"You're not poor, Shelly. You're lower middle class. Think big."
Shelly glared at her date, or boyfriend, or whatever one called someone like Nick Bender. He might be good at a lot of things but enabling pity parties was not among them.
"Whatever. I don't have a pot to dribble in. That's what matters."
"Cheer up, Princess. If you don't get your loans you can always join me at UCC."
Shelly gave Nick another dirty look. She considered a flippant reply but thought of something else when she saw a dark green Ford LTD pull into an empty spot at the end of the lot. It was Scott. She didn't know what bimbo sat in his passenger seat, but she guessed that it was Christine Tally. Scott always picked beauty over brains when he couldn't have both. She had no doubt that he had seen and recognized Nick's Plymouth, just as she had no doubt that he knew he could find her here tonight. Highline Drive had been their second favorite place to park.
"Is something wrong?" Nick asked.
"Scott just pulled up."
"Screw him. Seriously, Shelly, why do you even care?"
"I don't. I just wish he weren't here."
"Well, he's not here. I am. That's all that matters."
Shelly smiled sadly as Nick pulled her back toward his end of the back seat. She wished it were that easy to ignore the people in the car three spaces over.
Before long Nick was back at work. He had her bra off in a New York minute. Unlike the arrogant quarterback twenty feet away, he understood the technology. The problem is that he didn't understand limits. When Nick loosened her jeans and stuck his hand in places it didn't belong, Shelly squirmed and grabbed his wrist.
"No, Nick."
"Come on, Shelly."
"I'm not ready."
Nick pulled his hand back to a place it belonged and stared at his date. He shook his head.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I'm not ready."
"Well, when will you be ready? We've been dating a month. You've known me for years. We're not exactly strangers."
"No, we're not."
Shelly pulled away from his grasp and sat up against the door.
"Nick, why can't we just take things slowly? There's no hurry."
"Is that how you worked with Richardson? No hurry? I heard he had you in three weeks."
"That's bullshit. Who told you that?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Of course it matters."
"Well, I'm not telling."
"What's the matter with you, Nick? Can't you just wait?"
"Wait for what? For you to decide whether or not you want to get back together with your boyfriend? No thanks."
"Is that what you think this is about? I don't give a damn about Scott."
"You did a minute ago."
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
"It means that you haven't given me the freaking time of day since you said I was a better lay. Why did you say that, Shelly? I'd really like to know."
"I said it to hurt Scott. Is that what you want to hear?"
"No. I want to hear that you want me and not that freak show. I want to hear that you didn't use me to get back at him."
Shelly stared at him with puzzled eyes.
"Maybe we're not such a good idea, Nick."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that maybe I rushed into this."
"Get out!"
"Excuse me."
"You heard me. I said get out."
"Don't tell me to get out. Take me home."
"Get out, Shelly. Get out or . . . "
"Or what?"
Shelly folded her arms.
"Or what, Nick? Or you'll smack me like you did Lori?
"Get out! Get the hell out now!"
Stunned, embarrassed, and angry, Shelly didn't wait for a hand to meet her face. She threw on her bra and blouse, glared at Nick, and got out of the 'Cuda. She slammed the door, walked to the back of the car, and glanced one last time at the LTD. Thankfully, she didn't see Scott Richardson laughing out his window. That would have been too much.
Damn, I'm getting sick of this.
Shelly walked west toward Buchanan, the nearest of two streets that connected to Highline Drive. Nick peeled out of the lot and headed east toward Adams, the farthest. In more ways than one, they moved in opposite directions. Shelly formed balls with her fists as she thought of the shocking exchange. What an idiot she had been to get into a mess like this. Nick was a jerk, but he was a jerk that she had welcomed into her life. She wondered whether there were any nice guys left in the world and, if there were, whether she deserved them.
The disgruntled Miss Preston searched for silver linings as she walked down Buchanan to Tenth, turned east, and began the final ten blocks home. She found just one. At least Nick hadn't dumped her at the drive-in. Then she would have had to ask for a ride or make a humiliating call to a friend without a social life. She did not look forward to answering a million questions from inquiring minds when school resumed on Monday.
Shelly picked up the pace as she crossed Pierce. She knew that if she moved fast enough, she could beat her parents home and head straight to bed. The last thing she wanted or needed was an "I told you so" lecture from her mother. Shelly looked at her watch and checked the time. Nine fifty. She had at least ten minutes before Fred and Evelyn left their poker party at the Petersons.
As she passed darkened houses on the empty street, Shelly thanked her stars that her humiliating trek through the chilly night was a solitary one. But it wasn't long before even that changed. She didn't get as far as Fillmore when she felt headlights on her back. She turned to see Brian Johnson stick his head out of the passenger-side window of his parents' Ford Granada. He was no doubt returning from his shift at Holiday Lanes, a shift she had originally been scheduled to work.
"Shelly, is that you?"
Shelly heard the doubt in Brian's voice and continued walking. Maybe he would mistake her for another ponytailed brunette who just happened to be headed for their end of town. But when he pulled closer to the curb and repeated his question, she finally answered.
"Yes, it's me."
"Do you want a ride?"
Shelly weighed his offer. Yes, she wanted a ride. She was cold and her feet hurt. But she didn't want scrutiny, even from the one male on the planet, besides her father and brothers, who had her best interests at heart. This was beyond embarrassing.
"Yeah, I do."
Shelly walked slowly to the car, opened the door, and sat next to her next-door neighbor. She put a hand to her forehead and kept her eyes forward.
Brian looked at her closely.
"Are you crying?"
"Yes, I'm crying."
"Are you all right?"
"No questions tonight, Brian. OK?"
Shelly looked at him sadly and put a hand on his arm.
"Just take me home."
CHAPTER 46: MICHELLE
Monday, March 24, 1980
Michelle smiled as she watched the disparate groups assemble in the bleachers. Sophomores laughed and roughhoused, much to the dismay of juniors who looked at their inferiors with barely disguised contempt. Seniors, those who showed up, milled around the gym with casual indifference. They had seen it all before. To them, pep assemblies were just another excuse to get out of second period and ponder better things to do.
From her vantage point near one of the emergency exits, Michelle could see several people who regularly popped onto her radar screen. All wore expressions that seemed perfectly fitted to their current life situations, outlooks, and attitudes, whether happy, sad, or somewhere in between. Michelle watched them closely as the pep band played the school fight song.
Robert Land was the most visible. The varsity baseball coach stood next to Principal Wayne Dennison, other spring sports coaches, and a microphone that rose from the middle of the basketball court. He wore the broad smile of a man who anticipated a good year on the field and off. He had been nothing but smiles sin
ce they had returned from Reno on Saturday. He seemed eager not only to head down different roads but also to resume familiar routines and responsibilities with a new partner at his side. Michelle knew from his comments at breakfast that he had looked forward to this assembly.
Scott Richardson was harder to read. Sitting with his baseball teammates in a row of folding chairs, he exuded the quiet confidence of a senior bound for a banner season. Michelle remembered his final year as if it had happened yesterday. Scott had not just bounced back from a knee injury; he had torn up diamonds around the state. He had led the league in hits and home runs as the Cowboys reached the playoffs for the first time in six years. But if Scott appeared confident and smug, he also appeared distracted and irritated. Every time he glanced at a corner of the stands, he frowned and turned away. Someone had apparently thrown him off his game.
Michelle had to step away from the wall to see Shelly Preston and April Burke. The best friends sat at the edge of the senior section, Shelly with her arms folded, April with a hand on her chin. Neither looked particularly happy. Michelle wasn't sure why, but she suspected it had something to do with the longhaired boy loitering by the main door. The attendance secretary had heard from students passing her office that Nick Bender had kicked someone out of his car on Highline Drive Friday night and done so in a way that drew a lot of attention. Michelle did not need a class of Mensa candidates to determine who had gotten the boot.
Brian Johnson appeared to be the most blissful of the bunch. He smiled and laughed next to the talkative Darla Hicks halfway up the stands. From what Michelle had seen and heard, the two were still going strong. They held hands in plain sight of others, which in Unionville was tantamount to getting engaged. Michelle was glad to see that Brian had finally turned a corner and found the happiness and attention he deserved.
After tapping the microphone three times, Principal Dennison got the festivities under way. He made a few announcements, greeted the students, and introduced coaches that everyone knew. Track coach Bruce Patterson spoke first. He called out his returning district champions by name and encouraged students in the stands to attend the first home meet on Thursday. Tennis coach Dave Walters used his speaking slot to recruit. He said many spaces still remained on the girls team and urged would-be Tracy Austins to turn out.
A moment later, Robert took the mike and introduced every member of the baseball team. He started with Scott and worked his through the starters and back-ups to boys who would probably never play. He even mentioned the equipment manager and scorekeepers. Robert Land considered every contributor important, whether they held a 32-ounce bat in their hand or a sharpened pencil. It was one of the things that his new wife loved about him most.
As Robert sung the praises of his statisticians, Michelle turned away from the assembly and thought of something the two had discussed in Reno: parenthood. They had called several social service agencies on Wednesday and Thursday and had found one, in Portland, that appeared ready and able to facilitate a speedy adoption. Not wanting to waste even a single day in their pursuit of a child, they had made an appointment to see an adoption counselor at the end of May. Just the thought of being a mother on Christmas morning left Michelle Land giddy.
Michelle awoke from her daydream and glanced at the man with the mike. Seeing that Robert had his audience firmly under control, she waved gently to her husband and started for the door. She had a lot of work to do and wanted to get back to the attendance office before hundreds of students filled the halls. But she stopped when Robert caught her eye and subtly held up a finger in his free hand. When he resumed speaking, she froze completely.
"There are many contributors to this program," Robert told the assembly. "I've introduced a few, the ones you see on the field. These are the people who will swing the bats and throw the pitches and do all the other necessary things to make a team successful."
Michelle smiled nervously. She wondered where this was going.
"Then there are others," Robert continued. "They are people who don't swing bats or keep stats but rather assist in many other important ways. They raise funds and raise awareness. They tutor and mentor. They encourage student athletes in ways coaches can't."
Michelle wanted to run out the door. She hated the spotlight, but she could already feel its pull. Robert's voice was like a verbal tractor beam that pulled her closer to the microphone.
"I would be remiss if I failed to mention one of those people today."
Robert held up his finger again and signaled Michelle to come his way.
"This particular person is not officially part of the baseball program. She is not officially a part of any program. Nor are her many contributions well known. Many of you, in fact, know her only as the woman who excuses your inexcusable absences."
Laughter filled the stands.
"She is much more than that though."
Robert lowered his voice.
"So let me take a moment to formally recognize someone who has done much for students and athletes since coming here in September, someone I have come to rely on in many matters, someone who continues to be one of this school's most enthusiastic and tireless supporters. Please welcome Michelle Jennings Land . . . my wife."
Michelle noted Robert's playful smile as she shook her head and slowly walked to the microphone. She could see that he had planned this moment for some time and relished every second. She took the mike from her husband and turned to face the audience.
Michelle did not like speaking to large groups and hated talking about herself. She would do this for the team because it's what the team's leader wanted. But as she looked at the students and acknowledged their reception, she realized that she would not have to speak at all. The deafening roar of six hundred people had rendered the matter moot.
CHAPTER 47: MICHELLE
Saturday, April 5, 1980
When patrons walked through the doors of the Decoy, they could expect a lot of things: friendly waitresses, reasonable prices, and the best omelets in town. They could also expect duck hunting photos scattered on every wall and a measure of privacy unmatched in any eating establishment in Unionville, Oregon.
Michelle thought of unmatched privacy as she sat in a quiet booth and watched the last of the breakfast crowd head for the exits. Whoever had written the letter on her table had known that the Decoy would be clear of customers by midmorning. She had also known that the diner was public enough to make a private meeting with a total stranger thinkable.
Michelle guessed that the author was female, even though the letter had not been signed. Men did not write like women and Michelle doubted that a man would have left such a note on the counter of the attendance office had he known she was married to Robert Land. A potential suitor would have to be out of his mind to risk the wrath of her powerful husband. Then again, there was nothing flirtatious about the message. The writer had been businesslike and direct: "Meet me at the Decoy at ten thirty Saturday. Come alone and bring an open mind."
She ran the last sentence again in her mind. Why did it matter that she come alone? Why did it matter that she bring an open mind? Was someone going to approach her with a pyramid scheme? Michelle wrestled with these and other questions as she sipped her coffee and stared blankly at the front door. She was about to look at the letter again when the door opened and a woman who appeared to be in her late thirties walked up to the cash register. She spoke briefly to the waitress and then walked through the dining area to the farthest booth.
"Michelle Land?"
"That's me."
"Do you mind if I sit?"
"Make yourself comfortable. You called this meeting."
The woman sat down in the seat opposite Michelle and put her purse on the table. Wearing jeans, a white blouse, and feathered brown hair, she looked a lot like a hundred other women in town and nothing like a busybody salesman or wife-stalking monster.
"I apologize for approaching you this way. I'm not very good at this sort of thing."
&n
bsp; "What sort of thing is that?"
"I've never met a stranger like this and I've never discussed what I'm about to discuss."
"What's this all about?" Michelle asked. "How do you know me?"
"I first heard of you through a very good friend, Dorothy Purcell. She runs the Unionville Women's Home. I learned more about you through my daughter. She is a junior at the high school. Her name is Pamela Mitchell."
"I know her. She's a sweet girl. But what does that have to do with me? You still haven't told me your name or what you want."
The woman raised her head and looked out a small window. She stared at the street beyond and tapped her fingers on the table before returning to Michelle. When she finally spoke, she did so in a measured voice that betrayed both weariness and sadness.
"My name is Allie Mitchell," she said. "I am a wife, a mother, and a business owner. I have lived in this town most of my life. For the most part, I am as ordinary a person as you will ever meet. But my experience in Unionville has been anything but ordinary."
"I still don't understand," Michelle said.
"I am thirty-eight years old, Mrs. Land, but I was not born in 1942. I was born in 1973 to an attorney and his wife who moved here from Denver, Colorado. I lived in a house less than a mile away and had a very normal existence until I entered a dark room one day and my life changed forever. To those who live in this community, I am Allie Mitchell. To those with memories that span time and space, I am something else. I am the face in the paper, the answer to a question, the girl who disappeared with her entire family on April 13, 1979. To those unfortunate few, I am Alice Franklin."
Michelle closed her eyes and sighed.
"I see that name means something to you."
"It does," Michelle answered. "It most certainly does."
"I thought it would. I've been watching you closely since you came here, ever since Dorothy told me that a Jane Doe had fainted in front of the barbershop. I knew someone would emerge from the mansion last year. I just didn't know who or precisely when. I wasn't sure it was you at first. I checked the papers daily to see if there were any unusual occurrences in town. I asked my friends in the police department if they had picked up anyone claiming to be a time traveler or something to that effect and their answer was always no. So I watched and waited. When Pam told me that you were performing miracles at the high school, I knew you had to be the one. I knew then that I had to contact you."
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