Blind Trust

She only knew she had to keep moving forward and hoping for the best.

She turned left at the end of the road, bypassing several empty houses as she walked toward the more populated residential area. Ernie’s Diner was in the heart of Provincetown’s business district. Sandwiched between an art gallery and a small motel, it came alive in the late spring and summer and quieted down as cold weather moved in. A skeleton crew worked through winter, and it was the manager’s job to prep for the morning rush. Tessa didn’t mind. She enjoyed being alone in the diner, setting the tables and sweeping the floor, checking the restrooms and the previous evening’s receipts.

Even in the winter, the diner had a busy breakfast and dinner rush. She enjoyed that, too. There was something cathartic about the routine of small-town life. As much as she thought it might be best to go to a big city once she’d attained her nursing license, she couldn’t help thinking about how much she’d miss Provincetown.

She sighed, the cold wind stinging her cheeks and seeping through her black slacks. She shoved her hands into her pockets, her purse thumping her as she half jogged down a narrow side street.

She could see the Pilgrim’s Monument glowing in the distance, the tower standing tall against the dark morning sky. This area of town was well-lit, lights gleaming from front porches and shining down from streetlights that dotted the road. Just a few more blocks, and she’d turn onto Commercial Street. Ernie’s Diner was ten blocks down. A mile and a half walk from her place but an easy one.

Even in this busier area of town, she wasn’t expecting to see anyone outside before dawn. Not in the winter with the wind chill hovering just above freezing. Most people who commuted to Boston for work were already at the small regional airport, waiting to board the commuter flight. Those that worked in town were still in bed. The shadow that emerged from between two houses was so startling, she jumped back, putting an old elm between herself and the dark figure. Broad-shouldered and moving quickly, it appeared to be a man. That was enough to make her step back again. She was three houses away, frozen in fear, watching as he stepped into the street, a pile of blankets in his arms.

No. Not blankets. A child with long dark hair. One arm flopping out from beneath the covers. She told herself they were father and daughter, off on a long-weekend adventure together. But something about the child’s stillness bothered her. She wasn’t a mother. She had no real experience with kids, but she’d seen plenty of them in the diner—fidgeting, moving, talking...always busy. Even asleep, children seemed to be in a perpetual state of awareness. One little nudge, and they were awake and on the move.

This little girl was still, only one arm swaying with the man’s loping movements. He was heading across the road—a streetlight was shining on his baseball cap, and Tessa could make out pale skin and sunglasses.

And that wasn’t right, either. The sunglasses. Not before dawn.

Tessa told herself that it wasn’t her business. She reminded herself that she had a lot to lose if she called attention to herself or caused any trouble in the quiet neighborhood. She tried to turn her back and pretend she hadn’t seen anything, but she couldn’t live with the consequences of inaction. If the next biggest news story was about a little girl stolen from her home, then what? Would Tessa step forward and give an account of what she’d seen? Too late to stop it? Too late to help?

“Good morning,” she called, stepping out from behind the tree, her heart hammering against her ribs.

A tiny hesitation in his stride was the only evidence the man gave that he’d heard her.

“It’s awfully cold this morning, isn’t it?” she asked, following him up the street toward a Jeep that sat near the corner of the road.

“Too cold for a conversation,” the man finally replied, nearly jogging now.

“Is that your daughter?”

“Mind your business, lady,” he growled, the Jeep just a few yards away.

“So, she’s not.”

He whirled around, the cap flying from his head. He had dark hair and those sunglasses. “I said, mind your business.”

The venom in his voice made the hair on her arms stand on end. She knew the tone. She knew the threat it implied. “It is my business, if she’s not your daughter.”