by Sara Rosett
“It doesn’t look like you need any help with organizing anything,” I said doubtfully.
“No, I know where her things are.” She ran her hand over the tape that sealed the box before continuing. “Honestly, I can’t bear to look through Jodi’s life right now. Every small thing will bring back a memory. I’d get lost in memories.” She blinked a few times, then said briskly, “I can’t allow myself to do that. There’s too much to do.”
I nodded and swallowed. If Nita wasn’t going to cry, I wouldn’t let myself either, but I could see how torn up she was.
“I’ll leave you to look around.”
Nita left and I sighed. She’d described all this stuff as Jodi’s life, but it was a life on hold, frozen until there was some resolution. Maybe it was because it was gloomy in the garage—there was only one window and one overhead light—but a feeling of sadness seemed to permeate the place. Once, when Mitch and I were looking at houses, we stepped inside the front door and I knew immediately that neither one of us liked the dark, almost sad, room. Our agent had scurried around opening curtains as he said, “Sometimes houses get in a funk. They have a bad vibe to them.”
This garage definitely had a bad vibe that made me want to get out. I gripped the corner of the tape and pulled. The rip seemed to echo around the open space. I pulled back the flaps and dug into the box. We’d moved so often I was pretty good at assessing what was in a box by looking at a few things on the top layer or two. This one held personal bills. The next box was clippings of her newspaper articles. I heaved those aside and opened the third one. It contained more articles, office supplies, and some framed photographs wrapped in newspaper. The next box held thick spiral-bound notebooks. The covers had looping handwritten titles, Mass Communication Research Methods, Public Relations, and History of Information.
Jodi was a keeper. She didn’t throw things out. She hung on to stuff, even her old college notes. I flipped through a few and found the same indecipherable shorthand. I moved that box to a different stack. I bet Jodi had packed these when she finished college and hadn’t opened them since.
I went through the rest of the boxes, then dusted my hands on my jeans and went back up the steps and into the kitchen. Nita was sitting at the kitchen table, which was covered with papers. She waved me over as she spoke into the phone. “Right. Saturday. You’ll send out the e-mail? Thank you.” She hung up. “I had to get in touch with Colleen since she maintains the Web site for us. We’ve got to get the word out about the change in the search location.”
Did this woman never get tired? She seemed to always be juggling some aspect of the search for Jodi. If it wasn’t TV appearances, then it was searches.
“What do you think?” Nita asked.
“Well, there’s only three boxes from her office. Why don’t I start with those? Would you mind if I took them home? If you’re uncomfortable with that, I completely understand. I might not be able to get back here until later next week.” I didn’t know if she’d let the boxes out of her house since each item connected with Jodi seemed special to her, but if she let me take them, then I didn’t have to spend time in the depressing garage.
“Of course you can take them. I know you’ll take good care of everything.”
She wanted to help me carry the boxes, but I wouldn’t let her. She stood beside the Jetta and watched. “Thank you, Ellie.” She handed me a check. “This is for your help with Jodi’s notebook.”
I thanked her and she went back inside, the garage door slowly rolling down on the artifacts of Jodi’s life. I had just enough time to run by the store and pick up Nathan’s birthday present. A plastic sandbox, even the small one, was just too noticeable to stick in the shopping cart without Nathan seeing it. The days when I could buy presents for the kids while they snoozed or cooed while strapped into the front of the cart were over.
I stepped out of the shower the next morning and heard a tap on my door. I slapped on some lotion and struggled into my clothes. I checked the clock as I hurried through the bedroom. Six-ten. Livvy was even earlier today than usual. She had the uncanny ability to wake up only seconds after I did each morning. I had no idea how she did it. Did she hear the hot water running? More likely it was some sixth sense that let her know people, adult-types, were up and moving around and she should get up, too.
The quiet tap sounded again before I opened the door. Livvy smiled up at me from under the brim of her flowered baseball cap. She’d dressed herself in a pink top with flowers that matched the cap. She’d paired it with an orange skirt and mismatched socks. Her hands clasped behind her, she twisted from side to side. “Good morning, Mom! Nathan is still asleep. I was very quiet.”
“Good morning,” I said as I opened the door wide and dropped a kiss on her head. She skipped past me and dove for the bed, delighted. She’d scored some one-on-one mommy time.
“You look nice. Good job dressing yourself.” I went back into the bathroom and combed my hair. I didn’t realize until I became a mom that my attention was the prize that both Livvy and Nathan competed for. It could really wear me out, especially when it started at six in the morning.
While Livvy played with my makeup brushes I clicked on the blow-dryer and worked my hair over until it was only damp, then pulled it back in a ponytail. No time for anything else because by now Nathan was demanding to be let out of his crib.
I scooped him up, snuggled him close. For a couple of precious minutes he burrowed into my shoulder; then he wiggled impatiently. He had things to do—furniture to try and climb, crumbs to search for on the floor, and a sister to annoy. I changed his diaper, dressed him, and released him to explore.
I went into the kitchen and put on some water to boil for oatmeal. “A man is coming to our door,” Livvy reported from her post at the narrow window beside the front door.
I frowned and went to look. The man looked respectable enough—suit and tie—even a little familiar. He rang the bell and I opened the heavy front door. The glass screen door still separated us. A volley of deep barks came from the backyard. Rex had heard the doorbell.
The man hesitated a moment as the barks sounded, then realizing the dog wasn’t in the house, asked, “Mrs. Avery?”
Livvy had been standing under my arm, but she scampered off.
“Yes,” I said slowly. I couldn’t place him, but I knew I’d seen him before. He reminded me of a highly polished stone. Everything about him seemed to gleam—his dark hair, his teeth, even his eyes. And his skin looked odd; it was too smooth and had a funny cast to it. He shifted and I realized he was wearing thick makeup. As he moved I saw the street behind him was lined with satellite trucks. A woman strode up my sidewalk.
Even though the brunette’s hair was smooth instead of that intentionally messy style like it had been the last time I’d seen her, I still recognized Chelsea O’Mara, a reporter with 24/7, a news magazine that specialized in sensationalized news.
The man pulled open the glass screen door and said, “Good morning! I’m Skip Collins.”
That’s where I’d seen him. He was a correspondent for one of the cable networks. I wanted to blurt out, “You look so much better on TV,” but instead, I pulled the screen’s handle to close the door, but he held tight. “Please, don’t go. I’d like to ask you a few questions about Jodi Lockworth. You want to help find her, don’t you?”
I yanked on the handle, but his grip didn’t loosen. Behind him, Chelsea pounded up the steps and tried to wedge herself in front of him, saying, “Is it true that Jodi Lockworth said she’d return to this house before the end of the week?”
I felt a surge of panic. They wouldn’t force their way inside, would they? I pulled on the handle as hard as I could, but with two people bracing it open I couldn’t close it. I let go and reached back to close the front door. A clicking sound came from behind me as Rex rounded the corner from the kitchen, his paws slipping and sliding on the hardwood floor. He spotted the two strangers at the door and let out another volley of deep bark
s.
They let go of the door and nearly fell backward down the steps. The glass door closed on its valve, causing Rex to do a face-plant into the plate glass, leaving a huge slobbery mark. He kept his nose pressed to the glass, alternately growling and whining, not sure if the people were bad guys who needed a bite taken out of them or if they were good guys willing to play a little fetch.
I nudged him out of the way with my foot, closed the front door, and slid the dead bolt into place.
“I opened the door for Rex. He wanted to come inside,” Livvy said from the kitchen. Behind her, steam rose from the boiling water.
“Thank you, Livvy, you did great. I wanted him inside, too.”
I dumped oatmeal into the boiling water. It’s funny that no matter what crisis is going on, the basics, like keeping the kids fed on a reasonable schedule, take top priority. I lifted a slat of the plantation blinds that I hadn’t opened yet. Four satellite trucks and seven or eight people milled around on the street. Not on my lawn, so I didn’t think they were technically on my property.
The phone rang and I jumped. I took a deep breath to calm down. Okay, I was a little on edge. I recognized Abby’s number on the caller ID.
As soon as I said hello, she said, “Ellie, your house is on TV.”
“Now?” I asked. “Right this minute?” I slanted the blind up again. I’d missed the guy with a camera stationed across the street, getting a wide shot of our house.
“Channel forty-two,” Abby said over Charlie’s jabbering in the background.
I heard a splat behind me and spun around. “Hold on. I forgot about the oatmeal.” I sprinted into the kitchen, stirred the oatmeal, then grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Both kids were by my side instantly. Livvy said, “Channel twenty-seven, Mom. Twenty-seven.”
She was already savvy enough to know which channel to tune to for her shows. I tilted the phone away from my chin and said, “We’re not watching kid shows this morning.”
“That’s our house,” Livvy said.
An Everything In Its Place Tip for an Organized Party
Party Countdown Checklist (Two Weeks Prior)
Address and mail invitations or send e-vites.
Reserve rentals with rental company and/or contact friends and ask to borrow items you’ll need for the party.
Plan menu.
Order cake, if needed.
Plan flow of party. Where will you put the food, the drinks, the kids, and the pets?
Make shopping lists.
Make to-do list. Include things you want to accomplish around your home, but don’t get too carried away. You don’t have to redecorate your house. Entertaining can be a great motivator to get little items accomplished. Now is not the time to put in a pool, but cleaning the carpets would be manageable.
Plan decorations.
Purchase nonperishable items.
Follow up with guests who haven’t responded to the invitation.
Chapter Twenty
“Our house is on TV,” Livvy said, delighted. “Let’s call Grammy and Nana so they can see it, too.”
“Let’s not,” I said. I didn’t want to attempt to explain what was going on to both sets of grandparents. Livvy’s face fell. She loved making long-distance calls to her grandmothers.
“For one thing, it’s too early. Maybe later.”
Livvy thought everyone was as delighted with dawn as she was. She huffed and stomped off down the hall.
Nathan had levered himself up and had his face planted directly in front of the TV. He put out his pudgy finger and pushed the button to turn the TV off. He grinned and punched the button again.
I said to Abby, “Can you hold on for a second?”
“Sure.”
Nathan aimed for the button again. I caught his hand and held it. “No.” I pointed to the button and repeated, “No.” I let his hand go and, just like I knew he would, Nathan reached for the button again. I repeated the word no and picked him up. He knew exactly where he was going—his room for a time-out. The howling started immediately.
After I put him in his bed, I shut the door on his wailing. I absolutely hated this part of parenting. I knew he’d only cry for a few seconds. And when I went back to get him after one minute he’d be fine. It didn’t matter, though, I still hated being the heavy, the one who had to hold the line.
I picked the phone back up. “Okay. I’ve got one kid mad at me, the other screaming at full volume, and my house is on national TV.”
“Sounds like a typical morning. Except for the TV part,” Abby said.
I turned the TV off. There was no way I could hear it now anyway. “So, what are they saying?” I went into the kitchen, pushed the oatmeal pan to the back of the stove, and pulled out the juice and milk.
“That Jodi will be back before Halloween.”
“What?”
“I know. It sounds crazy, but they’re reporting a rumor going around that Jodi has never missed her mother’s birthday and she’ll be home to help her celebrate. Nita’s birthday is October thirtieth.”
“Then why are they at my house? Shouldn’t they be at Nita’s? Not that I’d wish that group of people on anyone, but she wants to talk to them. I don’t.”
“Apparently, they got a tip that Jodi left evidence in her house, telling where she’d be.”
I pursed my lips. Well, they were half right. There had been evidence in the house. But as for telling where Jodi was…so far it hadn’t been very enlightening about that subject. “You know, I didn’t try to keep the discovery of Jodi’s notebook quiet and Waraday hadn’t warned Nita and me not to talk about it, so I suppose if someone was asking questions it wouldn’t be too hard to find out about it. That could be the source of the rumor about evidence in our house, but the part about Jodi returning, I don’t know where that came from. Are we still on TV?”
“Yep. Your pumpkins look great. Nice arrangement on the steps. You should add some cornstalks, too—”
“Abby! This is not the time to focus on decorating.”
“Sorry. Do you want me to come over there? I could, I don’t know, create a distraction.”
“No distraction creation.” Abby had a tendency to create distractions without meaning to. Who knows what she’d do if she was trying to create a disturbance? “At least not yet.” I scooped the oatmeal into bowls and transferred them to the table with the phone tucked between my shoulder and ear. “I was planning on staying home this morning anyway. I have lots of party stuff to do, like bake Nathan’s cake and make the goodie bags. The reporters will get bored and be gone in a couple of minutes.”
They were still there at noon. We’d baked a cake, had lunch, and played two games of Jack and the Beanstalk in which Livvy was the director of our little play and I had to be the giant and the cow. All those activities occurred between fielding several phone calls from curious friends and neighbors.
I stuffed the goodie bags and iced the cake. They were still there. It was almost one o’clock and I had a serious case of cabin fever. It’s one thing to stay home all day by choice; it’s quite another thing to know you can’t leave. Well, I supposed we could leave, but I didn’t want to brave the wall of reporters. Two satellite trucks were blocking the end of the driveway and I didn’t know if they’d move.
I had things I needed to do, including buying the candle. Even though it was just one candle, we definitely had to have it. Can’t have a first birthday party without a candle. And I needed to pick up ice cream, balloons, and a few essentials, like diapers. Nathan was napping now and I’d been planning on making a run to the store after he woke up. I’d been so sure they’d lose interest and leave after a few hours.
I wished there was some way to get word to Mitch about what was going on. He was flying home today, so I couldn’t get in touch with him until he landed at the base later tonight. For a few seconds, I considered calling the command post and asking them to patch me through to the plane, but I discarded the idea almost as quickly as it popped i
nto my head. That seemed a little extreme just to warn someone that the press was camped out in front of their house. I settled for calling his cell phone. I didn’t know how to summarize everything that had happened in a few quick sentences, so when his voice mail switched on I said, “Mitch, call me before you come home. Don’t worry, everyone’s fine, just call when you get this.”
I raised one of the slats of the blinds and saw Coleman at the center of the cluster of reporters. Well, if anyone could get them to leave, he could. The homeowners’ association probably had a “no assembly without a permit” clause.
I dropped the slat and paced around the dining room. Soft singing came from Livvy’s room, where she had a huge game going that involved spreading toys over every surface.
I made a list of things I needed at the store, then checked the street again. Coleman was arguing. I could hear his raised voice through the window, but the reporters weren’t moving. I paced around the dining room again, running through my mental checklist of things I needed to do to get ready for the party. I was going to clean tomorrow before everyone arrived because otherwise it was a wasted effort. If I cleaned today, the house would look good for about fifteen minutes.
I paced some more, trying to think of something to do to get my mind off the circus in the front yard. I couldn’t work in the box room right now because I’d wake up Nathan. Surely there was something else I could sort or organize?
Jodi’s boxes. I dragged them from the garage into the study and planted myself on the floor with the boxes encircling me. I settled down to some serious paper sorting. Twenty minutes later, I was about two inches deep into the box and had several stacks of paper.
I unfolded another crumpled receipt and put it on one of the stacks. Apparently, any time Jodi charged anything or paid a bill she tossed the receipts and statements in this box.