Juno's Daughters (27 page)

“She says?”

“No. I'm sure that's what it is. She wants to go see Lilly.” They found a table near the window and sat down. Jenny glanced through the glass and saw David walking across the street from somewhere—China Pearl probably, because he liked their fried rice—toward his car. She waved, but he had his head down and didn't see her. She turned back to Mary Ann. “She asked me to lend her a hundred dollars.”

“Did you?”

Jenny shook her head. The smile that played on her lips was a complicated mix of embarrassment, regret, and selfdeprecation. “Money's a little tight right now. I sent Lilly some, via Sue. Sue wanted to turn it down, but I told her the decision was Lilly's.”

Mary Ann tapped her fingernails on the menu. Neither woman needed to open it anymore; they had its contents memorized. “Let me guess. Lilly kept it.”

Jenny's smile was genuine this time. “Bingo.”

“I could lend you some.”

“No, Mary Ann. Thank you, but no.” She toyed with the salt and pepper shakers. “I'm not sure I want her to go down to visit Lilly now, anyway. Those Bay Area kids can be a little wild.”

“Lend? What am I talking about? I would
give
it to you.”

Jenny reached across the table to place her hand on the back of her friend's. “I know you would.”

The waitress paused next to them on her way to deliver an order. She was carrying an armful of plates loaded down with black bean quesadillas, bruschetta, and chicken satay. “A bottle of Chardonnay?”

Mary Ann looked at Jenny for confirmation. “A whole bottle?”

“No. Just a glass. I have to get home to Frankie.”

Jenny paused on her front step to pinch some sagging blooms off the pansies and impatiens. It would be nine o'clock in New York and she wondered idly what Trinculo was up to. They had talked a few days before and so she knew he was reading for a part in a play about a man in a feud with his two brothers. It was a serious show, and he thought it would provide a good counterbalance to the comic roles he usually played. She wondered if he'd heard yet. She'd left a message on his voice mail that morning, but so far he hadn't returned her call. He was bound to be busy. Still, she didn't plan to call him again unless he called first.

“Frankie?”

Jenny picked up a sweater that had been knocked off the coat tree to the floor and hung it back up. She kicked off her shoes and padded into Frankie's room expecting to find her lying on her bed with Miranda's iPod—a parting gift—wrapped around her head. The bed was made and there was no Frankie upon it.

“Honey?”

It wasn't dark yet. There was no need to worry. Even as she told herself those things, Jenny could feel panic rising in the back of her throat like bile. This didn't feel right. Something told her that Frankie was not walking in the woods or on the ridge. That she was not coming home at dusk.

Jenny's hand shook as she punched in the numbers on the phone.

“Hello.”

“Mary Ann.”

That was all Jenny could say at first. Her friend waited. Jenny could hear her breathing.

“Frankie's not here. She's gone.”

“Downtown? I could give her a ride home when I come . . .”

“I don't think so.” Jenny swallowed. “I think she might be gone, gone.”

“No! What makes you think so? Have you checked her room?”

Jenny dropped the phone. She began frantically opening the drawers of Frankie's dresser and looking for favorite articles of clothing. As she did her pulse started, ever so slightly, to calm. Frankie's Hello Kitty T-shirt was still there, as were the pedal pushers with the patches on the knees that she'd sewn on herself. The silver dolphin charm was on the dresser where Jenny had left it, and without thinking, she stuffed it deep into the pocket of her jeans.

When she found the cap that Frankie wore almost the whole summer, the one that matched Phoenix's, she pressed it to her face and stifled a sob. Surely this was good news? She would not have gone far without her cap? Jenny lowered herself onto the side of Frankie's bed and sat there, thinking she should go back to Mary Ann on the phone. The sun had set now and the light was growing dim. Jenny did not turn on the lamp.

A thought crept up on her, and refusing to examine it too closely, as if it were a dog that would only bite you if you looked it in the eye, Jenny carried the cap into Lilly's room and stood in front of the open door of her closet. Lilly traveled light. Her flowered peasant blouse, the thin long-sleeved cotton shirts she layered under tees, the seventies-style wraparound gypsy pants that she'd found in the secondhand store were all things she'd left behind without appearing to think twice. The closet was dark and the room around Jenny was growing darker. Those things were gone.

She returned to the phone. “She took a bunch of Lilly's things with her.”

“I'll be right over.”

The wind knocked a tree limb against the house. The rooms were now cold, but neither woman made a move to light a fire in the woodstove. Jenny peered out the window at the swaying trees. It was dark. Frankie had camped out on the beach, she had been to Mount Vernon and to her cousins, she had visited her grandparents in Sacramento, but she had never, ever been by herself all night long.

“Call Sue,” said Mary Ann, holding out the phone.

“She won't be there yet.” Jenny looked at the clock on the wall. “If she took the ferry to Anacortes, she'd already be on the bus. If she took it to Seattle, she might still be on the boat.”

“Let's call the police, then,” said Mary Ann. “They'll search the boat. Alert the bus drivers.”

“It would scare her to death to be picked up by the police. This is Frankie we're talking about.” Jenny stood up. “I'm going to go after her.”

“Jenny, sit down. For God's sake, think about it. You won't be able to catch up with her. And neither will you be here if she changes her mind and comes back.”

“Oh my God.” Jenny dropped her forehead to the table.

“Call Sue. She said she wanted to see Lilly. You should tell your sister to expect her.”

“I know. I know,” said Jenny, taking the phone from Mary Ann's hand. “Only . . .”

“What? Only what?”

“She took Lilly's things.”

“You mean she took them to her?”

Jenny shook her head. “I don't think so. I think she took them to
wear
. And it sounds crazy, but you know how sisters are and, well, I don't think she would have taken them to wear around
Lilly
.”

“But where else would she go?”

“I don't know.”

The two women sat in silence and looked at each other over the table. Jenny reached for the phone and punched in Sue's number.

“Hello?”

“Sue. It's me.”

“She's doing great, Jen. They went windsurfing today over by the ferry terminal. Apparently Lilly has a real talent for it.”

“Frankie's gone.”

“Gone?”

“I think she . . . she may be on her way to see Lilly. At your place.”

“By
herself
?”

“Please go get Lilly. I don't care whether she wants to talk to me or not. Tell her it's an emergency. Tell her her sister is missing.”

“One second.”

Jenny could hear a TV on in the background. She pictured Lilly sprawled out on Sue's leather couch watching some reality show set in Orange County or New Jersey. Some thumps and scrapes later, the phone was in her hand.

“Frankie ran away? What did you do to her? Where did she go?”

“She didn't call you?”

“No. Was she supposed to?”

Lilly's voice sounded just the same, in spite of the windsurfing, the recent past, and the distance. Jenny felt a rush of warmth run through her. She took a deep breath and was able, just barely, to hold back a choking sob. Mary Ann reached over the table and wiped the tears off her cheek with a faded dishcloth.

“Did she ever ask about how you got to Sue's?”

“Sure. I told her all about the bus and everything. Greyhound is kind of repulsive, but I met a really nice guy on the route. One of the drivers. But that was weeks ago.”

There was shuffling on Lilly's end. Jenny glanced at the clock. It was now ten p.m. Where had the time gone?

“If she took the bus from Seattle,” continued Lilly, “she'd probably be to about Tacoma by now. Do you want the number of that driver? His name is Bob and I have his cell.”

Jenny carried the phone to the table and fished in the drawer for a pen and a scrap of paper. “Okay. Give it to me.”

“206-323-4476. And Mom? Call me when you find her, okay?”

“Will do, sweetie. Bye.”

Jenny hit the End button with her thumb and punched in the driver's number without laying down the phone.

“
This is Bob
,” said a recorded voice. “
You know what to do and when to do it. Peace and love
.”

Jenny hung up and began to pace. “Lilly gave me the number for some driver on Greyhound. He didn't answer.” She gave Mary Ann a look laden with meaning. “She had his cell number.”

Mary Ann raised her eyebrows in response. “Call back and leave a message.”

“You're right.” Jenny told the machine that she was Lilly's mother and that Lilly's sister Frankie was missing. She said that they suspected she might be on the overnight bus to San Francisco. She asked Bob to please, please, please call her back as soon as he got the message.

Jenny had just finished packing when the phone rang. Not knowing how long she would be gone and not knowing how to plan for forever, she had thrown two changes of clothing into a backpack. She made sure to pack her toothbrush and a hairbrush because she figured a woman searching for a child would have better luck if she didn't look like a crazy homeless person. She knew when the phone rang that it was Bob and she knew that he would tell her that Frankie had not been on that bus. Still, she took the phone when Mary Ann held it out to her and she asked him anyway.

“Man, I'm so sorry I couldn't help out,” said Bob. “If she's Lilly's sister, then I bet she's pretty cool.”

“She's not cool,” said Jenny. “She's thirteen.”

“Oh, man. Thirteen. That sucks.”

Mary Ann and Jenny sat at the kitchen table until the sun began to come up. Jenny's pack was at her feet and she had a half tank of gas in her truck, but there was no way off the island until the first ferry run. That was the thing about living on San Juan. You always had to wait for the ferry. At five in the morning she called Theresa and got her out of bed.

“Jenny! For heaven's sake. What time is it?”

“I need to talk to Phoenix, Theresa. Can you put her on?”

“She's asleep. It's the crack of dawn.”

“This is an emergency. Frankie's missing. Please put her on the phone now.”

The phone hit something hard, a table most likely, and there was shuffling in the background. Jenny could hear Theresa's exasperated voice and then a more muffled one from Phoenix.

“Hello?”

“This is Jenny, Frankie's mom.” Of course Phoenix knew who she was, but she wanted to say it out loud. “She's run off somewhere and I need to know if you know where. Is there any way that she could be on her way to Mount Vernon? To visit you?”

“Why would she?” Phoenix spoke slowly, sleep still clinging to her voice. “We're going on a camping trip today. To Idaho. I told Frankie about it last time she called, so I don't know why she would come here.”

“Do you know where she might have gone?
Think
about it, Phoenix. Think hard.”