by R. H. Herron
The water started to cool.
Laurie’s anger didn’t. It felt like it was just getting started.
She hated to say it, but she didn’t want Jojo to get chilled. “We should get out before the hot-water tank is empty.”
Jojo nodded. She stood and toweled off. Instead of seeming unself-conscious, which was normal for her, Jojo wrapped the towel tightly around her body. She didn’t meet Laurie’s eyes, but as she saw the water pouring from Laurie’s uniform, she said, “Guess you don’t need to do laundry.”
“Guess not.”
“Harper hasn’t texted me back.”
“Where do you think she is?”
Her daughter’s narrow shoulders shrugged, and her voice was tense. “I don’t know. I’m freaking out.”
“I’ll call her parents in a minute.”
Jojo’s eyes went wide, then shuttered.
“What?” Laurie thought Jojo was about to speak, but instead she just opened the medicine cabinet.
Jojo rooted around idly—Laurie guessed she might be looking for Aleve—and then she held up the bottle.
“Is ten milligrams a lot?”
“You can’t have an Ambien.” It had been so stupid to leave it in the medicine cabinet.
“Why do you have sleeping pills, anyway?”
Laurie shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”
Jojo opened the bottle and fished out a tiny pill. “I could break one in half. Or even in quarters?”
“No.”
“You just said it’s no big deal.”
“No way.”
Jojo blinked.
Then she popped it into her mouth and swallowed it whole.
“Jojo! No!” Stubborn. Jojo had always been so stubborn.
“Am I going to die from it?”
“No.”
“Okay, then. I just want to sleep.”
There was a raw despair in her daughter’s words that made Laurie want to howl. “Go to bed. I’ll be right there.”
In her bedroom she dug Gloria’s card out of her purse and sent a text, her fingers shaking.
She took an Ambien. I told her not to but she did it anyway.
The response was almost instant. She’ll be fine.
But you said with the Rohypnol—
She’s going to sleep her face off. Put her on her side just in case she vomits, but she’ll be okay.
You’re sure?
Sure. Maybe you should take one, too.
No way. She had to be awake, alert.
“Mama?” her daughter called.
“I’ll be right there.” Laurie didn’t want Jojo to be alone for even a minute until she fell asleep, but she’d do her no favors by sitting on her bed like this and soaking it through.
She stripped, dried, and changed into her flannel pajamas, the ones with blue frogs.
Jojo had changed into her matching pair, but Laurie didn’t point that out. She was under the covers, only her shoulders sticking out. Her old teddy bear, Randall, who usually lived on the shelf above the bed, was next to her, lying sideways, casually, as if he’d just fallen there.
Laurie sat on the edge of the bed. “How are you doing?”
Jojo’s hands were in fists. “I. Don’t. Want. To. Talk.”
Laurie should ask where Harper was, how she was involved, she should ask how Jojo knew Zachary Gordon, but thirty seconds later Jojo’s face was finally relaxing. From experience Laurie knew that an Ambien on an empty stomach took hold in mere minutes. “Okay.”
And sure enough Jojo’s breathing slowed. Her phone slipped from her hand. Just as Laurie thought she was finally asleep, Jojo lifted heavy eyelids. “Kevin will be so sad.”
Laurie could only manage, “Mmm.”
“Not sure how I feel . . .”
“That’s totally all right.”
“Maybe I feel okay.”
Laurie pressed her hands to her thighs to keep from moving into the bed with Jojo, from crawling in and wrapping herself around her. Jojo didn’t want her right now. She just needed sleep. “Good.”
“Maybe I did something wrong.” Her words were starting to slur.
“You didn’t.”
“The ring.”
The shoplifted one, the one that had broken apart Jojo and Harper’s closeness? “That was a long time ago, sweet pea. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
“Randall.” Jojo poked the teddy bear with lazy fingers. “Randall?”
“What?” When Laurie first got the sleeping pill prescription, she would sometimes hallucinate images and voices right before falling asleep. “I love you, Joshi. So much. You know that, right, snugglebug?”
Jojo slurred, “Aw, stop.” Then she turned to her side, put her hands under her cheek like a child in an old-fashioned illustration, and gave a sweet, contented snore.
Laurie held her breath.
She counted to ten. Then a hundred.
Then she reached for Jojo’s phone.
ELEVEN
LAURIE SWIPED THE code, and the phone unlocked with a snick.
Harper: He’s going to be there tonight.
Jojo: Omg.
Harper: I know. I can’t wait for you to meet him.
Jojo: U been hiding him too long.
Harper: Because he’s delish.
Jojo: UR so bad.
Laurie’s breath got caught somewhere in her upper abdomen and stayed there.
Jojo: What do I need to bring?
Harper: They r bringing the stuff.
Jojo: Ok. little nervous. We’re learning how 2 pack wounds, right?
Harper: Don’t be a baby, street medics r hotttt. Fake wounds. Don’t forget your banana. We’re going to stab the SHIT outta them.
Jojo: That 1 street medic w/ the tattoo arms who always has all the answers—I’m going to get him to help me pack my stabbed banana.
Harper: No, that one’s mine. Hot ass. He can pack MY stabbed banana. ;)
Jojo: I will CUT a bitch.
Harper: At least I’ll know how to pack my own wound after you do.
Jojo: xoxoxoxoxbye
Laurie looked at Jojo, suddenly sure she’d wake and demand her phone back.
Her daughter’s breath was even, slow, and deep.
Laurie exited the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. She carried the phone into her bedroom, taking the cooled cocoa with her. The taste of it was too sweet, and it made one of her back molars ache sharply. She welcomed the pain, stretching her jaw into it.
In bed she turned out the lights and went on reading the texts. Wounds. Jojo used to say she wanted to be a cop or a paramedic, even though she and Omid had done their best to talk her out of it. Jojo could be anything, but emergency services were too hard—too soul-cracking.
So what the fuck were the girls playing at?
She scrolled backward in time on Jojo’s phone.
Harper: R says Kevin is into you.
Jojo: No he’s not.
Harper: How do you know?
Jojo: Because I don’t like him like that.
Harper: But how do u KNOW? U should at least try him out.
Jojo: Ew.
Harper: Test ride.
Jojo: Stop.
Harper: U might end up liking it.
Jojo: You’re the worst.
Harper: I like it.
Jojo: Whore.
Harper: Super slut.
Jojo: <3 <3 super slutty whore of a hobag ho <3
Jojo said she didn’t like Kevin like that.
And then he’d . . . God.
He’d fucking raped her little girl and murdered his friend. Or had Zachary Gordon raped Jojo? Was it the last thing he’d done in his life? If so, Laurie was glad he was dead. If so, she hoped he’d died in
unbearable pain.
Laurie’s chest was so tight that air rasped in her lungs. She took another sip of the cocoa, hoping it would ease. She wanted desperately to take an Ambien herself, but she couldn’t. She’d weaned herself off them with difficulty, and if she took one now, she wouldn’t trust herself to wake up if Jojo needed her.
Her own phone pinged.
Omid.
She okay?
There was no good answer to that. She shot him a thumbs-up emoji, feeling ridiculous and juvenile as she did so. A fucking thumbs-up.
She’s as okay as she can be. How about you? Why aren’t you asleep? It’s so late.
They keep poking me.
Don’t die.
The words left her fingertips and flew to him before she even registered what she’d sent.
Okay, then. Since you put it that way.
I need you.
God, what would she do right now to be able to curl herself into his chest? To be able to hook her leg over his waist, her arms around his back, and hold on?
I need you, too, babe.
Laurie wanted to type, I’ll kill him.
But she curled her right hand into a ball so tight her wrist got a cramp and then shook it out.
Sleep now, my love. We’re fine here. We’re safe.
Xox
Laurie took a deep breath.
Then she opened Jojo’s texts again.
Jojo must have been deleting messages recently, because the earliest string of messages was just eleven days ago. It was obvious that she and Harper had been talking a lot more than people would who had just become friends again.
Harper: #resist
Jojo: #hellsya
Harper: R says we have to go to the Mission, there’s a march from there to city hall.
Jojo: Burritos!
Harper: Is that what a resistance fighter says?
Jojo: This res. fighter says there’s no social activism that can’t be improved by burritos.
Harper: U have a point. W Oakland BART?
Jojo: K. Eta 1 hr.
Laurie scrolled back in her own phone to see what had been happening that day. It was a Sunday morning. She’d gotten off work at 3:00, and at 10:00 Jojo had brought in the paper and woken her and Omid up. They’d read some of it together—Jojo liked the news section, Omid liked the book-review section, and Laurie liked opinions. Omid had attempted to make lattes, but the milk had turned. Jojo had said she was going into the city to see a movie at the Metreon with Olivia and her mother. She’d even asked if Laurie had wanted to come. Laurie had said no quickly—she actively disliked Olivia’s mother and the way she pushed holistic vials upon her every time they were in the same vicinity. No, she didn’t want any pulsatilla windflower crap, thank you. Laurie thought maybe she and Omid would stay longer in bed, together (they had, and they’d both napped instead of having sex). Omid had told Jojo, “Don’t go to Civic Center, some big protest there today. CapB, I think.”
Jojo wasn’t stupid.
She hadn’t been going to the movies with a woman her mother disliked and would automatically say no to going along with.
She’d been going to the Citizens Against Police Brutality protest.
Goddamn it. They’d talked about this, to death. No matter how much of a bleeding-heart liberal they’d raised—and they had, as both Omid and Laurie leaned further left than many of their co-workers—it wasn’t safe. More than that, it wasn’t right, the daughter of a police chief protesting the policing community. But, Dad, you’re brown, in case you hadn’t noticed. That makes me half brown, and that counts as full brown. Police are killing black and brown people. Not you guys, San Bernal PD is fine. But I want to go stand up for what’s right.
No.
They’d told her no. They let her donate some money to an online CapB fund-raiser, and even that had made Omid sweat a little. Antifa bullshit, he’d muttered to Laurie, and she’d shushed him. It was one thing for Jojo to march and protest, but a whole other thing for her to be attracted to the anarchists’ left-wing militia. Not that Laurie was totally against antifascists. Someone had to fight the Nazis. Just not her fucking daughter.
What the hell was Jojo up to?
And where was Harper?
Laurie pushed the covers back and stood, all tiredness gone. She thrust her feet into her leather-soled slippers. One more check on Jojo—who was still breathing deeply and evenly—and then she went downstairs to call Harper’s parents.
TWELVE
THE PHONE RANG in Laurie’s ear, unanswered. It was the Cunninghams’ house line, and she knew that it rang in their bedroom as well as in the kitchen, both living rooms, and the great room. Even though it was just a few houses away, the Cunninghams’ home was huge, almost three times larger than their own. Laurie and Omid’s house was nice—nothing that special, but it had the same big lot, and they’d upgraded their kitchen and bathrooms four years before. Their new entryway tile was less than a year old. The Cunninghams’ house, on the other hand, was always newly perfect, always being expanded and enhanced. Instead of adding new bathrooms, they added new wings. When they’d been so close, years before, Laurie had teased Pamela about her constant renovations and the smooth way she always pulled them off. The house could be full of workers making a bedroom closet into a new walk-in Finnish sauna, and Pamela would manage to hide the dirt and noise. If one area was under construction, they’d entertain in the other wing. The grandness of their lives and of their house had intimidated Laurie for years. Then she’d gotten used to it, asking Pamela to drive when they went for lunch so she could sink deep into the heated leather seats and smell the new-Mercedes scent.
Laurie gave up letting their house phone ring and dialed Pamela’s cell phone as she poured herself a glass of wine she wasn’t sure she wanted to drink.
Pamela mumbled, “Holy shit. Laurie? What’s wrong?”
From the background she could hear Andy’s surprised voice. “Laurie? What’s going on?”
Leaving the glass behind, Laurie walked into the living room. She pushed the phone so hard against her head that it hurt. “It’s me. Do you know where Harper is?”
“Is Jojo okay?”
Laurie couldn’t answer that without getting dragged down into tears, a thing she would not do right now. “Can I talk to Harper? Can you get her for me?”
Pamela cleared her throat. “She’s sleeping. What’s up?” Her voice was cool.
The past didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered but Jojo. “Something happened to my daughter.”
“What? What happened?”
“She’s okay. But she was—” Laurie choked, unable to say the word. Not yet. “She was out with Harper, I guess, and she doesn’t remember the whole night. I’m just wondering if Harper can fill in any of the blanks.”
“Harper wasn’t out with Jojo.”
Laurie shook her head. “No, they’re friends again. I know, I’m as surprised as you are. But I saw the texts. They’ve been hanging out for at least a few weeks, probably more.”
“Oh, yeah. We knew that.”
“You did?” A spasm shot down Laurie’s back, and she lowered herself slowly into the couch.
“Of course. She’s been eating here at least once a week for a few months now.” Pamela had her smiling voice on now. “I’ve been deep in a Thai cooking phase, and we’ve been working on getting her heat tolerance up.”
Jojo hated spicy food, always had. “I didn’t know.” Betrayal hung thick in the back of her throat.
“But Harper wasn’t out with her tonight. She’s upstairs asleep.”
Laurie’s fingertips were icy, though the room felt warm enough. “Are you sure?”
“She was running a fever. Poor thing, she went to bed this afternoon and just passed out. I checked on her twice, and she hasn’t moved all night.”
&nb
sp; “You’re sure.”
“Completely.”
“Because Jojo says that they were together.”
“Could she have just said the wrong name? Maybe she was with Jessie? Or Olivia?”
There was only one Harper Cunningham. “No.”
A million times in her career, Laurie had called parents to come pick up their kids from whatever trouble they’d been caught getting into. Can you come get Joey? We just caught him with a group of kids smoking weed by the railroad tracks. A million times parents had sworn up and down that it couldn’t be their kid—their kid was asleep upstairs. Joey doesn’t smoke marijuana. Joey’s in bed. They’d seen their children get into bed hours before—therefore they were still there.
They never were.
Laurie pushed harder. “Can you check?”
Pamela sighed loudly. “Andy, can you go check on Harper?”
Laurie heard Andy groan. “This is ridiculous. She’s sick. She’s in bed.” Andy was Harper’s stepfather, but he’d been around since she was four or five. CEO of a car-warranty company, he wasn’t the warmest guy in the world, but Laurie had always thought Pamela made up for any lack. Harper and Pamela had a relationship that Laurie had been jealous of sometimes. Even at fourteen Harper had let Pamela hold her hand and braid her hair in public. Jojo had stopped letting Laurie touch her in public by twelve. At the same time, Pamela had a more hands-off policy of mothering—she let Harper do her own thing, trusting her daughter to get stuff right on her own. Laurie, conversely, meddled too much, too often, according to both Jojo and Omid.
“So Jojo’s okay now?” Pamela’s voice was pitched low and soothing.
It was so irritating that her voice could make Laurie feel better, as if no time had passed. Laurie had missed her. Pamela had been a friend, and then she’d just been gone. “Jojo was raped.”
“Fuck!” The exclamation was guttural.
It was small and sick, but Laurie took one half second of satisfaction from the sound. The feeling was gone almost instantly, replaced by shame. “Yeah.”
“Is Omid with her now?”
“No, he’s—”
Laurie heard a pounding and then heard Andy yell, “She’s not there!” His voice was clear over the line. “She’s gone! She bunched up the covers to make it look like she was in there. I thought you said you checked on her!”