She's Gone: A Novel (2 page)

The oil blowout was finally controlled eleven days after it began. The
Santa Barbara News-Press
reported that two million gallons of oil had flowed into the Channel. Small fissures still seeped oil and the slick randomly drifted up and down the coast two months later.

On a Friday afternoon in April, President Nixon was scheduled to view the environmental disaster and cleanup effort. Under an overcast sky, a crowd of three thousand people gathered in a roped off area at the harbor, waiting for his arrival. Over one hundred news crews were set up to report on the event.

Jolie and Will stood with the GOO supporters, holding signs and chanting “Get Oil Out.” She had skipped her last two classes to get there on time, to be a part of it. She was invisible in the mob, but her voice would be heard.

Jolie scanned the crowd. Aside from the boisterous GOO protesters, everyone stood politely in military attention, waiting for their savior, the president. Didn’t they know the truth about him? He was a warmonger who was destroying their country. He couldn’t be trusted. The Vietnam War was supposed to be ending but more and more troops had been deployed and the casualties grew each month.

“Here he comes,” someone shouted.

Nixon and his wife landed in a helicopter after flying over miles of oily ocean and tar-drenched beaches. Surrounded by reporters, the mayor and presidential party walked the beach. Jolie strained to see Nixon. Even now after seeing the disaster she doubted he would do anything permanent. Although the oil leases were on federal land owned by the people, big corporations would win. They would change that. She began to chant louder.

At the shoreline, Nixon chatted with the cleanup crew while they raked oil-soaked straw into piles. He paid no attention to the roped-off crowd of onlookers or the chanting GOO group. As he stood talking, a small black wave came ashore and soaked his shoes. A wild cheer went up from the GOO supporters. Nixon nonchalantly looked down at his oily shoes, walked toward the helicopter, and the presidential party was airborne, whirling away toward the Union Oil platform.

That night, Jolie and her family sat in the living room for their nightly ritual—watching the news of the Vietnam War.

The news announcer could hardly look at the camera when he announced that 386 US troops had been killed in Vietnam that week.

“If I get drafted, I won’t go,” Jon, her oldest brother muttered.

“You’ll do what your country asks you to do,” her dad said.

The coverage of the president’s visit to view the oil spill came on next. Jolie could see the protesters off to the side. They’d gotten some good footage. Her bare toes gripped the beige shag carpet. What if her dad found out she’d been there? She wanted to change the TV channel, but he watched with rapt attention.

The president droned on that the incident had touched the conscience of the American people. He vowed his administration would do a better job on environmental problems, and he promised to consider a permanent ban on offshore drilling. Jolie’s dad swore under his breath. She sat up straighter. Yes, that’s what they wanted, a permanent ban. The crowd of GOO protesters filled the TV screen.

Her dad’s knuckles whitened around his drink as he took a sip. “Damn them. It’s un-American. Oil powers our country.”

The camera continued to pan the crowd. There, standing with Will, was Jolie, holding a Get Oil Out sign, chanting with the GOO crowd. She was the opposite of invisible. She sat still, riveted to the TV.

“Is that you, Jolie?” her brother James asked. “It is. You’re on TV!”

She held her breath and glanced at her dad. The anger in his eyes pierced the air between them. She looked back at the screen. He rose, turned off the TV, and stared down at her. Her brothers slipped out of the living room. They’d be hovering nearby, within earshot. Her mom sat silent on the couch.

“I will not allow my daughter to protest the oil industry.” His tone waivered as he fought to stay calm. “It’s a personal affront. Why can’t you conform?”

Why couldn’t she conform? It wasn’t in her nature for one thing and voicing her opinion wasn’t a crime. She didn’t respond.

“Answer me.” Frustration broke through in his voice.

“I’m sorry but I feel strongly about the oil spill.”

“I don’t like it any more than the rest of the town, but I asked you not to get involved with that group. You’re too young for this.”

“No, I’m not.” Her eyes locked with his before she lowered her gaze. He knew she was mentally mature. It was built into her character. She couldn’t help it. He’d read the comments from her teachers on report cards that repeatedly stated she was precocious and advanced for her age. They said it wasn’t a bad thing, only an observation.

Her mom’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Who is that man you were with?”

Jolie hesitated. She couldn’t tell them about Will. They would never understand.

“He looks like a long haired...a long haired...” Her mom hesitated, at a loss for words.

“A long-haired radical. They’re all radicals,” her dad said.

“Not hardly Dad. The group is led by an ex-senator.”

“I’m enrolling you in Saint Mary’s on Monday. You need to learn discipline.”

Her brows furrowed. How could he say that? She was disciplined in everything she did. “Discipline? I’ve already skipped a grade and I still get straight A’s. How’s that for discipline?” Her eyes darted wildly to her mother, who sat silent, looking apologetic. Please Mom, stand up to him for once!

Her mom met her gaze. “She isn’t going to change schools in April. Besides, there’s an application process to get in.”

“Fine, I want you to get the ball rolling Monday and enroll her in the fall.”

This could not be happening. Her heart pounded. She would not go to Saint Mary’s.

Summer came and the shroud of Saint Mary’s hovered over her. She had to work on her dad to change his mind, but he would come around. She’d enlist her mom to help. In the meantime, she did everything she could to be helpful at home, doing more than her share of the chores and cooking her dad’s favorite desserts, the exemplary daughter. Away from home, she and Will became inseparable.

One day in July, Will picked her up a few blocks from her house in his friend’s Volkswagen Bug.

“Today you’re going to learn to drive,” he said.

Jolie laughed. “Okay, I’m game.”

Will drove to a grassy meadow by the beach and taught her how to shift. After numerous jerks and stalls, she mastered the clutch, laughing with each lurch. After the driving session they sat on the grass on a blanket. Will tuned his guitar and played Jimi Hendrix’s
Little Wing
. He sang softly, his long fingers flying over the frets. Jolie lay back captivated by his voice and the clear notes of the guitar.

After a few more songs he lay back and stroked Jolie’s cheek. “I’ve got it bad.”

She turned on her side. “What do you mean?”

He cupped her chin in his hand. “I can’t get enough of you.” He gently pushed her onto her back and kissed her neck and face. Small kisses that became more hungry and warm and moist. When his lips met hers, he pulled back and traced them with his finger. “Jolie, my sweet Little Wing. Soon you’ll be riding with the wind.”

His eyes were soft with longing and then his mouth was on hers, salty, musky, and warm. She closed her eyes and melted into him and let herself go in the warm crush of love. Nothing had ever felt this good.

Will rolled onto his back and she rested her head on his shoulder.

“We can leave here and start a new life. There’s a whole world out there,” Will said.

She rose up onto her elbows. “Leave? Where would we go?”

“I have friends all over we can stay with.”

She glanced at him. “But what would we do?”

He remained on his back looking up at the sky. “We’ll fight to create a society where misery and poverty are eliminated, a classless society. We’ll abolish capitalism, and socialism will reign.”

“I want that too, an equal society.”

“That’s why I love you. You’re not like the other women I know. They’re all so cynical. But you’re not jaded.”

She laughed and wrapped her arms around him. He was her warrior, but he was also tender. They shared an interest in changing the world. He was smart and captivating. She was drawn to him by his passion for wanting to help the oppressed and his desire to end the evils of capitalism. The world was changing. Anything was possible.

“I’m speaking at an anti-war rally in San Francisco this weekend. Come with me.”

“You know I can’t and it’s my birthday. My family is camping at the beach.”

“We’re expecting over 100,000 people. I’m going to introduce the anti-war crowd to the socialist revolution.”

She closed her eyes and envisioned him onstage with the crowd. If only she could be there. He wanted a revolution and she wanted her freedom. Freedom from her parents’ rules. Freedom to let her spirit soar.

Then Saint Mary’s Girls School flashed before her, and her harmonious mood crashed.

“What do you want for your birthday?” her mom asked at dinner that night.

Jolie looked around at her family. This was her chance. They were all together and they’d support her. She looked at her dad at the head of the table. “All I want is to not go to Saint Mary’s.” Their eyes met. “That’s all I want.”

He shook his head. “You’re already enrolled. You need to learn respect for authority and become a proper young lady.”

And after she became a proper young lady? Then what? Become a proper wife to someone? “What do you mean, proper?”

He picked up his knife and fork. “Respectful. Know your place in society. Conform to the rules.”

“Dad, I am not someone you can mold. I have my own thoughts and ideas and my own path to follow.”

“Well, for the next few years that path is Saint Mary’s.”

She looked at her brothers to plead for support. They were both focused on passing the basket of French bread.

2

Run

Jolie woke to the sound of plates clattering far off down the hall in the kitchen. Today was the day. Adrenaline pulsed through her. She lay in bed and looked around her room, wanting to remember everything. The ceiling sparkled with shiny flecks. Her papier-mâché Jimi Hendrix head sculpture that sat on the dresser. The psychedelic Janis Joplin concert poster that was taped to the pink wall above her record player.

She took her time getting ready. She stepped into the blue plaid skirt, the hemline exactly three inches above the bend in her knee. She buttoned the white blouse over a white bra. All undergarments were required to be white. She pulled on navy-blue knee socks and slipped into the clunky white-and-black Oxfords.

Jolie paused in the doorway to the dining room. Her brothers were eating breakfast while her mom stood talking with them, her purse and car keys in hand. Her dad was already at work. The conversation halted. Her brothers gaped at her.

“Whoa,” James exclaimed. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“At least you won’t have to think about what to wear,” Jon said.

Her mother shot them a look and smiled at Jolie. “I’m going to be late for my Women’s League meeting.” She looked into Jolie’s eyes and gave her a hug. “It’s going to be fine sweetheart. You’ll see. Don’t miss your bus. I want to hear all about it tonight.” And she was gone, out the door.

Her brothers left shortly after. Jon off to college in his VW Bug and James to high school in her father’s old, green Ford pickup. The house was still.

Jolie walked back into her bedroom and changed into a skirt, tie-dyed T-shirt, and her butter soft knee high moccasins. She opened her closet and picked up her pack. From her top desk drawer she plucked out an envelope and walked back through the house.

On the kitchen counter was a note from her mom. The note pad was printed with
Have a Nice Day
next to a yellow smiley face.

Jolie,

Saint Mary’s is not as bad as you think. You’ll meet new friends. Focus and I know you’ll graduate early.

Love, Mom XOXOXO

She tore off the note, folded it, and put it in her wallet. Her stomach was in knots. Breakfast was out of the question. Out on the deck, she gazed over the red tile roofs and canopy of green trees. Boats in the harbor looked miniature, bobbing in the blue water. After seven months, the oil slick had dissipated into small seeps. It was a beautiful morning, and she drank it in.

A muscle car groaned up the street and turned up the driveway. They were on time. She walked back through the kitchen, picked up her pack, and placed the envelope on the counter next to the notepad. She paused, lifted the letter and brushed it to her lips. “I love you, Mom and Dad,” she whispered. “Please understand, I have to do this.”

She set it back down and walked out of the house, not daring to glance back. A newer blue Camaro idled in the driveway. Will sat in the passenger seat. A young woman stood by the open driver’s door. She was dressed in pale yellow poplin shorts, a matching top, and a wide, white plastic belt.

“I’m Pattie. I guess I’m your ride.”

“Nice to meet you, Pattie. I’m Jolie.”

Jolie pulled the seat forward and slipped into the backseat. Pattie got in, and the car purred down the driveway. Will looked back at her and smiled his wide disarming smile.

“Emancipation day!” he said.

“Isn’t she a little young for you?” Pattie asked, scowling at Will. “Where exactly are we going?”

“700 miles north of here. It’s on your way. It’s just a short detour outside of Dunsmuir. You can drop us off at the ranch and be on your way.”

“What’s at the ranch?” Pattie said.

“Friends.”

All Jolie knew about the ranch was that it was located somewhere in the mountains of Siskiyou County, in Northern California.

Pattie studied her in the rear view mirror. “How old are you, Jolie?”

Jolie glanced at Will. Hadn’t this all been prearranged? He had told her Pattie was going back to college in Portland and would give them a ride. She looked into the rearview mirror. Jolie could hardly speak. Her heart was in her throat. “Eighteen.”

So this was how it was going to be. She was already lying about her age. She put her head back and closed her eyes. The engine’s steady hum and vibration cradled her as Pattie drove north on the 101 freeway. Will periodically reached back and squeezed her hand. They stopped only for gas and food. More than once, Jolie caught Pattie’s concerned gaze in the rearview mirror. If Pattie suspected she wasn’t eighteen, would everyone else?

Pattie and Will talked up front. “I want to become a journalist,” Pattie said.

“You don’t need a degree for that. Write for an underground news press,” Will said.

“No, I want to have the skills and credentials to work for a big news agency. I want to work overseas, on assignment.”

“Trust me, you’re wasting four years of your life. Plus, they don’t send women overseas. That’s a man’s job,” Will said.

Jolie cocked her head toward Will. What did he just say? A man’s job? That didn’t sound like the Will she knew. Wasn’t he all about equality?

Pattie shot him a glance. “We’ll see about that.”

Jolie gazed out the window. The knot tightened in her stomach. She was with Will, and they’d be together now. They’d been drawn to each other from the moment they’d met. He had persuaded her they could make it together, out there, wherever that was and she had put her trust in him.

Pattie drove north into the fading light. Will changed the radio station every time they lost the signal. Jolie inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. This was really happening. She sank back into the seat.

By now her parents would have read her good-bye letter and would be mad. Mad she hadn’t followed through with the first day at Saint Mary’s. Mad she wouldn’t conform and obey. But their mold for her couldn’t contain her free spirit.

Hours later they neared Lake Shasta. “I can’t drive anymore,” Pattie said.

“Let’s find a rest stop and crash for the night. We’ll start fresh in the morning,” Will said.

Pattie cruised into a rest stop. Jolie curled into a ball in the cramped back set. Her world would never be the same. What were her parents doing right then? Had they called the police? She lay awake a long time before falling into a fitful sleep.

In the early morning darkness, a rumble woke them as truckers idled their diesel engines. At dawn they piled out of the car and stretched. They drove on and stopped at a roadside café in Dunsmuir and ordered the Logger
’
s Special: pancakes, eggs, and hash browns. Will made notes in his well worn leather notebook.

Pattie fidgeted with her spoon and coffee cup, glancing repeatedly at Jolie. “Let’s hit the road. I want to be in Portland tonight, and we have no idea where this so-called ranch is.”

Will turned to a page in his notebook. Cryptic directions were scrawled on the bottom of a song he was writing.

“X marks the spot.” Will pointed to a small
x
drawn at the end of a squiggly line.

From Dunsmuir they drove toward Sawyers Bar through Fort Jones and Etna. The pavement ended abruptly, and a cloud of dust enveloped the car. They had gone too far. Pattie did a U-turn and slowed when they came upon a store, a phone booth, a ranger station, a few houses, and a small post office.

“This is the middle of nowhere,” Pattie said. “I thought you said it was a short detour?”

Jolie peered out the back window. “Do people really live here?” Where was the ranch? She’d imagined a horse ranch off the side of the highway with a white fence that ran for miles and horses galloping wild and free.

Will looked at the map and guided them on. They turned off the main dirt road onto a rutted one lane track. “The ranch is eight miles ahead.”

“This is so primitive. I’m not sure my car will make it,” Pattie said.

“I’ll drive,” Will said.

After switching drivers, Will drove, up and up, mile after mile, until they reached a crest. “Look at this.” Will stopped the car. When the dust settled, they got out and looked over the valley. Folds upon folds of blue green mountains were stacked against each other as far as they could see. Small cloud wisps wrapped the far off peaks. An emerald green river snaked through the lush fir and pine forest far below.

The tightness in Jolie’s stomach relaxed. Two brown and gold mosaic-patterned hawks rode air currents, floating effortlessly in large meandering circles over the forest valley. They were free, and she was free. Free from her parents. Free from Saint Mary’s.

“Are you sure about the directions?” Pattie turned the ring on her finger over and over. “I mean, there is nothing out there.”

Will nodded. “I trust my friends.”

They drove on, bumping down the twisted mountain, granite cliffs on one side and the green winding river far below on the other. A rusted brown station wagon lay overturned partway down the mountain. Jolie closed her eyes to calm her stomach. The drop-off was dizzying. If the wheel got too close to the loose edge it would be all over. Will inched down the rutted road, navigating hairpin turns for three more miles. At the bottom, the forest opened up and the road ended in a meadow.

Will parked in the grass. “We have arrived.”

Jolie took a deep breath and exhaled, relieved to be off the harrowing road. An old homestead with a hulking brown farmhouse sat on one side of the meadow. Opposite the farmhouse was a teetering barn. Both were in need of repair.

Will got out of the car. Pattie and Jolie paused and then eased out and stationed themselves by the Camaro, the car almost unrecognizable under layers of dust. Will strode toward the farmhouse.

Jolie glanced around furtively. A dozen or more goats nibbled tall meadow grass on the knoll and bleated incessantly. This was nothing like the ranches she’d been to. Where were the horses and riding corrals?

The screen door creaked open. Out stepped a young woman with waist-length brown hair wearing a long skirt and halter top. A bearded man with a blond ponytail, jeans, and no shirt appeared behind her. A bowie knife poked out of a sheath strapped to his belt. They stood rigid on the porch.

Jolie clasped her hands together. Who were these people? Why was the man wearing a bowie knife?

Will stopped twenty yards from them and addressed the man. “Peace, brother. We’re here to visit Allen and Haley.”

“They’re away,” he said.

Jolie stood straighter. They weren’t there? Now what would they do?

Will paused. “I’m Will. They invited us to visit.”

“They’re in San Francisco,” the man said, studying Will. “How do you know them?”

Jolie clasped her hands tighter; a sinking feeling ran from her head to her stomach. The man looked her way. His gaze was too intense to hold, and she dipped her head.

“Allen and I were roommates at Berkeley.”

Jolie hadn’t thought about his life in Berkeley. There was a lot she didn’t know about him. The man stood silent on the porch.

“And after college we shared a house. Haley, too.”

The man studied them and then conferred with the woman in a low voice. Jolie wiped the sweat off her brow with her hand. It was unbearably hot in the sun.

The couple descended the porch steps and walked over to Will. “I’m Mark and this is Jasmine.” He held out his hand to shake Will’s. “Friends of Allen’s are friends of ours.”

Jolie smiled and murmured, “Hi.” She followed Mark’s gaze to Pattie. The girl looked wildly out of place in her matching yellow outfit standing rigid with her arms crossed.

“If I’m going to make it to Portland tonight, I’d better head out now,” Pattie said.

“We’re getting ready for lunch. Don’t you want to stay and join us?” Jasmine asked.

“No thanks, I need to be off.”

“Don’t you want to see the ranch?” Mark asked.

“No, no thanks.” Pattie looked at Will. “Do you want to get your packs from the car?” Jolie gave Pattie a hug. The steep winding road they had traversed loomed behind them. Pattie could not be looking forward to the drive out by herself.

“Thanks for the ride and everything,” Jolie said.

Pattie hugged her back. “Are you sure about this? This ranch? And Will?”

Jolie nodded. Was she sure about this? She hid her fear and put on a smile, but she did wonder. The ranch wasn’t what she had expected. She watched Will get their things out of Pattie’s car. Everything would work out. He had told her that. She just wasn’t used to it yet. This was her new life, a new adventure.

Will stacked his guitar, their packs, and bedroll in the grass and hugged Pattie. “Thanks for the ride.”

Jolie stood rooted in place, her eyes riveted on the trail of dust as Pattie’s car disappeared from view on the spiral assent up the crude road. Jasmine’s voice startled her, and she turned back to them.

“Let’s put your packs in the house. We’re getting ready to join the others for lunch, down the way, in the summer kitchen.”

Jolie followed Jasmine’s gaze. The others? Who were the others?