Run the Risk by Scott Frost Page B

should discuss a few things before she arrives.”
    It was nearly twenty after. Lacy was never that late.
    â€œShe isn’t coming,” I said almost involuntarily. The sound of the words coming out of my mouth startled me as if they had been said by someone else. What remained was why? Why wasn’t she here? A cop immediately assumes the worst. But I was a mother now clinging to every other possible explanation. That was unthinkable. I took out my cell phone and called home. With each ring I would silently repeat, “Answer it, answer it, answer it,” like a mantra.
    The machine picked up.
    â€œIf you’re there, honey, please pick up,” I said. “Lacy, pick up the phone, come on, it’s me . . .”
    I waited until I ran out of tape, then I retrieved the messages in case she had called. There were three more calls from reporters, and then a voice that sent chills through me.
    â€œYour daughter is a cunt.”
    It sounded middle-aged, white, no detectable geographical origin. The residual fog that had engulfed me since I was hit by the door was instantly gone. I turned the phone off. To Park’s credit he sensed that I had not gotten good news on the other end of the phone.
    â€œMaybe we should talk to some of her friends, in case she said something to one of them before leaving.”
    I looked at him and realized I hadn’t heard a word he had spoken.
    â€œI’m sorry . . .” I said.
    â€œHer friends . . . why don’t we talk to them?”
    I nodded. Yes, that was a good idea. She must have said something. Lacy always had something to say.
    â€œDo you know which friends she would possibly confide in?”
    Everything came crashing down.
    I looked at Parks and shook my head. I had just failed my daughter again.
    â€œI don’t know any of her friends. . . . I should . . . but I . . .”
    Parks stepped in. “Maybe just a first name? We can figure out the rest.”
    I looked at him for a moment and realized that this was not the first time he had had this conversation with a parent who has just discovered her child is a stranger. I felt pathetic. I had no excuses.
    I frantically searched every crevasse in my memory and finally stumbled across a name.
    â€œCarrie,” I said. “She knows someone named Carrie.”
    Parks buzzed his secretary, who walked in a moment later.
    â€œKaren, we need to find a senior or a junior named Carrie.”
    â€œThere’re three. Only one is a senior—Carrie Jacobson.”
    â€œWould you find out what class she’s in and bring her here.”
    As she walked out I called Officer James and told her that Lacy had not shown up at school.
    â€œI’ll give the surrounding departments a description of her car,” she answered.
    She then tried to find something encouraging to say. “You know how kids are, Lieutenant. She’s probably at a movie.”
    â€œI have a voice recorded on my phone machine,” I said.
    There was a pause on the other end of the line as she played that out.
    â€œIf it comes to that it might be useful, Lieutenant, but for right now—”
    â€œI’m not a civilian, Officer,” I said.
    â€œNo . . . but you are a mother.”
    I turned the phone off as Carrie Jacobson was escorted in by the secretary. I thought I would be able to tell just by looking at her if she was a friend of my daughter’s, but quickly realized I was clueless again. She wore no makeup,had two piercings in her left ear, and blond hair with a streak of lime green down the right side. The soles of her tennis shoes looked to be four inches high.
    Parks did the introductions, but I cut him off.
    â€œAre you a friend of Lacy’s?” I asked.
    Her eyes moved guardedly back and forth between Parks and me. I could only imagine what she had heard about me from Lacy. Mom the cop. A teenager’s worst