airborne, and angry about it. She was Dawn Parnell, Sophie Quintana’s mother, Gabe’s ex-girlfriend.
Jo couldn’t conceive of a good reason for Dawn to know where she lived. Or to be there. Not a happy reason, not . . .
“Is it Gabe?”
“Yeah,” Dawn said.
The sun all at once seemed to hum, a high-pitched tone that drilled through Jo’s chest. “Did something happen?”
Dawn’s eyes were the hazel of a kaleidoscope, too bright, spinning with emotion. Not Gabe. Don’t tell me. Please, Jesus.
“Where is he?” Dawn said.
“Did they—didn’t the Wing tell you . . .”
“I’m late for work. My shift started at noon, and it’s his day.”
“What?”
Dawn pointed up the street, perhaps toward the print shop where she worked. “Gabe has Sophie during the week. But she got sick at school and the nurse couldn’t find him. So they had to call me. And now I’m late.”
“Wait.” Jo raised her hands. She heard the beseeching note in her voice. “Don’t you know where Gabe is?”
“No. That’s why I’m here.” Dawn said it slowly, as if to a recalcitrant child.
“You haven’t heard anything from his family, or the one- twenty-ninth?”
“No. And I can’t afford to miss my shift. I do that, I get docked. And if I lose my job, I get in trouble with the custody people.”
Jo’s heart was banging like a kettledrum. She felt like she was trying to grab a handhold on a wall of cotton candy.
“Nothing’s happened to Gabe?” she said.
Dawn looked at her crooked. “Except I can’t find him. I had to pick Sophie up from the school nurse’s office.”
Jo’s vision throbbed. Gabe was all right. She walked toward the idling VW. “Is Sophie okay?”
“Fever and vomiting. Stomach flu’s going around the school.”
Sophie wasn’t in the car. Jo stopped and figured it out.
Dawn crossed her arms. “I can’t take her to work.”
“Did you bring her here?”
“Gabe spends time with you, right?”
Jo turned toward her front porch. “Where is she?”
“I have to book. I’m already in deep with the boss.” Dawn marched back to the car. “You should tape a note to the door when you leave. Let people know where you are.”
“Where’s Sophie?” Jo said.
Dawn pointed next door at the redbrick mansion that dominated the street. “Your neighbor said she could stay with him until you got home.”
She opened the car door, and paused. Her gaze slid over Jo. For a moment, she seemed ready to comment on what she was looking at. Then she got in and drove away in a film of gray exhaust.
This is your mom. This is your mom’s brain on drugs.
Jo pressed her fingers to her eyes, trying to stop the hum and the heat and the acid pulse of the adrenaline that coursed through her veins. Be fair, she told herself. Dawn was monitored by the courts to make sure she was clean. To maintain her visitation rights with Sophie she had to submit to random drug testing, and she had to keep her job.
Dawn had been through rehab twice. She was eking it out, day by day, watched over by her parents. According to Gabe, they seemed at once broken and hopeful because their beautiful girl—who had enrolled at San Francisco State to study marine biology, dropped out when she got pregnant, and recovered from childbirth with a variety of self-chosen chemical pick-me-ups—was now living independently, and employed in a business that didn’t get raided by the DEA.
Gabe’s all right.
Maybe.
Jo walked next door to the mansion. From the balcony, plaster statues of Roman gods gazed down at her. As she climbed the steps, footsteps bundled along the hardwood hallway inside.
“Coming, Jo.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. Did he have an infrared Jocam that alerted him when she neared his porch? The deadbolt flipped and Ferd Bismuth opened the door. His eyes crinkled behind his glasses as he smiled.
“Of course you’re here. I told Sophie’s mom you’d come. I knew it.”
“Thanks for stepping up to the
Jo couldn’t conceive of a good reason for Dawn to know where she lived. Or to be there. Not a happy reason, not . . .
“Is it Gabe?”
“Yeah,” Dawn said.
The sun all at once seemed to hum, a high-pitched tone that drilled through Jo’s chest. “Did something happen?”
Dawn’s eyes were the hazel of a kaleidoscope, too bright, spinning with emotion. Not Gabe. Don’t tell me. Please, Jesus.
“Where is he?” Dawn said.
“Did they—didn’t the Wing tell you . . .”
“I’m late for work. My shift started at noon, and it’s his day.”
“What?”
Dawn pointed up the street, perhaps toward the print shop where she worked. “Gabe has Sophie during the week. But she got sick at school and the nurse couldn’t find him. So they had to call me. And now I’m late.”
“Wait.” Jo raised her hands. She heard the beseeching note in her voice. “Don’t you know where Gabe is?”
“No. That’s why I’m here.” Dawn said it slowly, as if to a recalcitrant child.
“You haven’t heard anything from his family, or the one- twenty-ninth?”
“No. And I can’t afford to miss my shift. I do that, I get docked. And if I lose my job, I get in trouble with the custody people.”
Jo’s heart was banging like a kettledrum. She felt like she was trying to grab a handhold on a wall of cotton candy.
“Nothing’s happened to Gabe?” she said.
Dawn looked at her crooked. “Except I can’t find him. I had to pick Sophie up from the school nurse’s office.”
Jo’s vision throbbed. Gabe was all right. She walked toward the idling VW. “Is Sophie okay?”
“Fever and vomiting. Stomach flu’s going around the school.”
Sophie wasn’t in the car. Jo stopped and figured it out.
Dawn crossed her arms. “I can’t take her to work.”
“Did you bring her here?”
“Gabe spends time with you, right?”
Jo turned toward her front porch. “Where is she?”
“I have to book. I’m already in deep with the boss.” Dawn marched back to the car. “You should tape a note to the door when you leave. Let people know where you are.”
“Where’s Sophie?” Jo said.
Dawn pointed next door at the redbrick mansion that dominated the street. “Your neighbor said she could stay with him until you got home.”
She opened the car door, and paused. Her gaze slid over Jo. For a moment, she seemed ready to comment on what she was looking at. Then she got in and drove away in a film of gray exhaust.
This is your mom. This is your mom’s brain on drugs.
Jo pressed her fingers to her eyes, trying to stop the hum and the heat and the acid pulse of the adrenaline that coursed through her veins. Be fair, she told herself. Dawn was monitored by the courts to make sure she was clean. To maintain her visitation rights with Sophie she had to submit to random drug testing, and she had to keep her job.
Dawn had been through rehab twice. She was eking it out, day by day, watched over by her parents. According to Gabe, they seemed at once broken and hopeful because their beautiful girl—who had enrolled at San Francisco State to study marine biology, dropped out when she got pregnant, and recovered from childbirth with a variety of self-chosen chemical pick-me-ups—was now living independently, and employed in a business that didn’t get raided by the DEA.
Gabe’s all right.
Maybe.
Jo walked next door to the mansion. From the balcony, plaster statues of Roman gods gazed down at her. As she climbed the steps, footsteps bundled along the hardwood hallway inside.
“Coming, Jo.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. Did he have an infrared Jocam that alerted him when she neared his porch? The deadbolt flipped and Ferd Bismuth opened the door. His eyes crinkled behind his glasses as he smiled.
“Of course you’re here. I told Sophie’s mom you’d come. I knew it.”
“Thanks for stepping up to the
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