Keeping Secrets

By Rita Durrett

Three-year-old Caitlyn Grant’s mother passed away and left her living with the step-father. Now she is seventeen and pregnant. Her stepfather doesn’t know yet, and if she can help it, he never will. Gathering courage from her mother’s childhood lessons of faith, Caitlyn goes to school as usual one morning and disappears. Facing the world as a runaway, she has the challenge of hiding from her step-father and keeping her past hidden from those in her new world. She is under pressure to find a home, a job, and transportation. What she finds is formidable, rugged, and handsome Forest Thompson. He wants to be a part of her life, but there are so many things she can't tell him. How many secrets can a young girl keep without being found out?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rita Durrett
• Release date: Jul 4, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466077669

Rita Durrett

Rita Durrett has written four Young Adult and three Women's novels as well as dozens of short stories and novellas. She has published one award-winning Children’s story.Over 40 years in the field of education have given Mrs. Durrett insight and knowledge about teenagers, their inner turmoil, and resilient nature. Her mid-west living and frequent cruise trips to the Caribbean provide the perfect background for suspense, adventure, and romance in her writing.Visit her website at www.ritadurrett.com.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Burns Flat

I-40 on ramp

October 22nd

Monday, mid-morning

Blisters formed on the soft, seldom abused, flesh of Caitlyn Grant’s feet and her back ached, all because of the unforgiving asphalt surface. She had walked for what seemed like a hundred miles, but the on-ramp entrance to the interstate was still visible as she peered back down the highway.

Not a single car had slowed down for the lone female. Maybe they feared her as much as she dreaded the thought of getting into a vehicle with a total stranger.

A truck by the underpass wasn’t moving but hadn’t stopped for her. The driver crouched near the front, inspecting an issue with a tire of the semi. She approached him with caution.

Truck drivers, as a group of people, were foreign to Caitlyn. Most stories she had heard were about not-so-clean, older men who took pills to stay awake and ate at truck stop cafes.

Neither this truck nor driver fit into that picture. Shiny chrome reflected sunlight in all directions. The young, wiry driver unfolded himself from the squatting position by the front tire. Damn! He muttered under his breath. I paid three-hundred dollars for this tire, and, now it’s gonna cost me a service call, plus, a new tire to get on the road again.

The man wasn’t talking to Caitlyn, but she was close enough to smell his cologne and see his clean-shaven face, so she heard every word.

Sir, her voice sounded loud to her ears.

Son of a … where did you come from? Piercing blue eyes focused squarely on the apprehensive girl’s face. Don’t you know sneaking up on a man like that could get you punched out or maybe even shot? I had no idea you were anywhere around. What do you want? The tone of voice indicated a real mistrust. It certainly didn’t suggest that he wanted to help Caitlyn.

I, uh, I could use a ride. There, it was said. Now she couldn’t change her mind if she wanted to, which, she decided, she didn’t. This guy seemed honest and straight forward, like someone she could feel comfortable traveling with.

Sorry, Missy, I can’t help you.

What? Couldn't you give me a short ride? I won’t hurt you; I’m just a kid. She even felt sorry for herself, and tears welled up in her eyes.

Kid? Honey, you’re no kid. But even if you were, I still couldn’t give you a ride.

Caitlyn heard his voice relenting, and she sensed a weakening of his resolve. Please, I’ve got to get to Muskogee. My aunt lives there, and she is going to the hospital for cancer surgery in two days. I have to get to her! Why not, thought Caitlyn, the story isn’t half-bad, and he’ll never know.

The trucker rubbed the palms of his hands on the calves of his Levi jeans. Slumping on the hood of his truck, arm leaning against the fender, he patiently explained his situation, Honey, you’re jailbait for me. I don’t know who you are, where you’re going, or where you’ve been. It’s no telling what you’ve done or what you’re running from…

I can tell you all of that!

No doubt you could tell me a story, He continued, but how do I know how much of it is true?

All of it would be true! Caitlyn lied with ease.

It doesn’t matter. My company has a strict policy about riders.

They don’t have to know.

They might not, but there are also state and federal laws, and it would only take being stopped once before everyone would know. You would be back out on the road, and worse, I’d be out of a job. It isn’t worth it. No!

Please, I can’t walk any further.

No one is going anywhere just yet. You can crawl up in the truck for a rest while I see if I can get some help out here. With that statement, he disappeared around the front of the rig.

The climb had not been as easy as it looked. Caitlyn braced herself for the sight of a dirty, smelly, trashy cab. One hand on the door and the other on the grab-bar, she stopped in amazement as she looked into a clean, polished, organized, and pleasant-smelling interior. She maneuvered inside and sat in the passenger seat.

It was like a small house. Two high-back lounge chairs, a computer, a CD player, and a multitude of instruments on the dash-panel made up the front section. In the bunk area, Caitlyn found a closet, TV, microwave oven, and reading lamps.

She took in all of this as the operator of the vehicle climbed into the driver’s side, grabbed hold of the CB mike, and asked for local help.

It wasn’t long before a service truck pulled up beside the semi. The driver watched the repair, keeping an eye on how and what took place.

When the man finished, the driver paid for the service work and climbed back in his rig. I’ve been giving this some thought. Ignorant as I probably am, I can’t leave you out here. There’s a truck stop where I-40 cuts across highway 75, going to Muskogee. I’ll drop you off. Maybe I can keep from getting in trouble just long enough to get you there. Girl, you best not get me fired!

The semi was soon rolling down the interstate. Caitlyn leaned her head back on the headrest. Feather-like movements in her abdomen caught her attention, and she sat very still, hand on her stomach. The last couple of days came to mind. Her Family and Consumer Science teacher had lectured on symptoms of pregnancy. The instructor had no idea how close to home her description of pregnancy was, but Caitlyn had known very well. Having heard the symptoms bluntly stated it became very obvious that she was pregnant.

That night she had eyed the little brown prescription drug bottle of sleeping pills sitting on her nightstand. They were prescribed to help her sleep at night so she wouldn’t doze off in class. In the past, she had given thought to using them for putting an end to her life with her step-father, Eugene. Learning she was pregnant had changed everything. It was with new resolve that she began plans to escape.

In the comfort of the dark enveloped cab, country music on the radio, she was soon sound asleep. All of her problems magically disappeared with the smooth hum of the ride. The humming stopped. She opened her eyes to a world bathed in soft lavender and blue lights. It took several seconds to realize where she was.

It’s nearly midnight, and we’re in Oklahoma City, Drawled the soft voice coming from the driver’s seat. The flat tire threw me off schedule. I can unload, but will have to wait until five o’clock in the morning to pick up the other load, the driver paused. We’re parked at a Flying J travel plaza. There are clean restrooms if you need a pit stop.

Caitlyn was definitely needed a restroom. During her walk to the plaza, her thoughts turned back to her decision to run away. She knew her step-father didn’t suspect her pregnancy. If he had, she would have already been to see Dr. Patel. She also knew she had to get herself and her baby out of the house and away from Eugene. So, she had made her plans during school and had started her journey this morning. It might not be too late to change her mind, but Caitlyn knew that wasn’t happening.

She climbed back up in the cab feeling better physically and mentally. She was glad to see the driver stop for the night. She was tired of riding.

I thought you might be hungry. I have a couple of sandwiches, some chips and an apple or two if you’re interested. He offered.

Thanks! I am interested. All traces of the snack vanished in no time. A contented Caitlyn leaned back in her seat and then immediately sat up to face the driver with a panicked look on her face. So, we have to sleep together in the truck?

Chapter 2

Burns Flat

Washington High School

October 22nd

Monday, 8:15 a.m.

Where did that girl go? Counselor Donna Brown mumbled to no one in particular as she walked back into the office. Donna, one of three counselors for the thousand plus students at Washington High School, dressed stylishly in clothing which complimented her slim frame. In charge of the students with last names of G-O, her job involved keeping up with Caitlyn Grant. Caitlyn was of interest to her. Something was going on with the child, and Donna had made up her mind to investigate.

What originally caught the counselor's attention wasn't the fact that a student rode in an expensive SUV, but wore cheap, dowdy clothing, or that a young lady with strikingly beautiful features wore a long, out-of-date dress. It wasn't that she had been wearing a coat every day since school started in August. It wasn't even that the slender, long legs ended with feet clad in shoes from another era. None of this could be considered particularly strange given the number of Goth students who attended WHS. What had caught her eye was the demeanor of this young lady. She never smiled, seldom talked with friends nor, for that matter, spoke to anyone. She walked with her head down, and shoulders slumped.

The school secretary looked up from her desk and realized Donna was agitated. What are you mumbling to yourself?

A slight blush fanned across Mrs. Brown's cheeks, and she flashed the secretary a contrite smile. Sorry. I can't find a student. I watched her walk into the building and left here to catch up with her. Now I can't find her. I've wandered all around these halls checking places I know she goes and can't locate her.

Who are you looking for? The secretary reached for her computer mouse, intending to check the student's schedule.

Caitlyn Grant. I know her schedule and checked with her first-hour teacher. No luck. Donna looked out the window again on the chance the girl had gone outside for a while.

Caitlyn came in here while you were gone. She asked to use the phone.

Phone? The counselor sounded perplexed. Who would she be calling? She never talks to anybody.

I think she was talking to her dad. She said something about needing to go to tutoring and should be picked up at four. A student walked up to ask for a locker combination, and the secretary turned away to help.

Donna stood there thinking. Tutoring? Since when does Caitlyn care about her grades? She attended here four years and never stayed for tutoring. What's going on? I'm going to my office if anyone is looking for me. She said as she hurried out the door.

The counselor's computer screen displayed a calming screensaver scene of an ocean beach somewhere in the tropics. On days like this, when there were more questions than answers, Donna could use the prompt on the screen to remind her of the peace she might find on a much-needed vacation.

Her nearby phone blinked a missed message. Absently, as she settled in her computer chair, she pulled a notepad to her, picked up a writing pen, and reached for the phone. She pulled a well-worn phone book from a drawer in her desk. As she punched in the code to listen to her message, she turned the pages to the Government section of the phone book.

The phone message included name and phone number for a concerned parent. She recorded the information on the notepad with a line under it. Below the line she added the numbers for Eugene Grant, the City Police and the Department of Human Services. I don't know what you're up to Caitlyn Grant, but I'm not going to let you handle this by yourself if I can help it!

One more try before I make a fool of myself. She dialed the extension of Caitlyn's first-hour teacher. Mrs. Calhoun? This is Donna. Is Caitlyn Grant in class this morning?

After a short pause, while the counselor could imagine Mrs. Calhoun checking her students, the teacher came back on the line.

No. She isn't here. I let her go to the restroom before class, and she didn't come back.

Ok, thanks. One more try before I call in the big guns.

The next call went to the principal. Mr. Watkins, this is Mrs. Brown. Sir, I believe Caitlyn Grant ran away from school. She was here earlier but didn't show up for her first hour. Could we send a team out looking for her, please? I want several people to search for her before I contact her father or the police.

The thirty minutes it took to search the building seemed like hours to Donna. She wasn't at all surprised when Mr. Watkins walked into her office with the news Caitlyn was nowhere to be found. Go ahead and call her father. Let me know what he says. If he doesn't know anything, then get hold of the police.

The phone rang only a couple of times before Eugene answered. Hello, Grant residence. The tone was crisp and had a no-nonsense sound to it.

Mrs. Brown almost changed her mind, but the feeling in the pit of her stomach encouraged her to continue. Mr. Grant? This is Mrs. Brown at Washington High. I'm calling to check on Caitlyn. People saw her in the building this morning, but she cannot be found now. I’m checking to see if perhaps she went home. Is she there?

There was a definite pause. Are you saying Caitlyn isn't at school?

Yes, sir. Mrs. Brown nervously doodled on her notepad. We don't know where she is.

I'll be right there. The connection closed immediately with a loud click.

Mrs. Brown didn't even put the phone down before calling Mr. Watkins's office. Sir, Mr. Grant hasn't seen her. He is on his way here. Do you want me to call the police?

Yes. Go ahead. I've business here to wrap up, but I'll be ready to join you when the police arrive. The phone clicked as Mr. Watkins got back to the business of running the school.

Donna anxiously dialed the second number on her list. After a couple of rings, a very serious voice answered. Police department, how may I help you?

This is Donna Brown. I'm a counselor at Washington High, and we have a student that has gone missing. She was on campus earlier, but now she is nowhere to be found.

All right, Mrs. Brown. We will send an officer out to take the report. If the child is under sixteen, we may need to issue and Amber Alert.

She is seventeen, and I don't think anyone took her. It is my personal feeling she ran away. Donna didn't go into detail about her suspicions. She wasn't sure how much she would divulge about her feelings when the father and the police were standing in her office. She knew she wouldn't have long to think about what she would say. Now we are getting somewhere!

****

A little over an hour had passed since Donna had placed the first phone call. She sat in the conference room with the principal, a police detective, and Eugene Grant. Frustration set in. I guess we aren't getting anywhere after all.

I don't know where Caitlyn is, but she wouldn't run away from home. She is safe, happy, and loved. Maybe she went to the library. She told me she had a report to get done, but couldn't find what she needed at the school library. Eugene wasn't admitting Caitlyn had any reason to run away.

The officer closed his notebook. I have my report. We can't turn it in as a 'missing person' for twenty-four hours. Mr. Grant, please let us know if Caitlyn shows up. If you haven't heard from her by this time tomorrow, we will send out an alert. Mrs. Brown, Mr. Watkins, thank you both, and if Caitlyn shows up at school, please call the police department. The detective clicked his pen and slid it into his shirt pocket. You can’t tell about kids this age. We will have our officers keep an eye out for her as they patrol the city.

Mrs. Brown couldn’t help feeling frustrated. I have to admit all of what Eugene said was possible, but I don’t believe Caitlyn chose to skip school for the day. I know that girl too well. This is out of character for her.

Back in her office, Donna sat looking at her phone. She made the decision to dial the last number on her list. The phone rang five or six times, and Donna prepared herself to leave a message before an actual voice came on the other end.

Department of Human Services, Wanda Fulton speaking. May I help you?

Mrs. Fulton, this is Donna Brown. I'm a counselor at Washington High School. Do you have a few minutes to talk? Donna settled back in her chair and readied herself to tell the story of