think about ever again.”

“Sexual?” I ask, needing confirmation. “Against your will?”

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