Where'd You Go, Bernadette

by Maria Semple

  DR. KURTZ: As we discussed, doubt is a natural, even necessary component of interventions. Remember, your wife will not get help of her own volition. We want to prevent her from hitting rock bottom.

  BRANCH: Isn’t that what this is now? Rock bottom?

  DR. KURTZ: Rock bottom is death. This is to raise the bottom for Bernadette.

  BRANCH: How is this good for Bee?

  DR. KURTZ: Her mother is getting help.

  BRANCH: Jesus.

  DR. KURTZ: What is it?

  BRANCH: Her bag. A couple of nights ago, only my bag and Bee’s were packed. This is Bernadette’s bag. Now it’s packed.

  DETECTIVE DRISCOLL: What are you saying?

  BRANCH: Dr. Kurtz, this proves she was planning to go! Maybe she did become overreliant on the Internet and got caught up in a scam. People get their identities stolen all the time. They don’t get sent to the crazy house—

  DR. KURTZ: Mr. Branch—

  (KNOCKING ON BATHROOM DOOR)

  BRANCH: Bernadette. I’m sorry. Let’s talk about this.

  (KICKING AT DOOR)

  DETECTIVE DRISCOLL: We need some backup.

  DR. KURTZ: Mr. Branch—

  BRANCH: Let go of me. Bernadette! Why isn’t she answering? Sir—

  DETECTIVE DRISCOLL: Yeah, here.

  BRANCH: What if she had pills, or broke a window and slit her wrists…. Bernadette!

  (FRONT DOOR OPENING)

  AGENT STRANG: Is there a problem?

  DETECTIVE DRISCOLL: She’s been in the bathroom for several minutes, and she’s not responding.

  AGENT STRANG: Step back. Miss Fox!

  (EXTENDED DOOR KICKING)

  DETECTIVE DRISCOLL: She’s not here. The water is running in the sink.

  BRANCH: She’s gone?

  DR. KURTZ: Is there a window—

  AGENT STRANG: It’s closed. (WINDOW OPENING) The yard slopes way down. It’s too far up for her to have jumped without injury. There’s no ledge. I was at the front door. (RADIO STATIC) Kevin, you see anything?

  VOICE FROM RADIO: Nobody in or out.

  BRANCH: She didn’t vanish. You were standing at the bathroom door, weren’t you?

  DETECTIVE DRISCOLL: I stepped away for a second to look at the suitcase.

  AGENT STRANG: Jesus Christ.

  DETECTIVE DRISCOLL: He made it sound really exciting.

  DR. KURTZ: This is the only door she could have… where does it lead?

  BRANCH: The basement. We never open it. It’s overgrown with blackberries. Detective, could you help?

  (DOOR SCRAPING AGAINST THE FLOOR)

  DR. KURTZ: Oh, God, the smell.

  DETECTIVE DRISCOLL: Ghhaw.

  AGENT STRANG: She obviously didn’t go down there—

  (SOUND OF MOTOR STARTING)

  DR. KURTZ: What is that?

  BRANCH: A weed whacker. If she did go into the basement—

  DR. KURTZ: There’s no way—

  (LOUD MOTOR)

  DR. KURTZ: Mr. Branch!

  Mr. Branch did not make it far into the basement before he fell into the blackberry brambles. He emerged, bloody, his clothes frayed. His left eyelid was torn, and his eye was severely scratched. An ambulance rushed Mr. Branch to the eye clinic at Virginia Mason.

  A K9 team searched the premises. There was no sign of Bernadette Fox.

  PART FIVE

  Dangers Passed

  FRIDAY, JANUARY 14

  From Dad

  Bee,

  Mrs. Webb called to say your giraffe mug is glazed and ready to pick up. I went by Galer Street, and the first-grade teacher gave me this good-bye poster her class made for you. It’s so colorful I thought you’d like to put it up on your dorm room wall. (I’m keeping the mug for myself, though, on the pretense that it might break in the mail!) Everyone at Galer Street sends their love, darling, from the kindergarteners on up to Gwen Goodyear.

  Seattle is just how you left it. We had three days of sun, but it’s raining again now. Still no word from Mom. I remain in close contact with the cell phone and credit card companies. As soon as there’s any activity, they’ll let me know.

  Remember, Bee, this whole situation has nothing to do with you. It’s a grown-up problem between your mom and me. It’s complicated, and I’m not sure I understand everything that happened. What matters most is that you know how much we both cherish you.

  I’m going to D.C. next week for a meeting. I thought I could drive up to Choate, pick you up, and we can make a long weekend out of it in New York. We can stay at the Plaza, just like Eloise.

  I miss you terribly. I’m always around for a phone call, or I’d love to Skype, if you ever change your mind about that.

  Love,

  Dad

  *

  Fax from Soo-Lin

  Dear Audrey,

  I hope this finds you well in Arizona. (Utah? New Mexico? All Warren said is you’re in the desert at a motel without cell reception or email, darn you!)

  I’m not sure how much news of the past month has reached you, so I’ll start from the beginning.

  As you suspected, long before even I did, Elgie and I were developing a strong bond on Samantha 2. It started, for my part, as an admiration for his genius, then blossomed into much more as he confided in me about his abusive marriage.

  The eighth graders are reading Shakespeare, and one of Lincoln’s assignments is to memorize a soliloquy. (Tell that to Kyle. He’ll be thrilled he’s no longer at Galer Street!) Lincoln was given a speech from Othello, where the Moor defends the improbable love he and Desdemona share. It’s me and Elgie in a nutshell.

  She loved me for the dangers I had passed

  And I loved her that she did pity them.

  Shakespeare always puts it best, doesn’t he?

  You know that Bernadette disappeared from a drug intervention at her house. Everyone’s first concern was that the Russian Mafia had gotten in and kidnapped her. However, we soon learned the Russians had been apprehended switching planes in Dubrovnik. That made the FBI and the police vanish almost as quickly as Bernadette!

  Elgie and Bee did not go to Antarctica after all. Elgie had to be treated for a corneal abrasion, and he received stitches on his eyelid. After seventy-two hours, he filed a missing-persons report. To this day, there’s still no news of Bernadette.

  If you ask me, she was swallowed up by the ghosts of the Straight Gate girls. Did you know Straight Gate wasn’t just a “school for wayward girls”? It was a place to lock up pregnant girls, and illegal abortions were performed in the basement. And this was where Bernadette chose to raise a baby daughter?

  I digress.

  Elgie had made contingency plans to send Bee to boarding school in January. Once Bernadette disappeared, he assumed she wouldn’t want to go. But Bee insisted.

  I asked Elgie to move in, but he still prefers a hotel, which I respect. Lucky me, I have that big dopey dog of theirs, who runs around day and night whimpering for Bernadette, dripping water on everything.

  Elgie suggested I look for a bigger house on Queen Anne, which he would pay for. Then Lincoln got accepted to Lakeside. (Oh, did I tell you? We got accepted to Lakeside!) Since Lakeside was going to be the center of our lives for the next four years, I thought, What’s keeping us on Queen Anne anyway? Why not Madison Park? It’s closer to Lakeside. It’s closer to Microsoft. Elgie said fine, as long as the house requires no construction.

  I found the most beautiful home, right across from Lake Washington, a charming Craftsman, the one that used to belong to Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love. Lincoln’s stock has zoomed up at school, that’s for sure!

  I quit Microsoft, and thank God. There’s about to be another huge reorg. Yes, so soon! Of course, Samantha 2 is protected, but still, Microsoft is not a fun place to be right now. Productivity grinds to a halt with all the rumors.

  Upon rereading this letter, I fear it’s in terribly bad taste, considering where you are. Where is that, anyway?! How is Kyle? I hope you can be happy fo
r me.

  Love,

  Soo-Lin

  SATURDAY, JANUARY 15

  Fax from Audrey Griffin

  Dear Soo-Lin,

  Congratulations on your newfound happiness. You’re a wonderful person, and you deserve all the joy your new life has brought to you. May it continue.

  I have found serenity myself, in Utah, where Kyle is in wilderness rehab. He’s a drug addict and has been diagnosed with ADHD and borderline personality disorder.

  We found a wonderful, if arduous, immersion program. The reason we chose Utah is because it’s the only state that by law essentially allows you to kidnap your child, so they specialize in these wilderness programs. On the first day, they drove Kyle and a group of kids, blindfolded, twenty miles out into the middle of the desert and dumped them without sleeping bags, food, toothbrushes, or tents, and told them they’d be back for them in a week.

  It’s not like a reality television show where there are cameras and everyone is being watched. No. These kids are forced to cooperate in order to survive. Many of them, like Kyle, were coming off drugs cold turkey.

  Of course, I was terrified. Kyle is incapable of doing anything for himself. You remember those calls when we were having girls’ night out. “Mom, the remote is out of batteries.” And I’d leave early to go to the store to get him more? How would he survive seven days in the desert? Or worse, I looked around at the other mothers, and I thought, My son is going to kill one of your children.

  After a week, the kids were rounded up and brought back to the rehab center. Kyle came back alive, ten pounds lighter, smelling to high heaven, and a tiny bit meek.

  Warren returned to Seattle, but I couldn’t. I checked into a motel that makes the Westin look like the Taj Mahal. The soda machines are covered with metal grating. The sheets were so scratchy, I drove a hundred miles to the nearest Walmart and bought cotton ones.

  I started going to Al-Anon meetings, ones that specialize in parents whose kids have substance-abuse problems. I have come to accept that my life has become unmanageable. I always went to church, but this program is deeply spiritual in a way I’ve never before experienced. I’ll leave it at that.

  Truthfully, I’m afraid of going back to Seattle. Gwen Goodyear has generously offered to take Kyle back at Galer Street after spring break and let him make up his credits over the summer so he can graduate with his class. But I’m not sure I want to go back just yet. I’m not the same woman who wrote that foolish Christmas poem. At the same time, I’m not sure who I am. I trust God to guide me.

  That is very upsetting news about Bernadette. I know she’ll turn up. She always has a trick up her sleeve, doesn’t she?

  Love,

  Audrey

  SUNDAY, JANUARY 16

  From: Soo-Lin

  To: Audrey Griffin

  Audrey! I’m in the middle of the most horrific nightmare!! I should write to a fellow VAVite. I can’t pecause my labtob with all my addresses is dead, and yours is the only email address I know by heart. I’m in an Internet café in South America,, and this keypoard is so dirty and sticky and HORRIPLE and the P makes a B and the B makes a P and the comma sticks and you have to immediately hit packsbace or else the whole email will pe commas! I’d fix the p’s and b’s put they’re charging me py the minute and they don’t take credit cards and I had only 20 besos. I’m on a timer and this HUNK OF JUNK combuter shuts off in 2 minutes. I don’t want Elgie to know I snuck out so I’m going to tell you as much as I can pefore my money runs out.

  They found her!!! They found Pernadette!!!! Yesterday a charge for $1300 from the Antarctic cruise combany showed ub on Elgie’s Visa card. Elgie called the travel agent, who confirmed it. Pernadette went to Antarctica without them!!! Her credit card was on file,,,, and pecause the trip was ending,, her card was charged for the incidentals, so Elgie was alerted. The travel agent said the shib was at that very moment heading into the Drake Bassage, returning from Antarctica, and it would land in Ushuaia, Argentina, in 24 hours! Elgie called me and I got us two tickets to go down.

  Audrey,,, I’m bregnant!!!! Yes, I’m carrying Elgie’s child. I wasn’t going to tell you or anyone pecause I’m 40 and it’s a geriatric bregnancy. Elgie knows of course and that’s really why I quit my job,, so I wouldn’t have any added stress and that’s also why Elgie is puying a house, not for me and him to live habbily ever after, HA HA HA, like I wish, put for his new papy!!! Now that Pernadette is pack in the bicture, what will habben to me? I should have never quit MS! I’m a fool! I was living in a fantasy pupple, stubidly pelieving Elgie and me and the kids would live habbily ever after. What will I do for money? Pernadette hates me. You should have heard the mean things she said to me. I’m terrified of her. She’s a witch. I’m in a state of total banic. Elgie doesn’t want me here. He almost died when he found out I was coming to Ushuaia,,,, too. He didn’t realize I was getting myself a ticket. What was he going to do, turn down the woman who is carrying his papy? Ha ha, no. I’m in Ushuaia,, that’s where I am now, writing on this HORRIPLE KEYPOARD!!!!!! I must must must pe right there standing by Elgie’s side when Pernadette gets off that shib tomorrow. If HE doesn’t tell her I’m bregnant, you petter pelieve I will and

  TUESDAY, JANUARY 18

  From Bruce Jessup

  Dear Mr. Branch,

  I tried calling your office, but a recording tells me you’re out of the country. It is with great sadness and urgency that I write. After conferring with Bee’s adviser and dorm mistress, we unanimously recommend that Bee withdraw from Choate Rosemary immediately, without finishing the academic year.

  As you know, we were all thrilled by Bee’s sudden arrival. We found her a room at Homestead, one of our more intimate dorms, and a roommate, Sarah Wyatt, a dean’s list student from New York.

  Yet from Bee’s first week, I received reports that she was failing to thrive in the boarding school environment. Teachers said Bee sat in the back and never took notes. I watched her bringing food back to her dorm room instead of eating in the dining hall with the other students.

  Then her roommate requested to switch rooms. Sarah complained that Bee was spending study hours watching Josh Groban perform “O Holy Night” on YouTube. Hoping this was a portal into Bee, I sent the chaplain to her dorm. He said he found her apathetic to spiritual discourse.

  Yesterday morning I noticed a bounce in Bee’s step as she crossed campus. I was greatly relieved until Sarah burst into my office, quite distraught. She told me that a few days earlier she and Bee were in the student activities center getting their mail. In Bee’s box was a thick manila envelope with no return address. It was postmarked Seattle. Bee remarked that the writing was unfamiliar. The package contained a sheaf of documents.

  Bee jumped up and down as she excitedly read them. Sarah asked what they were, but Bee wouldn’t say. Back at the dorm, Bee stopped watching YouTube and told Sarah she was writing “a book” based on these documents.

  Yesterday afternoon, while Bee was away, Sarah snuck a peek at Bee’s “book.” Sarah was so shaken by its contents—in particular, FBI documents marked CONFIDENTIAL—that she ran straight to me.

  Based on Sarah’s description, Bee has written a narrative connecting the contents of the envelope. They include: FBI documents involving surveillance of your wife, emails between you and your administrator, handwritten notes between a woman and her gardener, the same woman’s emergency room bill, back-and-forth from a Galer Street School fundraiser about a disastrous brunch, an article about your wife’s architecture career, correspondence between you and a psychiatrist.

  My concern is Bee. As you may know, John F. Kennedy attended Choate. While he was here, the headmaster, Judge Choate, gave a commencement speech in which he uttered the immortal words, “Ask not what Choate can do for you. Ask what you can do for Choate.”

  Even though it’s difficult, here’s what I can do for Choate. I can recognize when a student, even one as gifted as Bee, has come to boarding school at a time in her life when
she should be home with family. I expect you will agree, and that you will immediately come to Wallingford and take your daughter home.

  Sincerely,

  Bruce Jessup

  WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 19

  Fax from Soo-Lin

  Audrey,

  WARNING: Aliens took over my brain yesterday! It’s been such a long time since I’ve been pregnant that I completely forgot how hormones can make you do crazy things, like run to Argentinean Internet cafés in the middle of the night and write wild, embarrassing emails to friends back home.

  Now that I’ve got my brain back, I will attempt a more levelheaded update of the Bernadette saga. But I must warn you, if the events described in my last (incoherent) email seemed action-packed, they’re nothing compared to what transpired over the past forty-eight hours.

  After arriving in the middle of the night, Elgie and I awoke in the dreary, wet, little town of Ushuaia. It was summer, but it was not like any summer I’d ever seen. The fog was thick and constant, and the air damper than even the rain forests of the Olympic Peninsula. We had time to kill before Bernadette’s boat arrived, so we asked the gentleman at the front desk if there were any sights to see. He said their most famous tourist attraction was a prison. Yes, a prison is their idea of fun. It was decommissioned a while back and is now an art gallery. Thanks, but no thanks. Elgie and I walked straight to the dock to meet Bernadette’s boat.

  Along the way, I did see some Icelandic poppies, lupine, and foxgloves, which reminded me of home. I took pictures and will send them to you if you’d like.

  The dock stank of fish and was packed with the most unattractive fishing boats and vulgar dockworkers. In Seattle, we park our cruise ships far from the fishing vessels. Not in Argentina!

  Elgie and I waited in the “immigration office,” four flimsy walls with a framed photograph of Michael Jackson and an X-ray machine that wasn’t even plugged in. There were three boxy, ancient-looking pay phones. Lots of international sailors waited in line to call home. It was like the Tower of Babel at that place.