Page 1 of Redeem

One

Ciprian

“You.”

The man behind the wheel of the large four-by-four truck nodded at me and gestured toward the back. I shook my head, stepped back away from the gathered crowd.

My spot was instantly taken. He was offering twenty dollars an hour, a fortune for everyone here, including me.

But I hadn’t come here for money.

I stepped back farther, putting even more distance between myself and the gathered workers. I tried to seem disinterested, but kept my eyes glued to the front of the hardware store, my body tensing each time the doors opened.

I’d gotten here before dawn like most of the others, them hoping to get one of the good jobs that came early, me with my own motives. There had been little traffic, but soon, the four-lane road that was lined with buildings and shopping centers had filled with commuters and others out for a day’s shopping.

As the hours passed, the crowd of workers who had filled the parking lot thinned considerably, and by noon, I was there with maybe half a dozen others, most of whom looked too sickly for the backbreaking hours of laboring.

But that was how it went in these places. People would take one look at a person, use that look to assess their measure, predict how much work they could get out of them. Which was why I was always in high demand. My height and build always made them think I could handle a hard day’s labor. I could, but that was not my intention.

Instead I waited, grateful that it wasn’t too cold out today.

Hopeful she would show up.

I tried not to think of that last part too much. Hoping wouldn’t make it happen. Besides it didn’t really matter. If she didn’t show up today, I’d come back tomorrow, the day after.

Come back for however long it took.

I’d been at this for a year now, moving from one city to the next looking for her. I wouldn’t give up until I had done what I needed to.

As the noon rush passed, I dared venture closer to the front door of the store. The laborers usually kept to the edges of the parking lot, a tacit agreement with the store. But as the number of men gathered went down, they paid less attention. Which was good for me. I couldn’t afford attention, not from the authorities or anyone else who might be looking for me.

So I kept my head down, tried to stay out of trouble, and waited for her. As the day wore on toward evening, that hope I hadn’t been able to squelch started shifting to disappointment. It was rare that people came looking for workers this late in the day.

And, of course, there was no guarantee she would show up here again. It was a miracle I’d even seen her here ten days ago. When I’d set off to find her, I’d had nothing but a name and a memory, and more than once I had wondered if it would be enough.

I’d vowed I’d make it be enough.

Finding her, making amends for what I had done, was the sole purpose of my existence now.

Then I saw it.

A beat-up old truck, one that I recognized instantly, just as I recognized the woman who drove it. I blinked, looked away, was relieved when the truck and its driver were still there when I looked back. I so desperately wanted to find her, dreamed of her so often, that I didn’t put it past my mind to conjure her out of thin air.

But this wasn’t a figment of my imagination.

She turned the truck into a far-off parking space and then jumped out of the vehicle. I watched her every move and ignored the way my heart sped and my breath froze in my lungs. The straight hair, heels, and business suit of all those years ago had been replaced by unruly curls, hiking boots, and jeans, but the compact curves and sad brown eyes were the same.

After all this time, I’d found her.

Dana

“I’ll take fourteen sheets,” I said.

The man behind the counter nodded and then began stacking the sheets of plywood on the cart. I was certain my truck would hold the load, but I’d need to figure out how to get it inside the truck, to make no mention of how I’d get it out once I got home.

I wasn’t worried, though. I’d done everything on my own, and I would continue to do so.

I paid for the wood and then pushed the cart out toward my truck. Or, more accurately, let the cart push me. I could barely fit my hands around the thick metal bar of the cart, and the weight of the wood was leaning in the opposite direction of where I needed to go.