Among Friends (20 page)

Two in the morning. Three. Whispering, “Jennie, I’m sorry.”

Toward dawn I said into the silent darkness, “Jennie, if you need me, you can call me. I’m still your friend. I promise.”

But there is no evidence to support that.

So I doubt if she heard.

I said to the police, “She probably ran away.”

Mrs. Quint had obviously been weeping for hours. “No! Why would she do that? She has everything! And the very finest of friends! She doesn’t do things like that! She doesn’t hang out or have bad acquaintances! Not my Jennie!”

Mrs. Quint lords it over everybody on Lost Pond Lane. She hasn’t talked about basic things like weather or flowers or the Women’s Club for ages; it’s been Jennie this, Jennie that. And my poor mother always has to say weakly, “Well, our Hillary is happy.” You can tell Mrs. Quint is glad there are losers like me to sit in Jennie’s audience. My mother has never thrown china at Mrs. Quint or anything, which I think shows admirable restraint.

I said to the police, “She ran away. She’ll do anything for attention.”

So at last we know it all.

Paul was five when his little sister Candy was born.

His mother didn’t want another child, didn’t want Paul for that matter, was rough with them. Paul didn’t say it, but I guess she really slapped him around, and the baby, too. And then she just left. Disappeared. Who could walk away from a newborn baby and a little boy starting kindergarten? I can’t even imagine doing that. Wouldn’t you lie awake your whole life long wondering if that baby was warm and fed and laughing? Wondering if your little boy was happy in school and joined the Cub Scouts and fell off his bike?

Anyway, Paul’s father married again, and this second wife brought them up. Paul really loved her, and she’s the one Paul calls Mom, and she’s the only mother that Candy ever knew.

Okay, typical suburban story so far. And what happens last year? The real mother shows up and wants her kids back. She says she has a prior claim as the biological mother. And Candy says to the biological mother, “I’ve always known you would come for me one day! I want to live with you!” And off goes Candy, thrilled and happy, without a backward look. Paul’s mom almost collapses—these are
her
kids. So when she starts falling apart the father can’t take the pressure, and what happens? The father walks. Leaves.

Can you imagine?

What a bunch. Reliability first, you know?

Paul’s mom has a total breakdown, as who wouldn’t, thrown aside by the daughter she brought up and the man she loves? Paul’s mom lives in constant fear that Paul won’t come home one day because he doesn’t really love her, either.

I said, “What about therapy?”

“Talking is nice, I suppose, although I don’t do much of it myself, but talking doesn’t change things. My mother
is terrified, and I don’t blame her. She can’t trust anyone, including me, and I don’t blame her. She feels worthless and no good, and I don’t blame her.”

Ah, dear diary.

You know what I have learned this year?

I have learned that I am lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky.

My family loves me. Nobody has abandoned me, nobody’s going to. I have friends and relatives and roots and money. Luck of the draw, I guess. Poor Paul, poor Paul. What’s classified is pain.

.… I stopped writing because I felt done.

I forgot about Jennie.

Am I really a person so shallow that all this is a soap opera to me, and I’m just watching other people’s suffering like entertainment?

So after we talked about P.C.’s whole life—which was as depressing a story as I ever heard—no wonder he won’t talk about it—we talked about Jennie. And where she could be, and why she did it. Paul didn’t run off when he had problems big enough to drown in, so why did Jennie run off? I have thought and thought about what the kids are saying in school and I can’t quite agree with it. But I haven’t come up with anything better.

We were all sitting in the addition: great glass walls that look down the sloping grass and past the gardens into the marsh. It was dark, and the lights of the town lay far
away, and the stars above were lost in a storm that would come during the night. My mother had fallen asleep on my father’s shoulder. My father has been home so much lately. I guess he decided that with families and kids collapsing left and right he should have better attendance.

Ansley said, “I think … maybe … it’s because … somebody needed Paul.” She looked very intently out at the almost invisible yard, gathering an almost invisible answer. “Somebody couldn’t live without Paul.” Ansley turned and looked at me, but her hair was in her eyes and for once she didn’t toss it back. She whispered, “Nobody really needs Jennie.”

“Her parents,” my father said.

Ansley sniffed. She doesn’t like the Quints. “Her parents just need something to show off. They could do as well with a new Jaguar.”

I wonder how she’ll come back. It isn’t easy, coming back. You have to admit you’re a jerk. I don’t know why they’re all so worried about her. I have known Jennie Quint very, very well for my whole life and there is nothing Jennie can’t do.

Paul is living with the Lowes. It’s nice, because we see him every day now. He’s much friendlier. Mr. Lowe spends a lot of time with Paul. If I was jealous of Jennie, you would certainly think Jared would be jealous of Paul. But he isn’t.

Everybody’s scared for her. They think that coming back will be so hard that she just won’t come back. That no matter how bad it is “out there,” Jennie will stay and suffer rather than come back humiliated and dumb. I have faith in Jennie’s conceit—she doesn’t really want anything to happen to the great Jennie Quint.

None of the seniors won Star Student anyhow; it went to the same high schools it always goes to. We must have bad breath or something.

Every time the bus stops I look out the window.

I think—I could get off here.

But I’m afraid to get off the bus.

If I get off the bus, I have to start living again.

I think about Jennie every minute.

I think about such ordinary things. I took a shower this morning and used almond soap, which I love, and Jhirmak shampoo, and after I stepped out onto the thick soft vanilla colored mat, I dusted myself with Anais Anais
powder. I blew my hair dry until it felt the way the powder smelled: cloudy and pretty.

Her father thinks Jennie may have had a hundred dollars cash. It has to be gone by now. So what is Jennie using for soap and toothpaste? Where is Jennie sleeping? What is Jennie eating? When it’s dark, on this February night, and icy cold, and snowing, where will Jennie be?

Downstairs my mother was yelling good-bye because she had to leave for work. I raced down with just my towel on to kiss her good-bye, and I said, “While you’re in New York, keep an eye out for Jennie.”

My mother sighed. “I don’t envy the Quints. I went over to see them last night, and they have just about collapsed. You know, their whole lives were wrapped up in that girl. And this is how she repays them! By slapping them in the face.”

I’m always surprised by the parents’ point of view. I guess Jennie did slap them in the face—but oh, how we slapped her first! Especially me.

“Mom, it’s been six days. How is she keeping her hair clean, do you suppose? Jennie always liked to wash her hair every other night.”

“You just have to hope she’ll come to her senses,” said my mother, dashing out the door. It was sleeting. But maybe Jennie had taken a bus to Florida. Or California. Maybe she was already waitressing in Miami. Oh, Jennie, don’t throw away all that you are! All that you could be!

Come to your senses, Jennie!

It’s like calling a duck, you know? Here, duck, duck, duck, duck! I have some stale bread for you! Come to your bread!

Here, Jennie, Jennie, Jennie! Come to your senses!