My Lost and Found Life

by Melodie Bowsher

  “My mom didn’t say anything about going out of town, did she?”

  “Not a word. Why? Where would she go?” Gloria said in a distracted tone. “Uh-oh, there’s someone at the door. Gotta go. Tell Diane to call me later.”

  She hung up. Officer Asshole must have arrived. I smiled inwardly, just a little. A few minutes with him and Gloria would be the one badgering me with questions. In the meantime, I dialed the number for Phil’s gas station.

  To my complete embarrassment, my mom had been going out with a mechanic for the past three years. I had to admit Phil was handsome in a rugged, outdoorsy way. He even had plenty of hair. Still, he wore cowboy boots and drove a truck. I wished my mother would date a doctor or lawyer or at least someone who wore a suit, carried a briefcase, and drove a Beamer.

  Phil owned a Shell station down on El Camino Real, the main drag through our little burb. Reynaldo, the Mexican guy who worked for him, answered the phone. He said Phil wasn’t at the station. “I think he’s at home,” he added when I pressed him.

  When I called Phil’s home number, a woman answered.

  Her voice sounded familiar, but she was definitely not my mother. She called, “It’s for you,” and Phil picked up the phone. I was curious who the woman was, but I let it go for the moment. I had enough to worry about.

  I asked him if he’d seen or talked to Diane today. Without a trace of embarrassment, Phil claimed he hadn’t seen her “in a while.”

  There was an awkward pause as I tried to take in his meaning. And then he hung up on me! I stood there, staring at the receiver, angry and more bewildered than ever.

  Before long, Gloria showed up at the front door. She dragged her two hyperactive horrors into the living room and began interrogating me. What did my mother tell me? Where could she be? And on and on. But I didn’t have any answers. She kept repeating over and over, “I can’t believe this. This is crazy,” until I wanted to slap her silly. Naturally, I restrained myself. Besides, knowing Gloria, she probably would have slapped me back.

  “I wanna go home,” whined her five-year-old, and the younger one stopped chasing Stella long enough to chime in.

  Finally, Gloria stopped barking questions at me and herded them outside. I should have been relieved, but I didn’t know what to do with myself after she backed her big SUV out of our driveway. I was alone again in the empty house, confused and impatient, with my mother’s whereabouts a complete mystery and the police lurking, if not in the driveway, then at least in my imagination. My stomach was in knots. I didn’t feel like sunbathing or watching the tube or eating. Even shopping didn’t sound like fun anymore. I called Nicole and backed out of our shopping excursion without telling her the real reason.

  All I could do was wait and worry. But sitting and waiting was too passive for me. I wanted to take action—any action. So I cleaned my bedroom. In a storm of activity, I hung up clothes, made my bed, and tried to organize the chaos, all in an effort to keep my anxiety under control. In the back of my mind, I also thought it would please my mother when she came back. I was certain she would come home and set the police straight.

  I found myself wishing I had a father or uncle I could call—someone who would fix this or make it all go away. But my father was dead. To tell the truth, a live Jimmy wouldn’t have been any comfort anyway. My darling daddy had spent his whole life obsessed with himself.

  Jimmy had been movie-star handsome, and women had fawned over him—my mother included, at least when I was little. Before he died, she seemed less infatuated than exasperated by him, as if he were a cat that couldn’t be taught to use the litter box instead of the bathroom rug. By the time I was ten, it was clear even to me he was a loser, a pathetically unsuccessful actor who spent his time drinking in bars and bitching because the world failed to recognize his genius.

  Diane always told a romantic tale of being alone in the world and then meeting my father at a wedding where he was tending bar. He claimed to have studied at the Actors Studio in New York, but somehow ended up in San Francisco instead of Hollywood. Anyway, they married, Diane had me, and we all lived unhappily ever after until he fell and cracked his skull outside his favorite tavern. I was fourteen when he died, and I didn’t miss him a bit. Why should I? It wasn’t as if I had ever been “Daddy’s little girl.”

  Jimmy always said he was an orphan, but I didn’t buy it. His relatives had probably disowned him long ago. Even if he’d had parents, siblings, or other relatives somewhere, I’d never know now that dear old Dad had gone to the happy hour in the sky.

  As for my mother’s family, they too were firmly planted in Holy Cross Memorial Park. There was no one left among the living. Only my mother and me.

  As the minutes and hours dragged by, I paced, channel-surfed with the TV’s remote control glued to my hand, and paced some more. I tried to watch a movie on the tube, but it was hopeless. I couldn’t sit still or concentrate. The knot in my stomach had moved up and was now firmly lodged in my chest. My emotions teetered between fear and anger. What was wrong with Diane to worry me like this? If she thought scaring me was going to change my mind and make me sorry for what I said, she was wrong, wrong, wrong. I was not going to be manipulated, and I was surprised my mother even imagined this kind of trick might work.

  Several times I picked up the telephone receiver and listened for a few seconds to the dial tone, just to make sure the damn thing was working. My cell phone was fully charged. I plugged it into the wall anyway just to make absolutely certain. My mother didn’t call.

  Around nine the phone rang, and I leaped for it. But it was only Gloria.

  “She’s not back,” I told her with an edge in my voice. “Listen, I want to keep this line open in case she calls.” I didn’t wait for her answer before hanging up.

  The only other person who called that night was Nicole. While I was tempted to unload the whole story on her, I didn’t. I reasoned that my mother would reappear any moment, and in the meantime, I didn’t want Nicole’s mother, Cindy, to find out. Although Gloria was bossy, she wasn’t mean. But Cindy was a total witch, and she didn’t like me. If she found out, in no time the whole town would know about the missing money and the police wanting to question my mother. Besides, I was certain that the whole thing was a mistake—it had to be.

  Every time I heard a car enter our street, I rushed to the window and peered out. A couple of times I saw a police car cruise by and slow down as it passed our house. Officer Strobel and his cohorts were keeping an eye out for my mother, the dangerous fugitive.

  Around midnight I turned out the lights, crawled into bed, and hugged my pillow to my chest. Sleep seemed impossible. I couldn’t stop worrying. My eyes stayed open, staring into the darkness. Even though I’ve never been a crier, I found myself fighting back tears. Where was my mother, and what was this all about? I was never afraid to be home alone at night, yet suddenly, our house exuded an eerie atmosphere. The whole place seemed empty and vaguely sinister, as if the walls, the furniture, and even the very air around me were thick with tension. It felt as if the house, too, were watching and waiting for my mother.

  Sometime after two I gave up trying to sleep, wrapped my comforter around me, and moved cautiously through the dark house to the living room. Without turning on any lights, I opened the drapes and propped myself up on the sofa cushions so I could watch the front yard and the street beyond. Through the open window I could smell the scent of the jasmine blooming along the front porch. The house was so still I could hear every noise outside as if I were eavesdropping on the sleeping neighborhood. Mrs. Musick’s back gate was banging in the cool breeze. Across the street the Goldmans’ Irish setter was barking, probably at Stella, who liked to prowl the neighborhood at night. Or maybe raccoons were visiting again—I could hear a rattling noise from the direction of the garbage cans. Our house creaked and groaned as if it couldn’t settle down either. A scrap of paper danced down the empty street. I listened and watched and at some point I finally fell asleep.r />
  Chapter Three

  I woke up to the sun shining in my eyes through the open drapes and Stella yowling up at me from the living room floor. Reluctantly, I sat up. A quick glance at the driveway confirmed my mother’s car still wasn’t there. I staggered into the kitchen. The clock said 6:47. I groaned and groped in the cupboard for the cat food, knowing Stella wouldn’t let up until I fed her. That, at least, was normal.

  After scraping some pukey brown muck into the cat dish, I stumbled down the hall and flopped on my bed. But even though I was exhausted, I couldn’t get back to sleep. Last night’s anger had dissipated, leaving only anxiety in its place.

  Finally, I pulled myself up again and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Same old Ashley—in fact, I looked good. How weird, when I felt as if I should have worry lines on my face or some other blemish to mark the misery of the last seventeen hours.

  Since no real alternative presented itself, I got ready for school. Staying home waiting for my mother all day would drive me completely off my rocker. Besides, I knew she’d show up—of course she would. In the meantime, I would do what I do best: look good and pretend I didn’t have a care in the world. This whole mess would be cleared up before the day was out. It had to be.

  Just to give me a happy reminder, a cop car cruised slowly by as I went out the front door. I ignored it.

  I tried to sashay through the morning, pretending that nothing had changed. It wasn’t hard to fool Scott. He was, as usual, oblivious to anyone else’s feelings. As he droned on, describing yesterday’s surfing, I stared up at his tanned face and sun-bleached hair. No doubt about it, he was a great boyfriend—good-looking, tall, a star athlete, a good dancer, and the owner of a brand-new Jeep Cherokee. Plenty of girls (including Mara) had tried to get their hooks into him over the past two years, but I knew how to reel him in when he got restless. Like most jocks, Scott enjoyed a challenge, so I never let him get too sure of himself. He also liked the prestige of having the homecoming queen as his girlfriend.

  Believe me, there were plenty of guys who wanted me, even though I didn’t put out. But why should that matter, when a hand job or blow job would do just as well? Sex was too risky, too messy, too much like surrender as far as I was concerned. I liked to be in control and keep Scott happy while teasing him with the promise of total capitulation in the future.

  Today, though, Scott’s lack of awareness annoyed me. In fact, no one at school noticed anything unusual about me although I was fighting hard to control my panic. Why didn’t my mother call? Where was she? I wanted to go home to see if she was there, and I was afraid to go home in case she wasn’t.

  There was no real reason to be at school—lessons and tests were over. All of us, students and teachers alike, were just serving out our sentences. In first period we watched a boring movie, and during second period we erased pencil marks from our textbooks. In third period, American Government, we slouched in our chairs while Mr. Grant, a pint-sized bully, blathered on.

  Then my cell phone rang.

  Everyone in the class turned around to stare as my phone beeped out a rendition of “What a Wonderful World.” Mr. G. paused in midcliché and raised his eyebrows in exaggerated astonishment.

  Ignoring all of them, I snapped my phone open and whispered, “Hello.”

  No response.

  Mr. G. barked out, “Ashley!”

  I ignored him and looked down to read who was calling. The screen said “Blocked ID.”

  “Hello,” I said again, much louder this time. “Hello.” Still, no one spoke. Frustrated, I pounded the buttons. But it was no use—the phone was dead.

  By this time Mr. G. had moved to my desk and stood there like a prison guard ready to clobber an unruly inmate.

  “My, my,” he said with undisguised glee. “Taking calls during class, are we? It must be of earth-shattering importance. Was it from the White House perhaps? Or maybe the governor wants your opinion on the state budget crisis?”

  “I’m expecting an important call,” I answered defensively. “From my mother.”

  “Your mother? Come, come, Ashley, I’m sure you can do better than that. What do you think, class? Does anyone here believe for one minute that our fair Ashley would disobey school rules to take a call from her mother?”

  Several students tittered in response.

  Smirking, Mr. G. continued. “Whatever your important call concerns, I fail to see why you should take up class time with it. If you’re overdue for a bikini-wax appointment, it has nothing to do with American government, does it?”

  A few of the geeky boys guffawed at this.

  Just in time the dismissal bell screeched, and everyone surged toward the door. I quickly moved with them, and Mr. G. called after me.

  “Don’t bring that phone in here tomorrow, Ashley, or I’ll own it.”

  Nicole was right on my heels and grabbed my arm in the hall. “What was that all about? What’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?” I feigned ignorance.

  “Why would your mother call you during school? And why were you acting so weird last night on the phone? Something must be wrong.” Her blue eyes blinked up at me in concern.

  I stared at her silently for a moment, weighing exactly what or how much I should tell her. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her. Talking about it meant that I couldn’t pretend anymore that it wasn’t really happening.

  Nicole and I had been friends since fourth grade. I could count on her. I found that out when we were only ten. One Friday afternoon the two of us were dropped off at my house after a gymnastics class. My mother wasn’t home from work yet. We came dashing in, giggling and happy because Nicole was sleeping over that night.

  I should have been warned by the smell.

  “P-U, what’s that stinky smell?” I said as we crossed the living room. That’s when we saw him. Outside the hallway bathroom, my father was lying facedown on the carpet, his gray pants and jockey shorts pulled down around his ankles. Jimmy’s body was twisted so we could see his naked butt, hairy legs, and soft, fleshy penis drooped to one side.

  We stood there for a moment, mouths open, staring at him in shock. I couldn’t help staring at his penis, which looked like one of those pale, slimy Italian sausages my mother sometimes cooked.

  “Is he...all right?” Nicole asked.

  I gave his closest body part, his upper arm, a sharp tap with the toe of my shoe. He snorted and stirred slightly without getting up. His eyes stayed closed, and I could see drool pooling in the corner of his mouth. The odor of alcohol emanating from him made my stomach lurch.

  “No,” I said. “He’s drunk. He’s a dirty, disgusting drunk. Let’s get out of here.”

  We went outside and sat on the porch. I was so humiliated that I wanted to run away and never come back. But I put on a big act and pretended nothing had happened, even though I wasn’t able to meet Nicole’s eyes. We were still sitting on the porch when my mother’s car pulled up a few minutes later. I lied and told my mother we hadn’t gone inside yet. Diane went in the house and came out again ten minutes later, giving me a searching look.

  “Let’s go out for pizza” was all she said. “Your father isn’t feeling well.”

  When we came home, Jimmy was in bed. The hallway still reeked of urine. We pretended not to notice. After Nicole left on Saturday, I worried that she would tell her mother or someone at school on Monday. I kept expecting Cindy to call and say my father was a pervert and Nicole couldn’t come to my house ever again. Her mother didn’t call, though, and no one said anything at school because Nicole didn’t tell. She never told anyone. I loved her for that.

  From then on, Nicole was my best friend. I protected her whenever anyone tried to bully her—even her mother. So it was time I filled Nicole in on my situation. But I only managed to get out the words “I need to tell you something” before Mara came prancing up to us.

  “Wait till you see my new blue bikini,” she boasted. “You’ll die when you see it. It�
�s very, very hot. Where did you buy yours, Ashley?”

  Even on a normal day I found Mara annoying. Although she was part of my crowd, I didn’t trust her, and with good reason. The girl was a complete wannabe and imitated everything I did. If I bought a pair of high-heeled suede boots, within days Mara would be clip-clopping down the hall in an identical pair. She even went to Sheila, my hairdresser, and asked her for the same hair cut. Being around her was like having an evil twin or clone or something.

  “Don’t you ever think about anything except clothes?” I snarled. “I swear, if you were going to have your head cut off on the guillotine, you’d be wondering what you should wear on the scaffold.”

  “God, what is your problem?” Mara squealed indignantly.

  “Guess what!” I said. “Some of us have real stuff to worry about.”

  I stomped away, and Nicole scurried after me to find out what was up. She followed me to the school parking lot and we sat in my car, talking. It was a relief to finally tell her about my mother.

  Her jaw dropped at my news. “No way! Your mother? It can’t be true. I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe it. I’m totally freaked. No one can find her, and the cops keep driving by my house.” I looked in the rearview mirror as if they might be pulling up behind me in the student lot. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “God, I hope nothing’s happened to her. What if she’s been kidnapped or something?”

  “You’re not cheering me up, Nic.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I mean, this is awful. I don’t know what to say. This kind of thing just doesn’t happen. To your mother, of all people.”

  “That’s what I thought, but it is happening. It’s a nightmare.” I blinked back tears. “We’re supposed to be leaving for Hawaii on Sunday, and I have no idea where my mother is. And what am I supposed to do for money? I just don’t know what to do. Maybe Diane has been kidnapped. Or what if she’s being framed for a crime she didn’t commit—you know, like in a movie? You know my mother. She doesn’t have the gumption to be a crook.”