The Edge of Nowhere by Elizabeth George Page A

had described, she was breathing like a steam engine.
    The cottage was the smallest she’d seen so far, and no one had bothered to plant a garden out in front. Instead its yard was beaten down and being used as a parking lot by the people who were inside at the AA meeting. But a weathered picnic table and benches stood to one side of the paint-peeling front door. Becca dismounted her bike and rolled it over to this. She sat to wait.
    It wasn’t long before the meeting concluded, and the front door opened. A swarm of people came out. They lit cigarettes and talked and laughed, and not a single one of them glanced Becca’s way. Becca watched all of them and waited.
    She fixed the earphone of the AUD box into her ear. It seemed the polite thing to do, giving people their privacy as her grandmother would have advised her.
    The crowd slowly dispersed, not a single one of them approaching Becca. They called out good-byes to each other, making promises to “call you later, okay?” Too soon there was simply no one left in the parking lot. Just Becca accompanied by her ten-speed bike, her backpack, and her saddlebags, along with an ancient SUV that looked abandoned at one side of the parking lot.
    She was thinking that Seth Darrow had been wrong. She was thinking about what she would do next. Then the front door opened a final time, and a woman came outside. She lit a cigarette. She was motherly looking, somewhat overweight but not obese, with squishy bosoms of the sort that children get lost in when they’re hugged. She had short hair growing out gray from a dye job and the kind of bad skin that comes from decades of smoking. She also had a terrible jagged scar that worked its way across her forehead, and seriously stained teeth. But she was dressed neatly in jeans, tennis shoes, an Oxford shirt, and a bulky sweater, and when her eyes locked with Becca’s, the distinct scent of baby powder seemed to fill the air.
    Things happened as Seth Darrow had said they would. The woman walked directly over to Becca. She said to her, “I’m Debbie Grieder. And you look like a girl who needs a hug,” and before Becca could answer one way or the other and before she could even decide if that was the kind of girl she was, Debbie drew her up from the bench and into her arms. The feeling for Becca was utter comfort.
    “What’s your name, darlin’?” Debbie said.
    “Becca King. A kid downtown told me to find you.”
    “That so?” Debbie didn’t ask which kid, so Becca wondered if going to Debbie Grieder for help was a regular things for the kids of Langley.
    Debbie rubbed the horrible scar on her forehead. As if it advised her what to do next, she nodded and told Becca to come with her. She strode over to the SUV. Half of it was Bondo-repaired and half of it was rust. She said, “Get in, darlin’. I’m giving you a ride.”
    Becca said, “Uh . . . I’ve got a bike and some stuff,” and she pointed out the ten-speed.
    “No problem,” Debbie said. “Bring it on over here. It’ll fit.”
    She waited while Becca scooped up her belongings and wheeled the bicycle over to the SUV. She stowed the ten-speed inside. Then she told Becca to climb aboard, and she did the same.
    The SUV smelled like a car inside of which two million cigarettes had been smoked. Debbie added another one to the overall stench, although she rolled down the window when she did so. This didn’t help much, since the ashtray was stuffed with butts and there were even some on the floor of the truck.
    Debbie put on music, the way people tend to do when they don’t want to be alone with their thoughts and they don’t want to talk about anything serious. It was hard rock. But just as abruptly as she’d switched it on, Debbie switched it off and said to Becca, “So where can I take you, darlin’?”
    Becca didn’t know what to say. She realized that while Seth had told her Debbie would help her, he hadn’t said how this help was supposed to come, what it