Hiding In Plain Sight

Sam left the house early. He slipped from under the covers as the sun filtered through the thin curtains. He hoped Sarah would sleep late. He showered, shaved, and dressed in the bathroom. The stairs creaked under the weight of every painful step toward the door. He left a note for Sarah on the table by the front door.

As Sam grabbed his coat from the closet, he thought of the note. He told her he had to fix a problem at the shelter. No details. He told her he would be back before noon. He stepped into the deceptive cold under the milky halo of the sun.

Climbing into the car, starting the ignition, he prayed out loud to himself. "Lord, no more games. I was afraid to ask you what to do about Taylor the pregnant girl. I'm leaving it in your hands. I'm sorry for messing things up. Please protect my family."

As he pulled from the driveway, he shuddered with tears, wiped his nose with the sleeve of his jacket, as he imagined Taylor giving birth in a back alley somewhere. "Please, God, don't let that baby be born in a world like a piece of trash. I'm begging you. Else why, why would you have put her in my path?"


Sam sniffled some more. Tears stung his eyes, almost blinding him. His tires squawked around the hairpin turn. Blood ran from his fingers with a vice-grip on the wheel. He blinked and fought for focus, as the city of Syracuse came into view from the hillside road.

Coming into the city, Sam had his eureka moment. Driving his Subaru through the city streets and a few blocks away from the Rescue Mission, he knew there was no one to blame but himself. He broke the number one rule. Never allow those at the shelter to have your phone number or address. He wanted to hit his head on the wheel. He probably broke more than one rule, maybe half a dozen. "Don't let your heart hurt your family." He said it to himself as he parked on the grit layered curb. Instead of using his head on the steering wheel, he made his knuckles turn white with a chokehold on it.

A scruff looking man appeared on the passenger side window and made a motion to let his window down. He smelled like used oil. "You got a few bucks I can borrow. I'm a veteran."

Sam halted his tantrum, then dug in his pants pocket for a couple of wadded up dollars and handed it to him. "You know there's a chow line starting up in a couple hours at the Mission?"

The man shrugged him off and headed in the direction of a liquor store that wouldn't open for another hour. Somedays it was hard for Sam to tell what location was the most popular.

Sam shifted from his car toward the Rescue Mission. His goal was to find out if anyone had seen Taylor, the pregnant girl. He could have called the number on his phone, but if the director found out that she's some kind of personal project, he'd face a forced resignation. It wasn't only his wife that he needed to protect from unruly clients. But his ministry was priceless, because it gave him purpose. It gave him a means to share the gospel and get real where people live.

Sam pushed his way through the turn style from the dirty sidewalk and signs plagued with a film of dirt. It seemed since the snow melted, there was a left-over crustiness to the buildings and streets too. As soon as he banged through the doors, his boss, the director, was there to greet him in the open space where beds lined the walls.

"Hey, Sam. What brings you here on Friday, the day after Thanksgiving?"

It caught Sam off guard. His mouth dropped. He couldn't just try to single out Taylor without having some explanation. He shook hands, "Hey Creg. I've got some time off from my job as a janitor, if you need me to come in and cover a shift."

"No, I think we got it covered."

"Lisa coming in tonight?"

"Pretty sure, I'd have to double check. I do appreciate the help you gave us serving dinner on Thanksgiving Day. It was all hands-on deck."

Sam looked around, not sure how to get past the director and into the office to look at the logbooks. "Hey, Creg, if you don't mind, I'd like to see if I left a spare key in the office drawer."

It wasn't a lie. Sam worried that somehow, the lights flooding his house at night could have meant someone wanted to get inside. Then he thought of Taylor's veiled warning over her boyfriend Chris who was on the run from the law.

"No worries. You have your key to the office?"

Sam dug into his pants pocket. "Yes, I've got it on my ring."

"Okay, then. Have at it."

Creg turned away and was busy making up some beds. Sam shuffled to the back and unlocked the main control office where the windows flanked a view of the homeless and their bunks. After going inside, he looked over at Creg and took the clipboard off a nail. He set it down on the metal desk, ran his finger down the logbook until he found Taylor's name, but then it was scratched out. It meant one thing. She checked in only to leave before morning.

Sam opened the desk drawer but couldn't find the spare key to his house. Then he recalled giving it to his wife weeks ago.

Sam placed the log sheet back on the nail and opened the door. He yelled over to Creg. "I need to get back to the wife before she wakes up. I'm hoping to bring her breakfast in bed."

Creg turned from fluffing a pillow. "How is she? I'm sorry about your loss."

Every time it was mentioned, it came with a sharp stab to his heart. The last time was especially painful. It was the first time he had held a child, a baby boy, in his hands. It was pure torture to come so far along, only to have him lifeless in his arms.

"Thanks Creg. I don't know what I'd do without this ministry. In a way it helps me heal more than those in need."

Creg smiled. "Every day is our day of grace. Blessings around bend, brother!"

"Amen." Sam plowed through the door and into the street. He fumbled for his keys and couldn't wait to get into his car to call the phone number. Once he was sure Taylor was okay, he'd finally build on the buffer he wanted to give his wife from all the street drama.

Sam started his engine, pulled from curb, and then placed a call on speakerphone. The phone rang several times, but no answer. He drove on through several city blocks, debating whether he should stop at the Hampton Inn again. "Come on Taylor, pick-up."

He put the phone in the slot and hit send again. Once again it rang several times until a voicemail came through in Chris, the dealer's voice. "Hey, I'm not here right now. State your business or make yourself scarce."

Sam hung up and almost forgot to stop at a light. His phone rang. He picked it up on the first ring. "Taylor."

"Sam! Where are you?"

"Sarah?" Sam looked at the phone, pulled through the last intersection and headed for the hills.

"I called the police! I think someone's in the house. Where are you?"

Sam floored it up the first hill outside of town. "I'm coming. Are you sure. Get out! Get out now. Wait for the police. I'm on the way."

"I'm outside in my bathrobe. Where else can I go?"

Sam's heart hammered. He took the snaked curve on the crest of the hill and made another turn until the city grew small in his rearview mirror. "Listen to me..."

"I heard noises above my head. It woke me up. And you weren't here!"

"Listen to me, calm down. It's probably just a racoon or a squirrel in the attic."

"I heard a cellphone ring, Sam. A cellphone above my head. And it wasn't you!"

"Oh, no...no!"

"The police are here now, and you're not."

"I'm sorry, babe. I'm so sorry."

"I thought I was hearing things. Then I thought it had to be you. I jumped from our bed and looked around. I started downstairs to find you. Then I heard it again! A phone was ringing."

Sam drove like a man possessed until a thunderous, crashing thought split his mind. "What if the calls he made, meant Chris and Taylor were hiding in his house all this time?