She's Gone: A Novel (9 page)

12

The Letter

Jolie took a shortcut to the bus after work one afternoon. On a quiet, tree-lined street a For Rent sign in the window of a blue cottage with white trim, caught her eye. The monthly rent amount was posted and her weekly paycheck alone would cover the rent. The front door stood wide open despite the drizzle. Country music floated out to the sidewalk. She walked up the stone path and saw a man in coveralls singing along to the radio as he painted the living room. She knocked on the open door.

He turned. “What can I do you for?” he said.

“I’m interested in the house. Are you the owner?”

“Yep, and it’s times like this I wish I weren’t,” he said. “Are you a student?”

She hesitated. “No. I’m a waitress.”

“Good. That’s good. Students just tear this place up, and all I do is fix it back up. I’m in a constant state of déjà vu. Do you know about déjà vu?”

She smiled. “Yes, I do.”

“Do you have wild parties?”

Jolie laughed. “No, no wild parties.”

“Then it’s yours. It’ll be move-in ready in two days.”

He reached out his paint-splattered hand. She shook it. It was callused and warm. She smiled at him. She had just rented a house. They would be free of the commune.

Elated, she walked to the bus stop. Will was warming to the idea of moving after his last political disagreement with Bill and Peter. The tension between them made her uncomfortable.

That night in their room, she worked up the nerve to tell Will. Her hands gripped both knees. “I rented us a house today,” she blurted out.

“You what?”

“I rented a house today. It’s the cutest cottage. Wait till you see it.”

“What’s wrong with this house?”

“I want our own house, free from all these people and the drama.”

“So you don’t want to be part of this utopian social experiment? This isn’t free enough for you?”

She glanced at him. Was he being sarcastic or was he serious? She shook her head. There was a long silence. “I can walk to work. You won’t have to get up at five in the morning to drive me.”

“Always thinking of others. I guess I’m fine with it. There are too many big egos around here, plus I need a place to hold meetings.”

Her stomach flipped. Meetings? All she wanted was a quiet house.

At dinner the next night, Will broke the news of their move.

Michael groaned. “No more donuts?”

“Tom will want to interview you on why you’re leaving,” Bill said. “He’s been tracking what works and what doesn’t.”

Jolie stiffened. Interview them? “It’s none of his business why we’re leaving,” Jolie said.

Everyone looked at her in surprise.

“Right on,” Deidre said.

All winter rain fell in a steady drizzle. Jolie trudged to work in the dark, rain pattering on her umbrella. She reversed her route in the afternoon, walking home through the gray mist. Often she stopped at the library. She read book after book, curled up in the cozy cottage waiting for Will to come home. He was usually at C.J.’s Coffeehouse or the student union until early evening.

One day he surprised her with a puppy. He brought home a cream-colored fluffy ball of fur with big brown eyes. When he walked, he swaggered from his wagging tail. She named him Bilbo Baggins, a character in
The Hobbit
. She couldn’t wait to get home from work and take him for walks in Hendricks Park. On weekends, Will joined them.

Deidre stopped by one afternoon. Jolie made rose hip tea and served it to her on the couch.

“Here is your dose of vitamin C.”

Deidre took the cup. “Your house is so warm and inviting.” She stroked Bilbo who lay at their feet.

Bright blue madras print curtains hung in the windows; an antique bookcase was filled with used books she’d bought one by one. A small antique Persian rug sat under the window for meditation. That splurge had cost her two weeks of tips.

Jolie nodded. “It is peaceful.”

“I like your Buddha. Where did you get it? It looks ancient!”

Jolie picked up the small bronze Buddha. He sat cross legged with the index finger and thumb of both hands touching at their tips. The circle they formed represented the wheel of dharma or fate. “I found him at the antique store where I bought the rug. I think he’s quite old.” She set the Buddha back on the bookcase.

“Where’s Will?”

“He’s out drumming up recruits for the movement. How’s everything at the House?”

“Pretty much the same. We have a new couple in your old room. They know Will. They’re into the socialist movement big time and are trying to get all of us involved. It’s ruffling Bill’s feathers.”

“How’s Michael?” Jolie asked.

“We’re closer since the encounter session. He’s coming to meet my family in Portland this weekend. Wish me luck…they don’t understand the whole commune thing.” Deidre got up. “I’ve got to get back. We’re in charge of dinner.”

After she left, Jolie sat cross-legged on the rug to meditate. Instead of the usual peace it gave her, she was overcome with homesickness. She did feel sick. So this was why they called it a sickness. Tears flowed from her closed eyes. She wished she could tell Deidre the truth, tell her everything. Bilbo rested his head in her lap, and she stroked his fluffy fur. Meditation would be futile today.

She got up, made another cup of tea, and sat at the kitchen table. From her leather wallet, she pulled out the small folded note her mother had written on the day she’d left home. The yellow smiley face grinned back at her from the Have a Nice Day stationary. Her lower lip trembled as she smiled back. If she couldn’t phone them, she’d write to them. She reached for the notepad and pen. Words began to flow on the page. She addressed an envelope, slipped the letter inside, and put it in her leather-fringed purse. She’d buy a stamp tomorrow after work.

13

Castles Made of Sand

Jolie arrived home from work one day in early March. Bilbo wagged his tail and nuzzled her as she shut the door. A pile of their belongings was stacked in the middle of the small living room.

“Will?” He was never there when she got home from work.

He emerged from the bedroom.

“What are you doing?” Jolie said, puzzled by the pile.

“It’s time to leave town,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“C.J. caught up with me. There was a guy with intense blue eyes at the coffeehouse who might have been a private detective. He had our photos and was asking around if anyone knew us or had seen us.”

Her stomach flipped. A private detective?

“Michael also found me at the student union. The same guy had been to the commune asking about us.”

A detective went to the commune? She panicked. “What did they tell him?”

“C.J. said he didn’t recognize us, but the Big Yellow House members told him that we had stayed with them briefly but didn’t know where we were now.”

She stood frozen, her heart thudded. Her dad must have hired a private detective.

“Pack some of your things. We’re leaving tonight.”

“Tonight? Where will we go?”

“We’re on a Greyhound bus to New York at six forty.”

New York? She’d never been to the East Coast. “Why New York?”

“They’ll never find us there.”

“What about the puppy and our things in the house?”

“Michael said he’d come and get Bilbo later tonight. I gave him my guitar and told him they could take anything we leave. It’s good karma for the help they gave us when we first got here.” Will hugged her close. “Don’t worry, we’ll start over again.”

She stepped back and looked around the house.

“The bus tickets just about wiped out our money. It takes three days to get to New York. Pack some food,” Will instructed her.

She didn’t move. Her thoughts swirled.

“Come on, Little Wing. Have you lost your sense of adventure?”

“Do you know anyone in New York?”

“No, but there’s a big Revolutionary Youth Movement there. We’ll figure it out, don’t worry.”

They had to go. If they were caught, Will would go to jail for corruption of a minor. She resigned herself to leave. She’d never imagined going to New York to live.

Tears fell as she packed. She had to leave her sweet puppy, her warm, furry little love. At least Michael and Deidre would take him. He’d be happy with all the attention at the commune. From the bookcase she selected her three favorite books: a volume of short stories by Hemingway,
The Prophet
by Kahil Gibran, and the small, worn copy of
The Wisdom of Buddha
that Jasmine had given her. She packed the small Buddha statue, her best clothes, and rolled up the small Persian rug, lacing it to the bottom of the pack.

Will handed her a bus ticket. “We’re going to the bus station separately. Act like we don’t know each other. You go first and get on the bus. I’ll get on after you.”

Jolie took the ticket and looked into Will’s eyes for a long moment. He broke her gaze and looked down at Bilbo tangled at their feet. Was this really happening? A detective was looking for them? She looked around their house again. Everything seemed surreal. Will wouldn’t lie to her, would he? Through tears she bent down and hugged Bilbo.

“Jolie, you have to get going.”

She rose and hoisted her pack on her shoulder, grabbed her purse, and started off on the ten minute walk to the bus station. Her mind raced as she walked through the night. What if Will didn’t get on the bus? No, he wouldn’t put her on a bus to New York City all alone. What if he missed it? Then what? He had all of their money, except for her tips from today.

At the bus station, she looked around nervously. She didn’t see their pictures posted anywhere or any men that looked like detectives. The terminal wasn’t crowded, but the few people that sat and waited were not the type she wanted to be around. Scruffy drifters, all of them. She found an empty bench and waited, wary of everyone.

A loudspeaker boomed: “Portland, Denver, New York City; line number eight, now boarding.”

She hurried outside and was the first in line to board. The bus driver studied her ticket and looked at her. “So…you’re going to New York City?”

Jolie nodded, unable to speak, her throat shut down in fear.

“I’m the driver until Portland. You need to transfer buses there. There’s a two-hour layover then get on the bus headed for Denver,” he said.

She forced a smile and moved toward the back of the bus. Thrusting her pack into the overhead rack, she slid into a window seat. Outside, passengers stood in line to board. She watched and waited for Will. Her heart began to pound.

14

Ticket to Ride

At the last minute, Will stepped onto the bus, tall and handsome. A wave of relief flooded her. How could he look so relaxed? He sauntered halfway down the aisle and made eye contact but did not smile as he slid into an empty seat a few rows in front of her. She stared out the window, her heart still pounding as the bus lurched out of the station.

The bus driver drove through town in the light rain and turned onto the highway. In the dimly lit seat, she replayed the events of the day. A detective had been close on their tail. How did he know to look for them in Eugene? She had never mailed the letter she had written to her parents. It had been in her purse to mail, but when she bought a stamp at the post office, it was no longer there. Had she dropped it, and someone mailed it? Had Will destroyed it? She would never ask Will about it. He would be furious.

Jolie stared into the rain-streaked darkness. She’d hurt her parents, but they still wanted her back. She lied to the people who had befriended them. What did the Big Yellow House friends think about them now? She hadn’t called the Mill Race Café to tell them she wouldn’t be back. Tomorrow, Georgina would be worried. She hated lying to everyone. She leaned her head against the window, exhaled, and closed her eyes. A vision of New York swarming with millions of people sprang to life in her mind. What would they do there? How would she cope with all of those people?

The bus pulled into the Salem depot. The interior lights brightened. A few people got off, and three army soldiers in uniform got on with their duffle bags and found seats ahead of Will. When the bus was back on the highway headed to Portland, Will walked back and sat down in the vacant seat next to her.

“We’re going to New York!” He smiled and took her hand.

She sat silent. How could he be so upbeat?

“There’s an even bigger RYM operation there. We’ll meet new people from the movement.”

“Do I have to get a job there?”

“Yeah, we’ll have to start over.”

She closed her eyes and pushed the thoughts out of her head.

In Portland, they waited separately for the bus to Denver. Jolie had to move seats twice to avoid conversations with men asking her where she was going. If Portland was that creepy, what was it going to be like in New York?

Finally it was time to board the bus. Jolie handed the driver her ticket.

“New York City! You transfer buses in Denver. That’s in a day and a half.”

“Thanks.”

“You take care of yourself there, missy.”

Jolie walked toward the back. Will was already on board. At least she wouldn’t wonder if he was getting on. Why did she think that? He was caring and protective. She was just jumpy. It had been a long day. She slid into a window seat a few rows in front of him and put her purse on the seat next to her. She did not want the company of a stranger. She leaned back and shivered. She hugged herself to warm up. That morning had been a normal work day, and tonight they were on a bus to New York City. Will’s comment made her anxious: “They’ll never find us there.” Was that because of all the people?

Once the bus was on the road, Will came and sat next to her. He reached for her hand, and they settled in for the long ride through the night, east to Idaho, Utah, and beyond. Exhausted, she leaned against his shoulder and fell quickly asleep and into a dream. A large smiling Buddha loomed on the edge of a clear blue lake. A candle burned on the altar below the Buddha and pink lotus flowers poked their delicate heads up through lotus pads. Temple bells chimed softly and a gentle breeze sang in the tree tops. Her father stood on the far shore, arms outstretched chanting: “Come home. Come home, Jolie, please come home.”

She woke in the dark. Will was asleep. The bus hummed along a lonely rural highway somewhere in eastern Oregon. The dream had been so vivid; she had seen her father so clearly. She reached for the moonstone around her neck.

They arrived in Denver in the early morning and waited separately for the bus to New York. She sat in a corner reading
The Wisdom of Buddha
, occasionally glancing at Will.

After an hour they boarded the bus for the final leg of the trip. Staring out the window, she tried to envision herself in New York, but no images comforted her. She preferred nature over concrete. Where would they work? Where would they live? She forced herself to think positive—right mindfulness, right thinking, that’s what the Buddha taught. There had to be something good in New York. Why else would millions of people live there?

They drove through the middle of America. The flat landscape stretched wide with wheat fields, unidentifiable crops, and cows, lots of cows. Somewhere in Kansas, a siren blared and lights flashed behind them. The driver slowed the bus and pulled over. Two Kansas Highway Patrol officers parked their blinking patrol car behind the bus and walked around to the door.

The officers boarded the bus with their guns drawn. Will drummed his fingers on his knees. After a brief conversation with the driver, one officer strode down the aisle with a paper in his hand, scanning each passenger, his sunglasses hiding his gaze. Jolie tried to look nonchalant, but her chest was tight with fear. Will put a hand on her wildly jiggling leg to stop it. Out the window a herd of cows stared at them with gentle brown eyes from behind a barbed wire fence.

After looking at each passenger, he made his way to the front of the bus. He handed the paper to the driver, and the two officers got back into their patrol car. The driver announced they were looking for an escaped convict last seen in the Denver bus station. The passengers laughed. Jolie inhaled and exhaled deeply, releasing a torrent of fear. This was not how she wanted to live. She half-smiled at Will. Their freedom was so fragile.