Help Me by Clara Bayard Page B

little car. Said she'd bought it from someone at work who was moving and had to sell fast. I didn't really understand how a cocktail waitress could afford something so nice, even used, but Kat had a way of making things work. Getting good deals. Ways to keep things going when it seemed hopeless.
    “I bet you're stronger than you give yourself credit for,” George said.
    “I hope so.”
    We stood there silently for a while and then George's jacket let out a blast of static. He reached inside and pulled out a walky-talky. He pressed a button and muttered something I couldn't understand. A static-filled voice replied and he sighed.
    “I'm sorry, but I have to go.”
    “It's okay.”
    “I can call someone to come wait with you, or you can go inside to the security desk.”
    “No, no. The man is long gone I bet. And I've got all these people around. Like you said, my sister will probably be here any minute.”
    He frowned for a moment and nodded. “Be careful, okay? And if you see the guy, don't talk to him. Don't hesitate. Call for help right away.”
    “I will.”
    “All right. The booth there can reach me if you need anything.”
    “Thank you, George.”
    “You're welcome. And congratulations again.”
    I smiled and shook his hand. My fingers looked so tiny against his bigger hand. But his shake was gentle and his smile was kind as he bid me goodbye.
    +
    Half an hour later I was still standing in the same spot, and beginning to panic. I'd called Kat so many times that now my phone was running low and I had no idea what to do. I'd wandered and paged her and texted and even sent her an email. But she didn't show up or get back to me. Something had to be wrong. Kat would never ever leave me handing like this. If she'd been unable to meet me she would have said something or found someone else to meet me. Terrible thoughts ran through my mind and I began to cry a little.
    But as the first tear slid over my chin I grunted and swiped at it angrily. I wasn't the same weeping little girl anymore. I was an adult with a college diploma and I could sure as hell take care of myself without crying.
    After looking in my wallet I figured I had just enough cash to get a cab to Kat's apartment. I remembered the address and so I went over to the now short line and waited to find someone to drive me.
    Within minutes I was sitting in the back of a light blue car, my suitcase in the trunk, listening to the driver provide a play by play report of a sports game from last night. Apparently it hadn't gone well for the home team and he was pretty irritated. The mindless chatter calmed me in a weird way and I half listened while looking out the window.
    Kat and I were both born here. Our parents, too. Mom once told me that members of our family from both sides had come from Ireland around the same time and both ended up in the same neighborhood for generations. We used to tease that Mom and Dad were probably related somehow and eventually there'd be a big scandal. Dad joked that being inbred would explain why we kids couldn't remember simple things like closing drawers and putting socks in the hampers.
    Sometimes the good memories are more painful than the bad ones and I was suddenly breathless with grief.
    Kat had warned me about this. That important events and dated would be hard. Things our parents should have been around to witness, be a part of. It didn't make the pain go away, but it did soothe me a bit.
    As the cab made its way up into the city proper, I craned my neck to see everything of my new-old hometown.
    The river to the right and the bright business of the city to the left distracted me. The skyline was different than I remembered. More skyscrapers filled the air.
    Traffic was heavy and the cab crept slowly forward, but I didn’t mind. It was nice to have a quiet and unhurried reintroduction. After years in a smaller town and four on campus, the city was a lot to take in. Its vibrant hum harmonized with my own nervous energy and