Stranger With My Face (13 page)

“Oh really?” She let the question hang there a moment between us and then asked more gently, “Just who are your friends, Laurie?”

“My friends are—well, they’re—they’re—” I couldn’t give an answer.

“Gordon? Natalie? Darlene?” She enunciated the names with exaggerated care. “You used to consider those people friends, didn’t
you?”

“Yes—but—”

“Blane? Tommy? Mary Beth?” She was laughing at me. “Helen?”

“What have you done?” I whispered in horror. “What the hell have you done?”

“If you care anything about this Jeff, you’d better call him now,” Lia said. “Tell him not to come. Tell him never to come
here again. If you don’t, you’ll carry the guilt on your shoulders for the rest of your life.”

“Get out of my room,” I said shakily. “Get out now! Go back to wherever it is you come from!” Helen had been right; Lia was
evil! Helen had recognized this, even when I had insisted otherwise.

“You’re alone,” Lia said quietly. “You have no friends—not anymore. Your parents are not really your parents. The kids you
think of as your brother and sister are no more to you than any other children you might pick out on a school playground.
Our real mother is dead. Our real father deserted us before we were born. I am all you have, Laurie.
All
you have.”

“Go!” I told her. “Go! Get out of here!” My voice went out of control. It rose with a shriek. “Go, and don’t come back!”

“Laurie?” My mother’s voice called from the far side of my door. “Laurie, what’s the matter?” She didn’t wait for me to answer
but threw it open and stood there, framed in the doorway.

I stared at her as though seeing her for the first time. The pale, freckled skin. The sky blue eyes. The fine, light hair,
beginning at the sides to soften into silver. She and Dad, Neal and Megan, were a unit in themselves. They were the Strattons.
And I—who was I?

There was one thing I was sure of. I was not like Lia! I might look like her, but there the resemblance ended.

And for the first time, there was someone who could see us together!

“Mom, look!” I cried. “Now you know what’s been happening!”

But even as I spoke, Lia was gone. I was pointing at nothing. The room was empty. Everything was as it should have been, except
for the bouncing patterns of the afternoon light.

“It is odd, isn’t it?” Mom said, thinking this was what I meant. “I’ve never seen light quite like this. I was going up to
the studio to study it a bit, to see whether there was some way I could use it in a painting. Then I thought I heard you call
out. Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” I said quickly. “Fine. It wasn’t anything.”

“Are you sure?” She was looking at me oddly. “You look tired. Your eyes are funny.”

“I haven’t been sleeping well lately.” That was true enough.

“You’re worried about Helen,” Mom said with an understanding nod. “It’s terrible to have a situation drag on like this. Perhaps
there will be good news soon. That’s what Christmas is all about, isn’t it? Good news? We can hope.”

“I’m hoping,” I said. “All the time.”

“Why don’t you stretch out and take a nap? You’ll want to feel rested for tonight and for tomorrow. You know what happens
when Megan and Neal get into the Christmas stockings.”

“Yes,” I said, trying to smile. “It’s a wild day.”

After she left the room I did lie down on the bed and shut my eyes. I didn’t mean to sleep, but when I opened them the odd,
sparkling light was gone and the room had settled into shadows.

It’s past five thirty,
I thought, struggling to drag myself back to consciousness. Jeff is probably already here. I should have been down there
to greet him. It’s rude to leave somebody who’s never been here before to try to make conversation with the family.

But when I put on a fresh shirt and brushed my hair and went downstairs, I realized there was nothing to worry about. Jeff
hadn’t arrived yet.

At six fifteen I called him. There was no answer.

“He must be on his way,” I said to Mom.

“That’s all right,” she said. “I didn’t plan for us to eat much before six thirty, anyway.”

At six forty-five, when Jeff still hadn’t come, I called and listened to the repeated sound of the phone shrilling unanswered
through an empty house.

At seven ten we sat down to dinner.

“Is this what being ‘stood up’ means?” Meg asked with interest.

Christmas Day began early for us as it
must for every family with young children. Neal and Megan were in my room at dawn, bouncing onto my bed and jerking me into
consciousness with shrieks of excitement.

“Santa came!” Meg squealed. “The stockings are lumpy!”

Neal, from the mature vantage point of his eleven years, said condescendingly, “She peeked already,” and then added with honesty,
“So did I. That pile of stuff under the tree got higher since last night.”

At their ages there was no way in the world that either of them could still have been a true believer, but the game was not
to admit it. “When people stop believing in him, Santa stops coming,” Dad had always told us. “That’s when they stop having
stockings.” Faced with this ultimatum, I myself had professed absolute belief until I was almost thirteen.

Even now the anticipation and the sense of wonder continued. There was still something magical about rising on Christmas morning
to find that sometime while I had been sleeping gifts had appeared.

This morning, however, it was different. I felt tired and uncaring. The pale gray of the sky outside the balcony doors made
me want to roll over and press my face into my pillow.

“The sun’s not even up yet,” I snapped at the children. “Why don’t you go back to bed for a while? The presents will still
be there an hour from now.”

“But it’s Christmas!” Neal exclaimed. “Dad and Mom are getting up. They said to come wake you.”

The astonishment in his voice made me feel guilty for my Scrooge-like behavior.

“Okay,” I said more gently. “Run on down and get started. I’ll be there in a minute, as soon as I can get myself into gear.”

They went rushing off like racers hearing the starting gun, and I sank back onto the pillow, fighting the desire to haul the
covers up over my head and bury myself again beneath protective layers of sleep.

But I couldn’t. I was awake now. The day must be faced, and with it the ego-shattering reality of the fact that, as Meg had
so bluntly put it, I had been “stood up.” It was something that had never happened to me before. Whatever Gordon’s faults
may have been, he, at least, had been reliable. If he and I made a date to do something, we did it.

“That Rankin kid needs a lesson in manners,” Dad had remarked last night as he attempted to force a carving knife through
a loin of pork that had shriveled into a dried-out lump. “If he wasn’t coming, he could at least have let us know, so we could
have eaten while the food was still chewable.”

“Maybe he didn’t understand Laurie was asking him for tonight,” Mom said. “He might have thought she meant tomorrow.”

“He understood,” I told them. “Some emergency must have come up. He’ll call and explain it, I’m sure.”

But the evening had passed, and the phone had not rung. We finished dinner and sang some carols and read through the Christmas
story, which was our holiday custom. The kids hung up their stockings and were sent to bed, and Mom decided she was sleepy,
too, and Dad said he thought he would forgo his evening writing stint and turn in early also to fuel himself for the morning.

“I think I’ll try calling Jeff again,” I said.

Dad regarded me with disapproval. “I wouldn’t push it, Laurie. He’s the one who ought to be doing the calling. If he forgot
us, let him do a double take in the morning and get himself over here with an apology.”

“I can’t believe he just forgot,” I said. “It’s not like Jeff has such a busy social life that he can’t keep track of his
invitations. I’ll sleep better if I can get in touch with him and find out what happened.”

But when I dialed what was getting to be a familiar number, there was still no answer. I let the phone continue ringing for
a long time. At last I replaced the receiver on the hook and went up the stairs to my room. It was an empty room. There was
no sign of Lia. I changed out of my clothes and got into bed, hesitating a moment before reaching for the light.

Then I thought,
What difference does it make?
She’s gotten strong enough that she can appear in daylight as well as darkness. If she wants to come, she’ll come, whether
the light’s on or not.

Defiantly I clicked it off and closed my eyes. Sleep didn’t come quickly, but when it came I slept heavily, undisturbed by
dreams.

And now it was Christmas morning, a time for joyful celebration, and I was not in a mood for it. Overnight my concern for
Jeff had turned to anger. No matter what had happened, there was no excuse for not calling. I thought we were friends, but
friends didn’t treat each other this way.

“Laurie!” Dad called from below. “Get a move on! We can’t keep the kids on hold indefinitely!”

“I’m coming!” Resolutely, I shoved the whole thing to the back of my mind and got out of bed. It was Christmas, after all,
and I might as well try to enjoy it. I put on my robe and went downstairs to a living room that was a-twinkle with tree lights
and the children’s sparkling eyes.

The stockings took five minutes. The kids tore through them like wild animals. Then we had breakfast, another family custom,
because it made the suspense last longer. When we did get to the presents under the tree, we took turns opening them in order
to prolong the excitement as long as possible. Everybody exclaimed happily over everything, and my own pile of loot rose higher
and higher as clothes and books and CDs accumulated.

The last gift was the present from Helen. I held it gingerly, wondering how a box so light could contain anything at all.

“I don’t think I should open it,” I said softly. “I think I should keep it wrapped and open it later after she’s well.”

“It’s a Christmas present,” Mom said. “She meant for you to have it today. I’m sure that’s what she would want, honey.”

“I guess you’re right.” Yet, still, I sat with the tiny box in my hands, reluctant to unwrap it. I had a strange feeling that
once this was accomplished, the last remaining link between Helen and me would be broken.

“Go on, Laurie,” Neal urged impatiently. “Let’s see what she gave you!”

“I bet it’s jewelry,” Megan said. “The box is so little.”

“Okay, okay. I’m opening it.” I untied the ribbon and drew the box out of its encasement of silver paper. Everyone leaned
forward to see.

“Toothpicks!” Neal said, reading the label. “That’s crazy. Why would Helen give you toothpicks?”

“I’m sure she didn’t,” Mom said. “She just used the box to put something else in.”

The lid was secured with Scotch tape. I slipped my fingernail across it, and the top sprang up, exposing layers of white tissue.
I moved them aside with the tip of my finger and caught a flash of blue.

“It’s a bird!” exclaimed Megan.

Carefully I lifted the turquoise figure from the box. It was suspended on a thin chain of silver beads.

“A gull?” Neal asked.

“It’s an eagle,” I told him. I held it out on the palm of my hand so the rest of the family could view it. The wings of the
bird were spread wide, and the head was thrust forward as though it were in flight. It seemed to be looking down, examining
the earth below.

“That’s Native American,” Dad said. “And it’s obviously hand-carved. Look, you can see the outline of each of the wing feathers.
I wonder if she got that in the Southwest.”

“She did,” I said. “A Navajo boy carved it for her. She wore it all the time. I can’t believe she would give it away.” My
eyes stung. “I don’t deserve this. If she were here, I’d make her take it back.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Mom said. “If Helen gave it to you, it’s because she wanted you to have it to wear. The fact that it meant
so much to her makes it doubly meaningful. Here, let me help you put it on.”

I lifted the chain to my neck, fumbling awkwardly with the tiny clasp. Mom’s deft hands took over, and she had just succeeded
in getting it fastened when the telephone rang.

Meg was on her feet in a flash.

“That’s Kimmie! She promised she’d call as soon as she got her presents opened!” A moment later, however, she was saying,
“No, he isn’t. No, he hasn’t been here. Do you want to talk to my sister?” She turned to me, extending the receiver. “It’s
Mr. Rankin.”

“Jeff ’s father?” As I took the phone from her hand, I found that my own was shaking. “Hello,” I said. “This is Laurie.”

“Pete Rankin here,” an unfamiliar voice boomed. “I’m trying to track down my wandering son. Do you know where he might be?”

“No,” I told him. “I haven’t seen or even talked with Jeff since yesterday.”

“What time did he leave your place last night?”

“He didn’t,” I said. “I mean, he was never here.”

“That’s odd. I thought he was going to be eating dinner with you.”

“He was,” I said, “but he never came. We thought he might have forgotten.”

“He didn’t forget,” Mr. Rankin said. “He was happy about the invitation. It was the last thing he told me as I was leaving.”

“Then why didn’t he come? And why did he let you think that he did?”

Nothing about the situation made sense.

“I haven’t seen Jeff since yesterday,” Mr. Rankin told me. “I missed the last ferry and stayed over on the mainland with a
friend. I tried to give Jeff a call, but I couldn’t get an answer.”

“And he isn’t home now?”

“Doesn’t seem to be. I just got here myself ten minutes ago. I don’t know where he could have run off to this early. There’s
no answer on his cell phone, of course. I thought maybe he’d talked to you about his plans.”

“I didn’t see him last night.” I repeated the statement numbly. “I don’t know where he is.”

“Well, no problem. I’ll call around and see if I can find him. He’s probably at somebody’s house. There was a party or something
last night, wasn’t there? I heard some kids on the ferry talking about it. Maybe he went to that and wound up going home with
somebody.”

“The party was at the Colesons’,” I said. “But I’m pretty sure that Jeff didn’t go.”

“You never know. He might have stopped off there on his way to your place and gotten roped in somehow. I know how those things
can happen. I was a teenager once myself.” He didn’t sound worried. “If he turns up there, you have him call me, okay? Meanwhile,
I’ll check with the Colesons.”

“Yes,” I said. “I will. And if he comes home, please have him call me.”

The room was strangely silent as I hung up the telephone. Even Megan for once had her mouth closed.

“Jeff is missing,” I told them.

“What do you mean?” Dad said. “He’s been gone all night?”

“Mr. Rankin isn’t sure. He wasn’t there himself. He says he just got home, and Jeff isn’t there.”

“Maybe he got up early and went off someplace,” Neal said.

“Maybe,” I conceded. “Still, when you add in the fact that he didn’t show up here last night, it starts to get scary.”

“What was all that about the Colesons?” Mom asked.

“Nat threw a party yesterday. Mr. Rankin’s going to check and see if Jeff was there.”

“Perhaps he was,” Dad said. “Maybe he thought a party would be more fun than sitting around here on a holiday evening. It’s
a possibility.”

“No, it isn’t,” I said firmly. “It just isn’t. Jeff doesn’t run with Nat’s crowd. He’s a loner. He has been ever since his
accident. Natalie wouldn’t have invited him, and if she had, he wouldn’t have accepted.”

“Let’s take the bikes and ride into the village,” Neal suggested. “That way we can check out the road.”

“Good idea,” I said gratefully.Taking action of any kind was better than staying at home doing nothing.

“I don’t think you’ll accomplish much that way,” Mom said. “Jeff was invited for five thirty, when it was still light out.
All he had to do was walk Beach Road from the village to Cliff House. I can’t believe he could have run into any problems
along that short strip.”

“Look what happened to Helen,” I reminded her. “All she had to do was get out of a cab and walk into her house. Crazy things
do sometimes happen to people.”

“Yes, they do,” Mom acknowledged. Then she added softly, “I guess I just don’t want to face the possibility. It seems as though
that boy has had enough trouble in his life without something more happening.”

“Laurie will worry less if she’s out doing something,” Dad said, and Mom nodded.

“Yes, go ahead, dear. Perhaps he did have some sort of freak accident on his way over here. At any rate, we’ll all feel better
if we can rule out that possibility.”

So Neal and I rode our bikes into the village, and Mom had been right; the trip served no purpose. Somewhere in the back of
my mind I suppose I had a picture of Jeff in the same situation as Helen, lying injured and helpless along the roadside, but
there was no sign of him, and there wasn’t even any area where an accident might reasonably have occurred. Beach Road was
smooth and flat, lined with nothing more threatening than sea oats and beach grass. Any danger spots were along the cliff
walks, many yards away. The village, when we reached it, was like a ghost town, with the shops closed and no one on the streets
or sidewalks. Neal and I pedaled home feeling as though we were the only two people in the world.