Death Before Facebook

scanning the crowds, which were thin now, it being almost two on a Friday morning. If people turned off Bourbon (and Sheila would follow the people), they would probably walk toward the river, maybe to the Napoleon House, the Cafe du Monde…
    “I know!” Skip shouted. “The Cafe du Monde. It’s open all night, a minor can go there, and it’s warm. Anyway, pretty warm.” The tables were outside, but there was heat.
    “Or Kaldi’s maybe,” said Darryl. A coffeehouse on Decatur.
    “Maybe. But the Cafe du Monde’s in the thick of things. It might seem glamorous to be there alone in the middle of the night.”
    “Let’s go.”
    It was bustling, as usual, but there was no sign of Sheila. They questioned the waiters. Sure enough, she’d been there. Not only that, she’d been there twice. Once about ten o’clock and later, around midnight. She’d had hot chocolate and beignets both times.
    “I wonder where she went in between?”
    “Kaldi’s?” said Darryl.
    “Let’s go check.”
    But it had been closed for hours.
    “She must have found some warm place close around here.”
    They walked up and down Decatur, the street where the runaways hung, talking to strollers and loiterers, asking if they’d seen a thirteen-year-old in jeans and denim jacket. One guy said he had, but he couldn’t remember where or when.
    “Know what I think I’d do?” said Darryl. “I might go over to the cathedral. They used to say in Sunday school that churches are refuges.”
    It was a good idea.
    They found her there, in one of the cavernous doorways, her head on her knees, maybe even asleep. A grown street person, a woman, Skip thought, was curled up not ten feet away.
    Skip bent over Sheila and said her name, not wanting to get too close for fear of scaring her. “Honey, let’s go home.”
    Sheila sat up and peered out of eyes so innocent they weren’t even frightened. When she had oriented herself, the fawn look turned to anger. “No way I’m going back there.”
    Skip knelt. “This is my friend Darryl.”
    “Hi, Sheila.” He held out a hand to shake. She stared at him for what seemed like a long time, and finally shook.
    “At least let’s go get something to eat.”
    “I’m not hungry.”
    “Well, I am,” said Darryl. “I’m having a major Big Mac attack. You don’t want some fries or anything?”
    Sheila’s eyes got round. “We could go to McDonald’s?”
    “Sure. Or maybe we could get pizza. You want some pizza?”
    She shook her head. “McDonald’s.”
    Skip gave Darryl an utterly amazed look. Not daring to say anything, she stuck out a hand for Sheila to grab. “Up you go.”
    “Do Uncle Jimmy and Kenny have to go with us?”
    “Honey. You’re shaking.” Thinking she was probably cold clear through, Skip put an arm around her.
    “I’m okay!” The girl shrugged away.
    Darryl said, “No, Uncle Jimmy and Kenny don’t have to go. Kenny’s sound asleep and Uncle Jimmy’d probably be glad to be.”
    “I have to call and say I found you, though. He’s worried sick.”
    She let that pass and said to Darryl, “Who are you, anyway?”
    “Well, I’m a pretty good guitarist and a damn good English teacher.”
    “No way.”
    “No way what?”
    “You’re not a teacher. Teachers don’t say damn.”
    “Well, this one does at this time of night. Excuse me. Morning.”
    “Are you Skip’s boyfriend?”
    Skip spoke up quickly. “He’s a friend of the family, honey.”
    “You mean Uncle Jimmy? Eewww.”
    “What you got against Uncle Jimmy?”
    But she fell silent.
    When they had reached the house, she took Sheila and Darryl into the garconniere and gave Jimmy Dee a call. “She’s fine; we’ve got her. She can stay with me tonight, okay? And no school tomorrow, I think.”
    She hung up, feeling beat. “Does everybody really want to go out? What about some sandwiches here?”
    Sheila teared up. “You mean we can’t go?”
    Darryl said, “I want to go.”
    “I’m outnumbered.” Trying hard to smile, she picked up her car keys. “Wait. What if they’re not open?”
    She made a couple of phone calls—and got no answers. But the look in Sheila’s eyes said she’d better come up with something.
    “I know,” said Darryl. “The Clover Grill’s open all night.”
    “Have they got fries?”
    He nodded soberly. “And shakes.”
    Sheila meant business. She got a burger, chocolate shake, and fries. Not to be outdone, Darryl did too. Skip made do with a Diet Coke and bites of