say, and “Love you, Mom” because even when we fight I say it, considering. You just never know what the future brings.
I walk back in, and Jewel wrinkles her nose. I know I’ve come in with waves of stench. I can’t smell it myself, I’m immune, I think, but I see it in other people’s faces.
“Go ahead,” I say, while I dampen my cigarette with water before I drop it in the kitchen trash, hurrying back to the front room.
Michael looks like a schoolteacher, still in his work clothes, standing up in front of the fireplace while everyone else sits. Jewel is cross-legged on the floor. Angel and Mallory sit like double vision on the couch. I take the uncomfortable wooden rocking chair.
“Well. This is what we’ve found. He’s been writing this Tiffany girl for months now. From what I can tell, they met on Facebook. They think they’re in love, and they decided to run away together.”
I sneak a look at Mallory. She’s staring with intensity at Michael, and worrying a thumbnail in her teeth.
Michael goes on: “It would seem they picked today to run away, and they’re trying to get to New York City.”
“And how did they think they were going to get there?” Mallory asks now, prompting, since she must already know the answer herself.
“They’re taking a bus. I think they dealt with specifics over the phone, though, because the messages get more vague as they get more recent.”
“Her number’s disconnected now, though,” Mallory says with a wave of her hand as I open my mouth to ask if they’ve tried to call it.
“So our next step,” Michael says, “is to call the police, because it seems that two minor children are alone somewhere out there on buses trying to get to a huge, dangerous city.”
Mallory leans back on the couch, pulling her knees up to her chest, toying with the sleeves of Michael’s big sweater. “He was smart enough not to hitchhike, I’ll give him that.”
Jewel pipes up. “So he’s okay, then.”
Mallory answers, “You bet, J. The cops will find him at a bus station somewhere, and then we’ll tar his butt as soon as he gets back home.”
Michael swallows hard and then folds the printouts carefully, running over the crease with his fingers again and again. “I hope you feel better now, kids. It’s getting late, Jewel, you should probably get ready for bed.”
“Awwwww, Dad!”
“Mike, you told them they didn’t have to go to school tomorrow. What difference does it really make?”
Michael’s jaw goes tight, and he walks out abruptly. “I’m going upstairs to call the police station.”
“Mom?” Jewel asks. “Can we make popcorn? The old way, on the stove, with butter?”
“Sure, baby! You got it.” Mallory bounces off the couch and takes command in the kitchen. Jewel trails after her, talking to her about dinosaurs and alligators.
Angel remains on the couch, eyes fixed on the floor. She looks washed-out, her face blending into her pale hair.
I sit down on the couch, close enough to be considered next to her, but far enough not to be invasive, so I hope. I’ve never gotten good at this dance with her, this push-pull of too close, too far.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Fine.” She tries to say it forcefully, but her voice breaks.
“You can tell me.”
“If you can have secrets, so can I.”
The first time we’ve been alone since she read my diary. “It’s not what you think.”
“Oh? You lied in your own diary?”
“I mean, you read things out of context.”
“Yeah. Context makes it all better.”
“Why were you even in my desk?”
At this she flops herself back on the couch, folding her arms tight across her. “None of your fucking business. Now go run along and tattle to my dad about how I read your diary and said ‘fucking.’ ”
“I’m not going to tell him.”
“Oh, so he won’t ask me what’s in it?”
“That’s not why.” Because I’m leaving. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I was asking about Dylan, and
I walk back in, and Jewel wrinkles her nose. I know I’ve come in with waves of stench. I can’t smell it myself, I’m immune, I think, but I see it in other people’s faces.
“Go ahead,” I say, while I dampen my cigarette with water before I drop it in the kitchen trash, hurrying back to the front room.
Michael looks like a schoolteacher, still in his work clothes, standing up in front of the fireplace while everyone else sits. Jewel is cross-legged on the floor. Angel and Mallory sit like double vision on the couch. I take the uncomfortable wooden rocking chair.
“Well. This is what we’ve found. He’s been writing this Tiffany girl for months now. From what I can tell, they met on Facebook. They think they’re in love, and they decided to run away together.”
I sneak a look at Mallory. She’s staring with intensity at Michael, and worrying a thumbnail in her teeth.
Michael goes on: “It would seem they picked today to run away, and they’re trying to get to New York City.”
“And how did they think they were going to get there?” Mallory asks now, prompting, since she must already know the answer herself.
“They’re taking a bus. I think they dealt with specifics over the phone, though, because the messages get more vague as they get more recent.”
“Her number’s disconnected now, though,” Mallory says with a wave of her hand as I open my mouth to ask if they’ve tried to call it.
“So our next step,” Michael says, “is to call the police, because it seems that two minor children are alone somewhere out there on buses trying to get to a huge, dangerous city.”
Mallory leans back on the couch, pulling her knees up to her chest, toying with the sleeves of Michael’s big sweater. “He was smart enough not to hitchhike, I’ll give him that.”
Jewel pipes up. “So he’s okay, then.”
Mallory answers, “You bet, J. The cops will find him at a bus station somewhere, and then we’ll tar his butt as soon as he gets back home.”
Michael swallows hard and then folds the printouts carefully, running over the crease with his fingers again and again. “I hope you feel better now, kids. It’s getting late, Jewel, you should probably get ready for bed.”
“Awwwww, Dad!”
“Mike, you told them they didn’t have to go to school tomorrow. What difference does it really make?”
Michael’s jaw goes tight, and he walks out abruptly. “I’m going upstairs to call the police station.”
“Mom?” Jewel asks. “Can we make popcorn? The old way, on the stove, with butter?”
“Sure, baby! You got it.” Mallory bounces off the couch and takes command in the kitchen. Jewel trails after her, talking to her about dinosaurs and alligators.
Angel remains on the couch, eyes fixed on the floor. She looks washed-out, her face blending into her pale hair.
I sit down on the couch, close enough to be considered next to her, but far enough not to be invasive, so I hope. I’ve never gotten good at this dance with her, this push-pull of too close, too far.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Fine.” She tries to say it forcefully, but her voice breaks.
“You can tell me.”
“If you can have secrets, so can I.”
The first time we’ve been alone since she read my diary. “It’s not what you think.”
“Oh? You lied in your own diary?”
“I mean, you read things out of context.”
“Yeah. Context makes it all better.”
“Why were you even in my desk?”
At this she flops herself back on the couch, folding her arms tight across her. “None of your fucking business. Now go run along and tattle to my dad about how I read your diary and said ‘fucking.’ ”
“I’m not going to tell him.”
“Oh, so he won’t ask me what’s in it?”
“That’s not why.” Because I’m leaving. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I was asking about Dylan, and
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