Janie clenches her jaw. Looks out the window. Feels the heat in her cheeks, the tears stinging.
The shame. Says softly, “It’s embarrassing, all right? My mom’s a freaking drunk. Stumbling around in the front yard, yelling? My God. I just don’t need Captain seeing that. Or knowing about that—that part of my life. It’s personal. There are things I talk about with Captain, and things that are private. Just drop it.”
Cabel is silent. After a few minutes of radio deejay babble, he plugs his iPod into the car stereo.
Josh Schicker’s “Feels Like Rain” washes through the car. When the song ends and the first notes of the next song begin, he stiffens and then hastily flips it off. Knows what’s next. Knows it’s “Good Mothers, Don’t Leave!”
An hour passes as they travel eastward across Michigan, leaving the sun setting orange and bright in their wake. Traffic is light. Janie leans her head against the window, watching the blur of deep green trees and yellow fields pass by. There’s a deer in a grassy area as darkness approaches—or maybe it’s just that burned-out tree stump that fools her every time.
She wonders how many more times she’ll witness scenes like this. Trying to remember everything she sees now, for later. When all she has is darkness and dreams.
She tries the hospital again. Still no record of Dorothea Hannagan. It’s a good sign, Janie thinks .
. . except that Carrie still isn’t calling. “Where is she?” Janie bounces her head against the headrest.
Cabel glances sidelong at Janie. “Carrie? Didn’t she say her phone’s dead?”
“She said her battery was low. But there are other phones. . . .”
Cabel taps his chin thoughtfully. “Does she actually know your cell number or are you on her speed dial?”
“Ahh. Good point. Speed dial.”
“So that’s why she hasn’t called. She doesn’t know your number, it’s in her dead phone and she can’t get to it.”
Janie smiles. Lets go of a worried breath. “Yeah . . . you’re probably right.”
“Did you try calling your house to see if your mom is there?”
“Yeah, I did that, too. No answer.”
“Do you have Stu’s number? Or Carrie’s home phone?”
“I tried her home. No answer. And I don’t have Stu’s. I should. I’ve always meant to. . . .”
“What about Melinda?”
“Yeah, right.” Janie snorts. “Just what I need—the knobs from the Hill spreading this story around.” She turns back to the window. “I’m sorry I was snippy. You know—earlier.”
Cabel smiles in the darkness. “S’okay.” He reaches for Janie’s hand. Snakes his fingers between hers. “I wasn’t thinking. My bad.” He pauses. “You know nobody thinks badly of you for things you can’t control, like what your mother does.”
“Nobody?” Janie scowls. “Right. They all have their opinion on the Durbin mess.”
“Nobody who matters.”
Janie tilts her head. “Yanno, Cabe, maybe neighbors, the entire town of Fieldridge . . . maybe what they think actually does matter to me. I mean, God. Forget it. I’m just so tired of all of this.
Sheesh, what next?”
After a pause, Cabel says, “Straight to the hospital, then, right?”
“Yeah, I figure that’s the best thing we can do. She could just be sitting, waiting in the ER. We’ll try that first . . . you think?”
“Yeah.”
9:57 p.m.
Janie and Cabel stand in the ER, unsure of what to do. No sign of Carrie or Janie’s mother anywhere among the assortment of ill and injured. No one at the desk has any record of her either.
Cabel taps his fingers against his lips, thinking. “Is Hannagan your mom’s married name?”
Janie squinches her eyes shut and sighs. “No.” She’s never told Cabel much about her mother, and he’s never asked. Which was just the way Janie liked it. Until now.
“Um . . . ?” Cabel prompts. “How do I put this PC. Let’s see. Okay, has your mom ever gone by any other name besides Hannagan?”
“No. Her name’s Dorothea Hannagan, and that’s the only name she’s ever had. I’m a bastard.
Okay?”
“Janie, seriously. Nobody cares about that.”
“Yeah, well, I care. At least you know who both your parents are.”
Cabel stares at Janie. “Fat lot of good that did me.”
“Oh, jeez, Cabe.” Janie grimaces. “I’m sorry. Major verbal typo. I’m stressed—I don’t know what
I’m saying.”
Cabel looks like he’s about to say something, but he holds back. Looks around again, futilely.
“Come on,” he says, grabbing Janie’s hand. “Elevator. We’ll walk around, check waiting rooms.
Ten minutes, tops, and if we don’t find Carrie, we head back to your house and wait. I don’t know what else to do.”
A shiver crawls over Janie’s skin. Her mother, the drunk, is missing.
10:02 p.m.
There, in the third-floor waiting room.
ICU.
Elbows on her knees and face in her hands, fingers threaded through her long dark curls.
Leaning forward. Like she’s ready to jump to her feet at any second and run like hell.