My Soul to Keep Read Online Free

We were still in the middle of the street. I tried to stand Maria up. A car had come up behind us and was waiting for us to move. The man behind the wheel tapped the horn.
    I turned around and glared at him. He averted his eyes, ducking behind a baseball cap.
    I stood Maria up and led her back toward the park, letting the car pass beside me. The car alarm stopped abruptly. A crowd of women from the park had reached us by then, holding their children in white-knuckle grips. Several of them were talking on cell phones, looking around for street signs and house numbers to get their bearings.
    We made it back to the park in a clump, all of us clinging together and moving in unison—frightened zebras after a lion has attacked the herd. Police cars began to arrive from both the Highland Park and Dallas police departments—lights flashing on the tops of their cruisers. Someone pointed in our direction, and a Highland Park cop walked over to us.
    “Are you the mother?” he said to me.
    I pointed at Maria. “This is Maria Chavez. Dr. Chavez. Her boy Nicholas is … he’s the one that …” I didn’t want to say it.
    Maria had collected herself. She looked at him and began to recite. “My son’s name is Nicholas René Chavez. He’s five years old. He weighs thirty-nine pounds, and he’s forty-one inches tall. His hair is blondish-brown and curly, and his eyes are blue. He was wearing denim shorts, white sneakers, and a Dallas Cowboys jersey with the number twelve on it. He had a”—she choked back a cry—“a little toy gun.” She put her hand to her mouth and began to shake, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It was a blue van. That man in the blue van took my son.”
    I hugged Maria. The cop kept talking.
    “You saw someone get in a van with your son?”
    I told him the story, pointing at the bench, the tennis courts, and the street as I filled in the details. “We saw a man’s hand reach out and grab Christine.” I gestured toward Christine, who was draped over Liz’s shoulder in a heap, hugging her mother tightly.
    “But you didn’t see anyone actually get in the van with the kid?”
    I shook my head. “No.”
    “Where’s the boy’s father?” the cop asked.
    “Um, that’s sort of a long story.” I glanced around at the gathering crowd, wanting to spare Maria’s privacy. She saved me the trouble.
    “He’s in prison in Huntsville. It wasn’t his father.”
    “One of your husband’s friends, maybe?” the cop asked. “Criminal associate—”
    I interrupted. “He’s not her husband. And, um … that’s really not a possibility, Officer.”
    He raised his eyebrows at Maria.
    “He’s never met Nicholas,” Maria said.
    He looked back at me and let it go.
    “Did you get a plate?”
    “AK
something,
9
something something.”
    “Texas plate?”
    I nodded.
    “Happen to notice whether it was a vanity plate? Or one of those fund-raiser plates—State of the Arts, Humane Society?”
    “No. I think it was just a plain Texas plate.”
    “What kind of van?”
    “I think it was a Chrysler.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Maria? Did you see?”
    She shook her head. “No. It was blue. It had a sticker on the back.”
    “What sort of sticker?” the cop asked.
    “Ducks Unlimited,” she said.
    “On the bumper?”
    “The back window.”
    “Right or left side?”
    “Upper right. And one of those.”
    She pointed at a sticker on another car. It was the logo of one of the local Christian schools.
    “That’s the Dickersons’ van,” someone said.
    The cop turned around. “Ma’am?”
    A woman stepped out of the huddle around us and said, “Richard and Anne-Marie Dickerson. Their little girl is on my daughter’s soccer team. They carpool with us.”
    “Were they here today?” he asked.
    “Anne-Marie was, and Lauren. I never saw Richard. I think he travels.”
    “Do you have an address for them?” the cop asked.
    The woman gave the address, and the cop gestured to his partner to call it