mistakably alone. They all were.
“She’d gone out to study with a friend,” the voice quivered, “the same way she always did. I used to ask her allthe time—to bug her, she used to say—if it was such a good idea to study with a friend. I mean, how much work did they really get done? But she’d insist that she got a lot out of it, that Peggy, that was the girl she studied with, was so much smarter than she was, and that she learned a lot this way. So, how can you argue? I mean, I’m only the mother, right?” The woman swallowed and lowered her head, wiping at her eyes. “What do I know?” She raised her eyes to Gail, who sat staring at her from across the room, unable to move, barely able to breathe. “‘So, she went out as usual. It was a Tuesday night, about seven-thirty. She said she’d be home by ten o’clock.
“Well, I’m watching some movie-of-the-week on TV. My son, Danny, is already in bed asleep; my husband and I are divorced. So, I’m not too aware of the time at first, but then I look over at the clock during a commercial, and I see that it’s a quarter to eleven. Well, that’s not like Charlotte. She always comes home when she says she will. She was a good girl. Well, at first I thought, maybe it’s taking them longer to do the work than they thought; give them a chance to finish up. Or maybe she had to wait a long time for a bus coming home. Peggy didn’t live that far away, but I didn’t like for Charlotte to walk home alone at night, and the bus stop was right out in front of Peggy’s house. Well, I waited, and pretty soon it was eleven o’clock and the movie was finished, and I started to get a little angry. I didn’t know whether to call Peggy’s house or not. You know how embarrassed they get when they think you’re checking up on them. But I thought, damn it, if she’s embarrassed, then let her get home on time the next time out, and I picked up the phone and I called. Peggy’s mom told me that Charlotte had left over an hour ago. Well, it only takes a few minutes by bus, so I started to get worried. By midnight I was quite hysterical wondering what had happened to her. I called all her other friends,woke everybody up. No one had seen her. Then I called the police. That was a real waste of time. Charlotte was probably with a boyfriend, they said. I told them she didn’t have a boyfriend, that she was a very shy girl, and they laughed and said that all seventeen-year-old girls had boyfriends, and that only their mothers thought they were shy. They asked if we’d had a fight about something or if there was any reason for her to run away from home. I told them no. They asked where my ex-husband was. I said I had no idea; I hadn’t seen him since the divorce. They said that Charlotte was probably with him. I said how could that be when she didn’t have any more idea where he was than I did? They said that teenagers knew all kinds of things their mothers didn’t, and that I should just relax and wait until the morning, because she’d probably call, and that there was nothing they could do until she’d been missing for twenty-four hours anyway. They told me to try and get some sleep; they’d send someone around the next afternoon if she hadn’t come home already.
“Well, I knew she wasn’t with any boyfriend or a father she hadn’t seen in eight years, and I knew that something had happened to her or she would have at least called, but the police insisted on treating it like just another runaway, even after they’d talked to all her friends and her teachers and everybody said the same thing, that Charlotte wouldn’t run away, that she never even talked about wanting to see her father.
“Then one afternoon, six days after she’d disappeared, I was lying down in my den trying to sleep—I hadn’t slept since she’d been gone—when I saw this police car pull up outside, and I jumped up happily, because my first thought was that they had found her and that they
“She’d gone out to study with a friend,” the voice quivered, “the same way she always did. I used to ask her allthe time—to bug her, she used to say—if it was such a good idea to study with a friend. I mean, how much work did they really get done? But she’d insist that she got a lot out of it, that Peggy, that was the girl she studied with, was so much smarter than she was, and that she learned a lot this way. So, how can you argue? I mean, I’m only the mother, right?” The woman swallowed and lowered her head, wiping at her eyes. “What do I know?” She raised her eyes to Gail, who sat staring at her from across the room, unable to move, barely able to breathe. “‘So, she went out as usual. It was a Tuesday night, about seven-thirty. She said she’d be home by ten o’clock.
“Well, I’m watching some movie-of-the-week on TV. My son, Danny, is already in bed asleep; my husband and I are divorced. So, I’m not too aware of the time at first, but then I look over at the clock during a commercial, and I see that it’s a quarter to eleven. Well, that’s not like Charlotte. She always comes home when she says she will. She was a good girl. Well, at first I thought, maybe it’s taking them longer to do the work than they thought; give them a chance to finish up. Or maybe she had to wait a long time for a bus coming home. Peggy didn’t live that far away, but I didn’t like for Charlotte to walk home alone at night, and the bus stop was right out in front of Peggy’s house. Well, I waited, and pretty soon it was eleven o’clock and the movie was finished, and I started to get a little angry. I didn’t know whether to call Peggy’s house or not. You know how embarrassed they get when they think you’re checking up on them. But I thought, damn it, if she’s embarrassed, then let her get home on time the next time out, and I picked up the phone and I called. Peggy’s mom told me that Charlotte had left over an hour ago. Well, it only takes a few minutes by bus, so I started to get worried. By midnight I was quite hysterical wondering what had happened to her. I called all her other friends,woke everybody up. No one had seen her. Then I called the police. That was a real waste of time. Charlotte was probably with a boyfriend, they said. I told them she didn’t have a boyfriend, that she was a very shy girl, and they laughed and said that all seventeen-year-old girls had boyfriends, and that only their mothers thought they were shy. They asked if we’d had a fight about something or if there was any reason for her to run away from home. I told them no. They asked where my ex-husband was. I said I had no idea; I hadn’t seen him since the divorce. They said that Charlotte was probably with him. I said how could that be when she didn’t have any more idea where he was than I did? They said that teenagers knew all kinds of things their mothers didn’t, and that I should just relax and wait until the morning, because she’d probably call, and that there was nothing they could do until she’d been missing for twenty-four hours anyway. They told me to try and get some sleep; they’d send someone around the next afternoon if she hadn’t come home already.
“Well, I knew she wasn’t with any boyfriend or a father she hadn’t seen in eight years, and I knew that something had happened to her or she would have at least called, but the police insisted on treating it like just another runaway, even after they’d talked to all her friends and her teachers and everybody said the same thing, that Charlotte wouldn’t run away, that she never even talked about wanting to see her father.
“Then one afternoon, six days after she’d disappeared, I was lying down in my den trying to sleep—I hadn’t slept since she’d been gone—when I saw this police car pull up outside, and I jumped up happily, because my first thought was that they had found her and that they
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