A Blind Eye by Julie Daines Page A

anything to leave behind back at the cabin. I could take her shopping. Didn’t all girls love that? How many days had she been wearing those same clothes? I shuddered.
    â€œHow long have you been gone?”
    â€œDunno for sure, but I’m thinking four or five days. I’m not certain how long I stayed in the bag.”
    She definitely deserved a diversion. “I’m thinking we should go shopping.” There was a Nordstrom at the Lloyd Center Mall in downtown Portland. We could stop there.
    The ride from Hood River took a little over an hour. I parked in the lower level of the mall’s huge garage. After consulting the store directory, I took Scarlett to the teens department on the second floor. She clung to my arm while we rode the escalator, grinning the whole way up.
    I knew nothing— nothing —about shopping for girls. I went straight to a sales lady and said, “Hi, this is my friend Scarlett. Her luggage didn’t make it. Can you please help her find whatever she wants?”
    The sales lady seemed a little old to be working in juniors. But she smiled and tossed her long, dark hair behind her and said, “Of course.” She looked like she spent a bit too much time down at the make-up counter. A smudge of red lipstick on her teeth distracted me for a moment.
    Scarlett tugged on my arm, and I leaned down. “Are you sure this is okay?” she whispered.
    â€œIt’s more than okay. Really. Anything you want. Just promise me one thing.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œGet some new shoes. Those boots weigh more than you do.”
    â€œPromise.”
    The sales lady, Colette, according to her name tag, led us around the floor. She caught on quickly to Scarlett’s blindness, describing the clothing with great detail. She described the jeans, shirts, and sweaters—which Scarlett insisted were actually called “jumpers.” Scarlett listened to every word, running her hands over the garments while Colette spoke.
    I was about to tell Colette that Scarlett had no concept of color, but then Scarlett snuggled her cheek into a woolly cardigan and asked, “What color is it?”
    â€œYou told me you don’t know colors,” I said.
    â€œI like to hear it anyway.”
    I wondered again what the world was like from inside her head. The sweater was gray. Did that mean everything soft and fuzzy was gray?
    After they’d collected a mound of clothes, I hoped we might be done. But instead of heading to the cashier’s counter, Colette steered us toward the dressing rooms.
    â€œOoh, no,” I said, shaking my head. “I am not going in there.” The women’s bathroom had been bad enough. “I’ll wait here.” I sat on a chair outside. A man sitting across from me cast me a sympathetic look.
    Colette took Scarlett into the dressing rooms but then came right back out again. She laughed. “She sent me out for some skivvies.”
    Oh yeah. No way was I going anywhere near that dressing room. I scooted my chair farther from the entrance then pulled out my phone to check my messages. When I saw three voice mails from my dad, my eyebrows slowly crept up. I pushed play: “Son”—again with the son?—“please call me.” Beep . “Christian, some men came to the office last night asking about you.” Yeah, and you led them right to me. “Call me.” Beep . “Look, I know you think I don’t care.” He was wrong. I didn’t think he didn’t care; I knew he didn’t care. But his voice strained as he finished the message. “I’m worried. Are you in trouble? Call me.” He hadn’t given me or my life a second thought in years. I shook my head. What a sham.
    I had two other messages from the same unidentified caller as last night. Both were just a few seconds of nothing, same as before. I pushed the call back button, and the phone rang.
    A man answered.