Chapter 7 - dating destinations

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I try Star's phone at least ten more times on the ride into the city. Voice mail every time. I leave a couple more messages before dropping the phone into my lap.

Grant turns off the freeway and onto some side street that looks as if the landmine clean-up operation didn't go well. "You know, she's probably just working or something."

"I thought of that, but she would have mentioned it. She told me to call right away." How do I explain to him that I've got my tail in a bunch and I think that means bad things are happening? The gray boarded buildings increase in number and size as we head deeper into the city. A sick feeling hits me. I've only been to Detroit a few times, but I don't remember it looking this bad. People drag themselves along the sidewalks, seemingly in no hurry to be anywhere. "Wow. Things don't look hopeful around here."

"Yeah," Grant says. "It really got worse over the last year or so. People are moving out by droves. Most of 'em scared to stay here anymore."

"Scared? Of like getting killed and stuff?"

He flashes me a look. "Yeah...stuff like that."

I watch his face. He doesn't reveal much, but I'm pretty sure he's holding back. Seeing as how we only met a couple hours ago, I can't really nag him into telling me what he's hiding. But he clearly doesn't want to be here. So why is he doing this for me?

His Waze program on his phone instructs us through the turns. I'd never find my way through a city. We pass a few liquor stores and check cashing places. I can't even find a McDonalds. Or any restaurants for that matter. Finally, I spot the sign for the church. "There it is!" I say.

Grant pulls the Firebird into the lot and I reach for my door handle.

"Wait," he says. He studies the parking lot, checks his mirrors, then gets out on his side. After a few more seconds of scoping out the lot, he comes around and opens my door.

"Last of the true gentlemen." I swing my legs out.

"Well, thanks, but mostly I'm just worried about being here." He nods at the car. "This thing kind of stands out." He looks me over. "And so do we."

"That's kind of racist, isn't it?"

"No. Trust me. I'm worried about everyone around here. They come in all colors. But..." He trails off. He is hiding something. What's he worried about? Sure, it's a rough part of town, but we're parked in front of a church in broad daylight. He looks me over again. "Little warm for long sleeves, isn't it?"

I self-consciously tug at my shirt sleeve. He's going to think I'm a cutter if I keep dressing like this. But the deep red scars, clearly patterned after a large dog's dental work, would raise too many questions. "I'm, uh, kind of sensitive to the sun."

His eyes drop to my bare legs. "Okay. Well, let's go." He grabs my arm and pulls me close to his side as we cross the cracked parking lot to the church.

"Doesn't look like a church," I say.

"I think they're trying to keep a low profile."

I think that the sign out front is a dead giveaway, but don't comment. We reach the green steel doors and he pulls one open. Inside, cool air washes over us. I blink. It's like a total transformation. The inside of the church is decorated with paintings of beautiful scenery and Bible verses neatly written on long sheets of craft paper. "Now it looks like a church," I say. Actually, the hallway reminds me more of a school, except without the Bible verses.

"There's an office," Grant says. "You can ask about your sister there."

I take the lead and push through a glass door with the words "Church Office" stenciled on the front. Inside, a large L-shaped desk sits beneath a window. A plump black woman is typing at her ancient desktop computer. She turns and smiles as we enter. I think that I'd like to see that smile every day for the rest of my life.

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