When She Flew (27 page)

“Well,” Clara said slowly, “he would have done what he thought was right.”

Jess nodded and looked out the window. “He would have taken her to foster care.”

Her mother was quiet for a moment, then said, “Your father was a good man, Jessica, but you’re different than he was. Everything’s different now. The important thing is you did what you thought was right.”

Jess nodded, wiping beneath her eyes. “I did.”

They were both silent for a moment; then Jess said,“Thanks, Ma. I love you, you know.”

“I know. I love you, too. I’m sure everything will be all right, once this all calms down.”

Jess marveled at Clara’s newfound optimism, but agreed and hung up before she could ruin the nicest moment she’d had with her mother in years.

At the South Columbia exit, Jess sat forward. “Left here, then about a mile to the second right. Turn in at the Arbor Acres neighborhood.”

The familiar houses, the elementary school on the left, the front yards passing by in full summer flower, all seemed to shimmer. She wanted to be in her neighborhood, on her block, in her home, at her kitchen table, having a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

As they turned at the second right, Jess could already see the towers on the satellite trucks on the next block. Her block.

“Can you just pull over for a minute?” she asked, and the driver pulled up in front of a yellow two-story, where Nina’s friend Blaine had lived before they moved to California.

“I’m sorry. This isn’t going to work,” Jess said, noticing that another car had stopped a few hundred yards behind them, a white sedan, ordinary enough, but it was odd. No one got out. It just sat, as if waiting.

Shit,
she thought.
It’s like I’m in a movie or something.

“God. I . . . um, I don’t know where to go.”

“No problem,” the driver said, as if she drove media outlaws around all the time. “Take your time.” She took an emery board from the console and whistled softly as she filed her fingernails.

Jess tried to think of places she could go. A public place maybe, the mall, a park, but then what? She couldn’t go to her mother’s. Even if Clara could put up with the drama, Jess couldn’t put her through it. A silver car turned into her neighborhood, slowed, then pulled a U-turn and parked.

“How about . . . ?” Jess said. “I don’t know. Could you take me to the South Columbia Mall?”

“Sure thing,” the driver said.

“I’ll . . . I’ll pay you extra, for the trouble.”

The driver waved her hand. “Don’t you worry. Darryl put this ride on the city tab,” she said. “They’re good for it.”

Under other circumstances, Jess might have said she’d pay for it herself, but now she thought,
Let them pay.
She settled back, trying to see inside the other cars as they passed them. They didn’t immediately follow. Maybe she was just being paranoid. She tried deep breathing to calm herself, counting backward, but nothing helped. If only she’d gotten more sleep the night before.

At the mall, the driver pulled up to the entrance of Macy’s. “This okay?” she asked, and Jess nodded, fishing in her wallet for a tip.

“No, really,” the cabbie said. “It’s okay. Darryl takes good care of me.”

“Thank you,” Jess said, “thank you so much,” and pushed open the door into the afternoon heat. As she walked across the white concrete toward the glass doors, the driver sat and watched, then pulled away once Jess was inside.

Jess stood and waited for a few moments, watching for the cars she’d seen earlier, but the parking lot was swarming with white cars, silver cars. Nothing had changed since she’d been there the day before, shopping for Teo—it was a teeming mass of back-to-school shoppers.

Where could she go? Whom could she call? She pulled her phone from her purse and scrolled through her address book to Ellis’s cell number. She shook her head. She couldn’t involve him, not unless he offered to help, and even then maybe not. He had too much at stake.

And then she remembered. Someone
had
offered to help. She scrolled through her recent incoming calls until she got to “Zusmanovich, Christ.” Apparently, there wasn’t enough room on the display for Christopher. She hit DIAL, and when he answered, she said, “How would you feel about being a savior?”

“Excuse me?”

“Christ,” she said.“That’s who it says you are on my caller ID.”

“Wow,” he said. “That’s kind of tough to live up to, but I’ll try. How can I save you today?”

She sighed. “I could use a friend.”

“Location?”

“South Columbia Mall. Macy’s entrance.”

“Give me twenty,” Z said, “no, eighteen. I can do it in eighteen minutes.”

Fifteen minutes later, a small Toyota pickup pulled up in front of the store, Larry’s distinctive hamlike tongue hanging out the window. Jess walked from the store into the sunshine, over to the truck, and leaned down to look in. Z, Zoo, dog man pulled Larry back by the collar to make room for her.

“What am I supposed to call you again?”

He shrugged. “Chris?”

“Right. Okay, then. Thank you, Chris,” she said, sliding in and sinking her hand into Larry’s soft fur. He licked her arm, then laid his chin on her shoulder.

“Wow, and it’s only our second date,” she said, reaching to pet his smooth forehead. He smelled like dog. Clean dog, but dog nonetheless.

“Where to?” Chris asked.

“I don’t know. I tried to go home, but . . .” She had to stop.

He nodded. “Yeah, not a good idea, not right now. You show up and you’re going to be tried by media.”

She turned to look at him. “You’ve been watching?”

“Oh, yeah. They’re in such a frenzy right now they’re interviewing your neighbors, the mailman, the squirrels. Pretty much everything that moves.”

“Shit,” she said. “I gave them a statement. What more do they want?”

Chris put the truck into gear. “How about this,” he said. “I’ve got a futon in the living room. I’m a fine, upstanding citizen. You may not know this, but I’m actually a police offi cer.” He smiled the charming smile he had when she first met him the day before. He had a nice face, a wide jaw, a mole on his neck. Hazel eyes too much like Rick’s.

“Thanks, but I don’t think that’s such a good—”

“Listen, I just want to help,” he said, shrugging. “Really. No weirdness. I’m sorry about the J-Lo comment yesterday. I mean, I meant it, but not as anything more than, you know. Whatever. A description. Eyes. Your eyes. That’s all.”

Jess was silent. He knew as well as she did that he’d be placing himself at risk. He barely knew her; why was he being so nice?

“And I’m on duty at three,” he continued, “so you’ll have the place to yourself. You can stay as long as you want and have some space to figure out what to do next.”

“And you won’t tell anyone?”

“That would be lame.”

A futon. She hated futons, had slept on one all through college. A flat place to lie, though. She was so tired. She hoped he wouldn’t look at her when he came home in the middle of the night. Her mouth would probably be hanging open, and god knew what she’d wear to sleep in. She wished she’d brought at least a couple of T-shirts, a change of underwear. Her toothbrush.

“I’m not quite sure how to say thank you in a meaningful enough way, but—”

“Just doing my part.” He looked over at her and nodded, then pulled away from the curb. They headed north again until they were back in the city proper, then to a strip of freshly minted condo buildings along the south side of City Park.

Inside Chris’s condo, Larry headed straight for his crate, circled twice, and settled in to chew on a rubber duck that squeaked as though being killed, over and over again. Chris gave her a quick tour: open kitchen, living-slash-dining room, tiny bathroom (with a supply of unopened toothbrushes she could choose from—no doubt for the lady friends), and the door to his bedroom.

“I think that’s the biggest TV I ever saw,” she said, turning back toward the living room.

“You’re not really a grandmother, are you?” he asked. “What are you, like thirty-five?”

She shrugged, trying to hide the annoying pleasure she felt at this. “Some of us start younger than others.” There was no need to tell him she’d be thirty-nine on her next birthday.

“Wow.” He fidgeted, then said, “Well, I’d better go get ready for work. I need a quick shower.”

Jess felt her face redden.
For god’s sake,
she thought. How was she going to handle the morning? The bathroom sharing, the peeing sounds, the smells?

“Yup, you go. I’m fine here. I’ll see if I can figure out how to work the freakishly large TV.”

“It’s easy, really,” he said, grabbing a remote control from the glass coffee table.

“Got it,” she said. “Really, I’m technically adept. Go. Shower.”

He handed her the remote. “If you’re hungry, or need a Coke or something, help yourself.”

She nodded. “Will do.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Right,” he said, and backed away.

When she finally heard the shower, she relaxed. This was not good. She’d need to find another place, or buck up and go home. But then she’d be a prisoner, under watch at all times. She’d look guilty of something. Chris was right: trial by media.

If only she could go stay with Ellis and Maggie. They were probably her best friends. Would they still be? Their kids called her Aunt Jess. God, their kids. No matter how Ellis might feel about what she’d done, there was no way he could risk associating with her now. She wouldn’t do that to him, to his family.

Who else? Not Nina, of course. Even if she’d allow it, which she wouldn’t, Jess knew it was just a matter of time before she’d be required to stay within state lines. She tried to think of what her other options were, rejecting casual friends, other officers, and coworkers. It was disconcerting to realize that she had no one to turn to under these circumstances.

“Okay, dog man, I guess it’s you,” she said. In a way, he was the perfect choice. She had just met him; no one would think to look for her here. Turning on the television, she leaned back against the upright futon. As soon as he was gone, she’d fold it out, lie down, and catch a nap.

After only a moment, or what felt like a moment, Jess was being pulled from thick, downy sleep by the sound of drilling, or an electric screwdriver, like the one Rick had given her for Christmas early in their marriage. She sat up and looked around, wondering where she was, wondering what the sound was, and then it stopped. A huge Pat Sajak smiled idiotically from the television screen in front of her. The sun slanted through the blinds at a low angle.

“Great,” she said, wiping something crusted on her cheek. She’d drooled in her sleep, or . . . wait. No. Something had licked her. She remembered now. Larry, hopefully.

It was almost evening. They’d been gone for almost two hours; Chris had seen her passed out before he left.

She heard the noise again, and realized she’d been hearing it in her dreams for some time. It was her phone in her purse on the coffee table, vibrating against the glass. Jess leaned forward, dug through the bag until she felt the plastic rectangle and pulled it out. Without thinking, she answered.

“Hello?”

“Is this Officer Jessica Villareal?” It was a woman’s voice, harsh, beat-up, opinioned in some way already. She didn’t sound like media. She sounded like the women Jess busted for petty theft, the ones who had black eyes and bruises but never reported domestic abuse, the ones who had kids to support and couldn’t find work, who turned to the streets sometimes, who medicated their pain with anything they could afford.

“Who’s this?” Jess asked, internal alarm sounding.

“Faith Wiggs.”

“Melinda Faith Wiggs? Lindy?” Jess said, but of course it wasn’t. “Who is this?” she said again. Was it an aunt? The grandmother?

“You know damn well who this is. I’m calling to get my daughter back, and I know you have her. You have no right to her. She’s mine.”

Jess shuddered. Why hadn’t she tried harder to find the mother? What if this woman was who she said she was, had cleaned up, been looking for Lindy all along? There’d been no missing-person report but maybe she’d given up after a couple of years, or maybe they’d just missed it. “I don’t have Lindy,” she tried to explain.

“Don’t give me that shit. You’re the only one who knows where she is, you pig dyke.”

“Excuse me?” Jess snorted. “You sure you want to be calling an officer of the peace that? You know what kind of penalty that carries?”

“You tell me where Lindy is and I won’t make your life miserable.”

Jess rolled her eyes, but held her tongue. At least she no longer felt guilty about not looking for this woman, but she had to figure out how much of a threat she might be. “Where are you?” Jess asked.

“Phoenix, not that it’s any of your business.”

“I’m on TV in Phoenix?”

“You sure are, and I called the TV station here and they got your number for me. They say they’ll get me a plane ticket to come out there if they can come along and film me and her, our reunion. But first they say I have to know where Lindy is. Are you going to tell me or not?”

“If you’re really her mom, why didn’t you call the police?”

“ ’ Cause I don’t trust you pigs, not a one of you.”

Jess shook her head. “Let’s slow down, Ms. Wiggs. A: you have to quit insulting me, and B: I thought your name was Crystal.”

“Oh, that’s perfect! Don’t you believe a word that goddamn Ray Wiggs tells you. He doesn’t know a thing about me, and he’s one to talk, Mr. I’m-so-fucked-up-by-the-war chickenshit loser. What kind of man is that, anyway? He can’t even provide for her, let alone both her and me, and then he stole her and the car. And I made the payments on that damn thing the whole time he was in Iraq.”

Jess closed her eyes. “Did you ever file charges, Ms. Wiggs? A missing-person report? Did you do anything about it?”