Read SK01 - Waist Deep for Free Online

a thread before slipping into panic.
    I wondered what Matt saw in my eyes.
    The words that tumbled o ut of my mouth surprised me. I knew I would probably regret them. “Okay, Matt. I’ll help. I’ll do what I can.”
    Relief washed over his face and filled his eyes. “Thank you,” he said softly.
    The tears that had welled up in his eyes now fell. I knew that they were born of gratitude, but to me their shimmer seemed more like an accusation.

9
     
     
    After meeting with Matt, I really wanted to walk, but my knee wasn’t going to cooperate. After a little more than a block, the sharp pain kicked in, punctuated with a throb every few seconds. My walk became a limp and my limp became more pronounced the farther I walked.
    I slowed down to a pace that most senior citizens would’ve considered a shuffle and my knee responded immediately. The sharpness of the pain both dulled and dimmed and the throb began to fade. Some might say that was my reward for making a good choice. With age, they might say, we learn wisdom.
    Or we learn to accept defeat, I thought sardonically.
    It wasn’t an argument I was going to win, so I brushed it aside and kept my tortuous pace until I reached Coeur D’Alene Park. The park was nine square blocks located almost exactly in the center of Browne’s Addition . There were a few scattered trees, some play equipment and a lot of open space. In the center of the park was a gazebo . I made my way to it.
    The gazebo was a recent addition to the park. Some group or another built it in the name of community service . They got their picture in the newspaper and their name on the plaque on the steps of the gazebo. I’m grateful for it—it looks nice and is a pleasant place to sit during the day—but I’m sure that the hookers and dopers appreciate it just as much during the night hours.
    Instead of the classical white color of most gazebos, it was the color of natural wood. Or at least, it had been stained to look that way. I brushed aside a discarded newspaper and sat down.
    Matt had told me the rest of the story, leaning forward as he spoke rapidly. He’ d waited a week before reporting Kris as a runaway. During that time, he searched for her until he ran out of places, then started over. He listed them for me and watched me as if he were looking for my approval. I merely nodded and motioned for him to continue.
    Matt told me about all of Kris’s friends, which sounded like an unimpressive bunch to me. Maybe if I’d bagged more cheerleaders in high school, I’d be more impressed with their type. But since the vacuous, self-centered cliché bearing pom-poms has so little to do with the real world, it’s hard to give much credit to the young girls who elect to slip into that role. Or the parents who allow them to.
    As he spoke, I stole several peeks at her picture. I had to constantly remind myself that this girl was sixteen , not twenty-four, despite the shape of her body and the age in her eyes. The feminine creature is a very crafty, deep enigma, capable of duping men of all ages. I had to remember that no matter what I saw in her eyes, even if some of it was genuine, she was still just a sixteen - year - old girl.
    Kris’s friends hadn’t been any help to Matt. Most had attitude. The few who told him anything said that they hadn’t seen much of her recently. None knew why, or would say if they did.
    I’d cleared my throat and asked Matt what Kris’s dream was.
    He’d crinkled his forehead for a moment, looking at me as if I’d just asked a question to which the answer was so obvious that even a child should know it.
    “An actor,” he’d said. “I told her that the term for a woman was ‘actress’ not ‘actor,’ but she said she didn’t care either way, because she planned to be a star, not just an actor or an actress and when someone reached that level, she was just a star, male or female.”
    A star, I thought. Great.
    Using a napkin, I scribbled down a list of Kris’s