“I’m sorry,” Casey said. “I didn’t mean that.”
“It’s you, Mom, don’t you know that yet? Why do you think Dad left? It wasn’t because of me or Erin or Lizzy. We didn’t want him to go. At least he still loves us. He took Lizzy this weekend, didn’t he?”
“I said I was sorry,” said Casey through her teeth. She felt eyes on her. “Lori, don’t do this to me. Don’t make a scene.”
“Oh, right, Mom. That’s all you ever worry about. That someone will think you’re not a good mother.”
Casey struggled for control.
“What are you going to do, hit me? Why don’t you? Why don’t you act just like Dad? Go ahead!”
Trembling, Casey raised her hand, as the waitress appeared at her elbow.
“Who ordered the Sprite?”
Lori lowered her head onto her arms.
“That’s fine,” said Casey with a strained smile. “Skip the coffee.” She cleared her throat. “Could you tell me, please, where I might find the ladies’ room?”
The restaurant had quieted, like the silence that follows some terrible explosion. She was sure that everyone was watching. Cups suspended in mid-sip, silverware glinted in the blaze from the hot panes. She pushed her chair back, rose unsteadily, and left the table.
She supported herself over the sink until her stomach stopped convulsing. When someone came in to use one of the stalls, Casey hastily reapplied her makeup and went back out into the hall.
She hesitated next to a wall telephone, listening to the reanimated din from the dining room. Her waitress passed by on the way to the kitchen. I must look like a fool, standing here, Casey thought. She busied herself with her purse, and her fingers closed around a loose coin at the bottom.
Reflexively she dropped it in the slot and dialed Doug’s number.
When the operator came on the line, she dug deeper into her purse. But she could not come up with the right change.
“Deposit eighty-five cents for the first three minutes.”
Already the number was ringing; the operator would interrupt the connection until she paid, and in the meantime Doug might hang up. She could reverse the charges, couldn’t she? He wouldn’t mind. He had asked her to call en route and tell him that she was safe.
“Hello?” His voice.
“One moment, sir. Ma’am, will you please deposit—?”
She hung up without speaking.
It was just as well. What could Doug do? He was a dear, kind man, sympathetic and eager to please—too eager, she thought. She was not sure she could trust that. At least Geoff had been forceful, decisive.
She retrieved her coin. Then, on an impulse, she searched her purse for her address book.
How could she have forgotten it?
It had been so long that she could not remember her parents’ number. She opened the telephone directory and scanned the columns. Yes, this one would be a local call.
A synthesized voice informed her that the number she was dialing was no longer in service.
That was a mistake, obviously. She rang the operator, then directory assistance, but there was nothing else under their name. That meant they had switched to an unlisted number. Why? So that they would not be bothered by crank calls, she thought. Like this one.
Back at the table, Lori had not touched her half of the sandwich. Casey put a ten dollar bill down next to the check and left without waiting for the change.
She crossed the parking lot, got in and sat staring straight ahead at the bay and the huge outline of Morro Rock, now wreathed in shadows as the sun disappeared behind another fogbank. The sailboats listed between whitecaps and disappeared into darkness.
Lori slid over the back seat, dumping her magazines onto the floor. “Thanks, Mom,” she said. “You don’t have to be such a bitch, you know. It isn’t my fault.”
“I know.”
But who then, she thought, can I blame?
On the way inland, Casey almost detoured by her parents’ mobile home park. She realized that she had intended all along to stop there but had not admitted it to herself until now. But then she thought: Maybe they went south for the Olympics. Dad always was into sports. They didn’t let me know they would be in L.A. because they didn’t want to bother me, to impose.
If they had taken the coastal route, she had probably passed them on the highway and not even noticed.
They saw a sign pointing them to Lockewood shortly after the sun began to sink into the sea. As the mountains to the east grew dim and jagged, Lori gave up on her reading. The light was failing and the motion of the car as it crept higher made the words do an insect dance on the pages of her book. She decided not to look outside at all from now on; the foothills were no longer elephants dozing on their sides but a shadowy border that was darker than the twilight.
“Are we there yet?” she asked.
“That sign had better be right,” said her mother. “I don’t see any other road ...”
“Why don’t you turn your lights on?” she said impatiently.
“I was about to do that.” Casey did, and then there was a chain link fence ahead and another sign with the words: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY—NO ADMITTANCE.
“Oh, great, Mom. Now what are we gonna do? Turn around and go back? It was a real good idea to send Erin to this place. Wasn’t it.”
Casey got out her glasses and rolled the window down. “I didn’t send her here. She was the one who ran away. When they picked her up, I simply told them they could keep her for a while. Until she straightened out.”
Lori did not answer. Her throat hurt and her eyes stung. It must have been the cool air. She rubbed her arms to make the goose bumps go away.
Her mother honked the horn and a man in jogging shoes came out. He looked like a camp counselor. When Casey told him who they were he started fooling with the padlock. He got the chain off and swung the gate open, and Casey drove through without even saying thank you.
The dirt road felt soft and shaky, as if there was an earthquake going on inside the hills. Her mother had to hold the wheel tight to keep it from jerking out of her hands. After a while there was another gate, this one open, and yellow lights from a group of low buildings. The car nosed in, as the ground shook harder and began to rumble. Then a big light came on behind them, so strong that Mom had to look away from the mirror and put on the brakes.
A sound like an elephant’s trumpet blasted them. It was so loud that Lori was afraid they were going to be trampled. Mom finally unfroze, yanked the wheel around and stepped on the gas. The car jumped to the side, leaves and branches clawing at the top, and rolled to a stop between some trees, as a bus like the one that took Lori to school tore up the road and bounced through the gate. Lori heard kids yelling.
“Hey, are you all right?”
A girl who was old enough to be in college came running over. She was wearing a red-white-and-blue T-shirt. She tried to open the car door, but the button was down.
“Gee, I’m real sorry ’bout that! Everybody went on a field trip today and, well, the kids are pretty excited. The driver was in a hurry. He must have had it up to here with them by now.”
“You really should do something about that road,” said Casey, taking off her glasses and touching her hair. “Now, can you please tell me where I might find Erin?”
“Who?”
“I’m Erin’s mother. I called yesterday. It’s arranged.”
The young woman leaned in to get a better look at Casey. “Is she one of the older girls?”
Casey fixed her with a steely gaze. “She’s thirteen.” She said it as if she thought she had been insulted.
It was always the way. First she was too polite, then something made her turn cold and hard. She did that with everyone lately, though sometimes with men she didn’t bother to start off nice. Lori couldn’t figure out what the trouble was this time. She forgot about Mom and sat forward.
“Hi! Erin’s my sister. We came to get her.”
“To
visit,” Casey corrected.
“W’ll, hi, yourself,” said the counselor. “I didn’t see you back there. Are you okay, too?”
Lori pulled up the button on her door and felt herself being helped out. When the other counselor, the one from down below, got there and tried to help Mom, she slid out quickly and took Lori by the hand.
“Stay with me,” she said.
“You want me to take a look at that front end?” he said. “You just might have yourself a bent tie-rod there.”
“I’ll take care of it, thank you,” said Casey.
By the time they got onto the grounds the bus was already unloading. Lori and her mother watched the children climb down, but they did not see Erin. Other counselors got off and counted heads. One blew a whistle to get the kids lined up.
“Did you say all the children are on this bus?” Casey asked the young woman.
“Don’t you see her?”
“She should be,” said the young man.
“Listen to me,” said Casey. “We’ve come a long way. It’s late. If you people don’t mind, I’d like to see my daughter—now.”
The counselors conferred over a clipboard.
“I’m sorry,” said the young woman, “but I can’t find any Erin on this list.”
“That means she’s on the other bus,” said the young man.
“What other bus?”
“Is she a Special Child?”
“Let me talk to your Supervisor,” said Casey.
“The Officer of the Day, you mean?” The young woman shifted her weight from one jogging shoe to the other and peered at her wristwatch. “That might be a bit of a problem. See, the rest of the staff’s supposed to be on dinner break. The next shift doesn’t come on till eight o’clock.”
“Do you mean to tell me that there’s no one in charge here?”
“The O.D.? Let me see ...”
“In the dining hall,” said the young man.
“Well, I guess I could page him for you, if it’s an emergency. Otherwise, if you can wait a few minutes ...”
“Is that the other bus?” said Lori.
They turned as another big yellow-sided school transport barreled to a halt in front.
The first child limped and had hands that dangled strangely from his wrists. The second drooled and took a long time. Lori noticed that there was something wrong with everyone who got off the bus, like twisted legs or curved backs or heads that wouldn’t move right.
“What kind of facility is this?” said Casey.
“Oh, we’re DPSS,” said the young man. He stepped forward to assist with the wheelchair cases. “We’re supposed to be strictly Protective Custody and Placement. But since the Governor cut the Social Services budget we get a lot of Disabled, Drug Rehab, the overflow from Juvie, you name it. They’d better not send us any more. We’re already sleeping six to a room.”
“My Erin’s not one of these,” Casey told him.
“You never know,” he said.
Last off were three squat, overweight, moon-faced kids. They held hands and laughed and stuck out their long tongues at each other, as happy as babies. Lori smiled at them and waved. It wouldn’t be so bad to be a Special Child, she thought. In some ways they’re better off. They get to have fun all the time. They don’t have any worries.
“Well?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Ma’am? You don’t see her?” When Mom pursed her lips at him and jutted out her jaw he said, “Let me check the Pop Sheet. There’s a bench back by the office, if you’d like to sit down.” He started away, then had another idea. “Why don’t you join us for dinner? I’ll ask the kitchen to make up a couple of extra plates.”
“No, thank you.”
“Mom ...!” said Lori when he had gone.
“You hush,” said Casey. “We don’t need any favors from him.”
Lori brooded, her stomach growling. “What did you mean when you said we only came to visit?”
“What?”
“I said we came to get Erin, and you said—”
Casey sighed. “I’m trying to decide what would be best for her. It’s not easy.”
“What’s best for you, you mean.”
Before her mother could say anything else, Lori left her and walked over to the playing field and sat in one of the swings.
This was the time of day she liked best, with the noisy hours past, the dust settled, the air clear. Above the trees the sky was the color of a deep ocean, and the evening star was showing on the horizon. Venus, she remembered from her book.
All the anger and resentment, built up inside her during the endless ride, left her like a long breath and blew away with the breeze that moved through the trees. For now she was empty and alone. She saw the outline of the playground equipment nearby, things she had left behind on the last day of school. She was surprised at how small they seemed to her, and wondered how such childish toys had ever supported her weight.
The breeze grew stronger, singing in the chains of the swing. She held them taut but they still vibrated in her fingers. They began to rattle. She could not stop them.
It was not the breeze, she realized. She was not alone. There was something loose in the ground, and it was running out all around her.
She looked at the long shadows growing by the slide and the merry-go-round and the jungle gym. Were they moving?
She saw her mother waiting in a pool of yellow light outside the chickenwire glass of the office. The rumbling was spreading, moving closer. Couldn’t her mother hear it?
Then Lori saw the bobbing silhouette of a runner, arms and legs pumping spastically like the angled appendages of a monstrous spider. He passed the walkway and was lost again in the darkness.
Lori stood uncertainly, the links icy in her hands.
“Forty-two, forty-three, fifty-seven, ninety-nine ...”
“Hello?” she said. “Is anybody there?”
“Got to keep count,” he called above the thumping rhythm. “Did I break the record?”
“I—I don’t know.”
His silhouette passed closer as he circled the field, perilously near the tetherball pole. If his foot struck it he would lose his balance and go sprawling, probably straight into the monkey bars. It was too dark for running. Didn’t he know that?
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m the 1500 meter. What are you?”
“I’m not anything,” said Lori. “Why are you doing that?”
“Got to practice.”
“You better be careful. It’s getting pretty dark.”
“Not me. I know the way perfect. Even at night. What’s your name?”
“Lori. What’s yours?”
The thumping slowed. She heard a panting close by. Then a teenage boy was standing before her. He held his chin down as he gasped for breath, his chest heaving.
“I won,” he said. “My best time.”
“That’s nice,” she said. She saw his skinny bare arms glistening with perspiration, his oddly bent hands. “Um, for what?”
“For the Olympics,” he said. He collapsed into the swing next to hers. “I went to the Fair. I didn’t get to practice. Did you go to the Fair?”
“Me? I just got here.”
“From the Fair?”
“From Los Angeles.”
“Is that far away?”
“I guess so.”
“No, it’s not. I saw you before. You live in Green Cottage.”
What was wrong with him? She changed the subject. “Why are you practicing for the 1500 meter? That’s over already. It was today.”
“Next Saturday,” he said, swinging slowly. “I’m sixteen. Are you?”
She laughed. “No, silly.”
As her eyes adjusted she made out the logo on his sweat-soaked shirt. It was the same red-white-and-blue design she saw everywhere, except that his had one word that was different. Like the counselors’ shirts. At last she understood. SPECIAL Olympics. For the handicapped. Sh
e had seen a TV movie about it once. She smiled broadly.
“That’s great,” she told him, “really great. You’ll win, I know. You’re a good runner.”
“I can run faster than anybody. I get the medal.”
“I bet you do.” She saw his hairy legs sticking out, his knobby knees, his worn tennis shoes with cartoon characters on the laces. She liked him very much. “I know who you saw,” she said. “It was my sister. We sort of look alike. Where’s Green Cottage?”
“He pointed to the corner bungalow. “If you get lost, wait where you are. Miss Shelby will take you back to your room. Don’t wander around after lights out, and no TV after ten o’clock.”
Lori’s mother heard the conversation and came over. “Who are you talking to out here?” she said.
“Um, a friend.”
“What’s your friend’s name?”
“Did you see me?” he said. “I got the medal.”
“Next Saturday,” said Lori. “I wish I could be there.”
“You will be,” he said. “Next Saturday. Yesterday.”
“Has the whole world gone crazy?” said Casey.
“Didn’t they find Erin?” Lori asked her.
“They don’t know anything. They said they were going to look for her, but I don’t believe it. I don’t believe anything anymore. They don’t care if Erin’s run off again.”
“Is that what they said?”
“They don’t have to. I should have known. It’s something she learned from her father.”
“I know where she is,” said Lori. “Wait one minute.”
“I’m tired of waiting,” said Casey. “I’m not going to wait for anyone, ever again.”
“No, really. Sit right here.”
“Why should I? Where are you going?”
“I’ll be right back, I promise. Talk to him, Mom. He’s nice. Really.”
Lori left the swings and hurried across the field.
Most of the bungalows were empty now for dinner, but the lights had been left on. Through the windows she saw that some rooms were strung with crepe paper daisy chains and watercolor paintings, others with pictures of baby animals or rock stars. The ones with heavy metal posters, she knew, belonged to the boys.
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