“You coming or not?” The first biker holds out a helmet.
“We’re coming!” I duck down. “Thank you, Leon. Thank you so much.” I swing open the door and walk to the biker, who revs his engine. I glance back at Esben, who shakes his head with amused acceptance.
“All set there?” My new driver asks gruffly. “Grab on tight, sweet cheeks. We’ll be taking the breakdown lane. Could get a little hairy.”
I straddle the bike and clutch on hard to this man’s mammoth waist. “Okay. What’s your name?”
“Doesn’t matter.” He revs his engine again. “Here we go.”
A surge of fear courses through me, and I shut my eyes for a moment. We are, for sure, speeding, but I’m comforted by the fact that my driver is obviously in total control of his bike as he flies us past unmoving cars. Without these bikers, we’d never make it to Midway. Never.
Just as we pass the area where traffic seems to ease up—there’s no sign of an accident or anything, just a damn unexplained traffic clog—a siren rings out behind us.
“Here we go!” my biker cries out rather triumphantly and hits the gas. “Hang on, little lady! Hang on!”
Oh my God.
A motorcycle cop is chasing us.
We bang out a turn, and soon the entrance to the airport is ahead. We screech to a stop, with the police officer’s siren still audible but lagging behind.
“Go!” the biker yells at me. “Go, go, go!”
I scramble to get off the bike, and before I can even get my helmet off, he’s gone.
I’m still standing on the departure sidewalk when Esben taps me hard on the shoulder. “We need to move. Allison! Now!”
I turn and run with him into the terminal. There’s no time to think about what just happened, and we only just make our flight to LAX. After we land, we’re picked up by an off-duty Uber driver, then sail to Cedars-Sinai with such ease. Almost too much. Maybe I was secretly hoping for another problem to extend the inevitable, but we are here now. A wave of sadness washes over me.
After hours and hours of chaos, we are here. Our car pulls up at the entrance, and I am unspeakably moved by what I see.
There are at least thirty people outside. Some hold candles, some have signs with#ALLISONANDSTEFFI, or#SCREWCANCER, or#BESTFRIENDS. Some have flowers, stuffed animals, or balloons. They are quiet and sweet and radiating love so entirely that I hardly know what to do as we walk past them. There are hugs and a few soft words. Mostly, there is a circle of serenity. These people are here to guard Steffi against as much pain as they can.
“Will you take a picture for Steffi? She’ll want to see this.” I am almost numb. The love that has been thrown our way today is immeasurable. And no one wants thanks. No one wants attention for his or her part in getting us here. Every single tag that I’ve seen today is fueled by nothing but true heart. I stagger a bit as I walk. “Take a picture,” I say again.
“Of course,” Esben says. “This is beautiful.”
When we step through the front doors, I brace myself, preparing to see Steffi soon.
However, I am not prepared to see the two people who call my name from the waiting area. When they reach us, I am breathing hard, seething with anger, rage from past pain that I almost can’t control.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I spit out. “How dare you? Howdareyou?”
“Allison,” the woman says, with tears in her eyes. She was clearly going to lean in for a hug, but my words stopped her short. “We read about Steffi online. We just happened to be in San Diego. Obviously, we drove up when we heard.”
“We were hoping to—” the man starts.
“Hoping to what? Whatexactlywere you hoping to do, huh?” I’m near screaming.
“What’s going on? Who are they?” Esben touches my arm with concern.
“Cal and Joan Kantor,” I say, shooting a venomous look their way.
“Steffi’s foster parents?” he says in disbelief.
“Yes. The ones who kicked her out when she turned eighteen.” My words are cold.
“Wait, what?” Cal says. “Is that what she told you?”
