AFTER JAMIE HUNG UP, Joe stood there for a time with the receiver still to his ear. He felt the anxious eyes of his parents. Still in their bathrobes, they were standing by the sink, his father’s arm protectively around his mother’s shoulders.
It was just three days ago that he had finally talked to his parents. The ship had just docked in the Libyan port city of Tripoli. He could tell the minute he heard his mother’s voice that something was wrong. She was too chipper. When he started asking questions, she insisted that nothing was amiss and that he should continue his trip for as long as he wanted. Then she had handed the phone to his father, who had rambled on about how he wished that he had traveled more as a young man and had seen the world just as Joe was now doing, and experienced the glory that was Greece and the grandeur that was Rome, and taken advantage of what only youth can offer, which was a definite about-face from the paternal lecture on responsibility that Joe had received when he’d told his father about his plan to stay on in Europe after he’d finished the course at Oxford.
Joe finally interrupted him. “Dad, what in the hell is going on? Did the house burn down? Is Mom sick?”
“No, no, no. Nothing’s wrong,” his father insisted. “Your mother and I were a little put off when you decided to stay over there, but we do want you to enjoy yourself before you have to settle down.”
Maybe there really was nothing wrong back home, but the phone call had left him with a deep sense of unease, and after roaming through the old city center for a time, he returned to the ship to collect his possessions. He didn’t bother to announce his departure, unsure if international maritime law permitted him to terminate his employment before the end of the voyage. He had flown standby to London’s Heathrow Airport, where he was lucky enough-after running at full steam through three terminal buildings-to arrive at the gate just as the last passengers were boarding a direct flight to Houston. The gate attendant said there was just enough time for him to make a quick phone call before he boarded.
His father answered. Joe blurted out the flight number and the time it was scheduled to arrive in Houston.
When his parents picked him up at the airport, his mother insisted they stop for coffee at an airport restaurant. That was when they told him that they couldn’t talk at home. Or in the car. Just in case the house and car were bugged. They were absolutely certain that their phone was tapped and that they were being followed everywhere they went and were being watched at this very minute.
Bugged? Tapped phones? Being followed? Joe wondered if his parents had gotten senile during his absence.
Then they explained that it had all started with a phone call from Jamie Long.
Their coffee grew cold as they told him about Jamie’s strange calls and how she seemed desperate to get in touch with him. How she behaved as though someone was listening in and wouldn’t say where she was or what sort of trouble she was in. And they told him about the mysterious “agents” who showed up at his grandparents’ house in Georgia in search of information about Jamie, including her relationship with their grandson. His grandparents had called friends in Mesquite and learned that these mysterious agents had been there, too, questioning all sorts of people-wanting to know who Jamie’s close friends had been and implying that she was in some sort of danger and that they were trying to find her so they could protect her. “But the only one who had seen or heard from Jamie since she packed up and drove away from Mesquite was the stonemason at that monument place out by the cemetery,” his mother said. “She had come by sometime in July and ordered a tombstone for her grandmother’s grave and paid him with cash. Everyone says it’s like she dropped off the face of the earth, and since Jamie was adamant that we not tell anyone we’d heard from her, we can’t tell them otherwise. I know you’ve always thought highly of her, Joe. And we are sorry for her, but now that we realize how serious her trouble must be, your father and I don’t want you to get involved.”
Joe quizzed his mother about the phone calls, wanting her to describe each one. She recalled that when she asked where Jamie was, all she would say was that she wasn’t in Texas. And she said that she was in trouble but had done nothing wrong. His mother hadn’t talked to her in more than two weeks.
His father explained that they hadn’t been home at the appointed hour for Jamie’s last phone call because they were delayed when they had to replace the alternator in their car. “Truth of the matter was we were both relieved that something beyond our control had prevented us being there. That way we didn’t have to feel guilty.”
They wanted him to get on the first available flight back to Europe. His mother had even put his name on standby for an Alitalia flight to Rome that left in two hours.
“Not until I’ve had some home cooking,” Joe joked, picking up his duffel bag.
Despite her nervousness, his mother outdid herself with some of his favorites-garlic grits, smothered pork chops, coleslaw with bacon and vinegar dressing, and strawberry shortcake for dessert. He knew that his parents didn’t eat like that anymore and that he shouldn’t either, but once in a while it sure was good.
And it felt good to crawl into his own bed rather than a narrow berth with not even enough headroom to sit up, although he did miss the motion of the ship plowing through the waves. More and more of late his before-sleep musings turned to Jamie.
He had really screwed things up with her.
He’d all but decided it was time to expand the parameters of their relationship when Marcia took his hand and led him out onto a tiny crowded dance floor in a downtown Austin bar and plastered her body against his. At the end of the dance, she led him to the ladies’ room, where she pushed him down on the toilet seat and straddled him. As they walked back to the dance floor, she reached over and shook his hand, then said, “I’m Marcia.”
Joe had been screwing Marcia for almost a year when he stopped at the dry cleaner’s to tell Jamie that he was getting married even though he wasn’t yet officially engaged. But he knew it was coming. Marcia expected it, and Joe felt like she was entitled.
Jamie seemed so forlorn, standing there at the counter in that dreary, steamy dry-cleaning establishment with rows of plastic-covered clothing hanging behind her, her hair damp with perspiration, putting on a brave, smiling face as she wished him well. A few weeks later he learned from his grandmother that Jamie had dropped out of school and gone back to Mesquite to look after the ailing Gladys. Joe knew he should call her. Or drive up for a weekend. But he hadn’t. Marcia would have expected to come with him to meet his grandparents. And he didn’t think he could face Jamie with Marcia at his side. Of course, no words had ever been spoken between him and Jamie. And there had been almost no touching-only high fives and crashing into each other when they grabbed at rebounds. But there was a place in his heart that belonged exclusively to the long-legged little girl whom he’d watched grow up into a lovely young woman with the most beautiful smile imaginable and eyes that glowed when she looked at him. But he felt kind of stupid being hung up on a kid, especially one who considered him a big brother of sorts. And if his thoughts about her turned the least bit sexual, he felt like a pedophile. Then, after Jamie developed into a shapely young woman, sexual thoughts seemed incestuous. She was still in high school when he started law school. And Marcia was gorgeous and funny and outrageously inventive when it came to sex.
For the most part, he hadn’t allowed himself to have anything but the most ethereal sort of daydreams about Jamie.
But not always.
Joe awakened early and went for a run. There was a FedEx truck parked at the end of the block. The dark tint of the windows prevented him from seeing who was inside. Since when was FedEx tinting its truck windows, he wondered.
He headed for the track at the high school, where he did laps for almost an hour. When he returned, the FedEx truck had been replaced by a black panel truck with tinted windows.
He smelled the coffee as soon as he opened the door. His parents were in the kitchen, his mother at the stove, his father setting the table. When the phone rang, Joe had gotten there first.
And now, he stood facing his wonderful parents who loved him completely and would do anything for him and said, “I have to go.”
Tears began to roll down his mother’s face. “Please, no,” she said, her head moving back and forth. “When Jamie first called I wanted you to help her. But whatever trouble she’s gotten herself into is too big, Joe. Too dangerous.”
His father nodded his agreement. “Wait until they catch her. Then maybe you can help with the legal side of things.”
Joe considered. He could do that, of course. But something in his gut told him that Jamie’s problem was outside the normal boundaries of the law. She knew something that she was not supposed to know. At one time, he would have encouraged her to turn herself in no matter how frightened she was and let the law straighten things out, but the more he learned about the law, the more he realized that being innocent sometimes wasn’t enough. The rule of law was like religion. At its heart it might be pure, but all too often it was bent by those in power to serve their purposes.
Strong voices within him warned him that getting involved in Jamie’s problem could be his undoing and cause his parents great anguish. He should look the other way.
But what kind of person would he be if he did that?
Or was it just that he was in love with Jamie Long and had been most of his life? And she never even knew it.
“I have to try to help her,” he told his parents.
The look on their faces was one of absolute fear with just a touch of pride. He was across the kitchen in an instant and put his arms around the two of them. “You’re all we have,” his mother cried, clinging to him.
Joe showered and ate breakfast. The black panel truck followed him to the bank, where he cashed out a CD.
He waited until dark-a long day, with the three of them trying to act normal as they watched a golf tournament on television and puttered about the kitchen fixing first lunch and then dinner. After the late news, he went upstairs to his bedroom. He waited until midnight, put on his backpack, and crawled out of his bedroom window onto one of the thick, spreading branches of the ancient post oak that had been the reason his parents had built their home on this particular lot.
Keeping well in the shadows cast by the six-foot fence, Joe made his way to the back of the yard, scrambled over the fence, and dropped into another backyard. He went along the side of the house toward the street. Before he stepped out of the shadows, he watched a long time for any movement.
He took a circuitous route to the storage facility on Gessner Road. When he arrived he hid behind the small office building for twenty or so minutes. Finally convinced that he had not been followed, he entered the code on the punch pad to unlock the outer gate, then closed it behind him.
He got a bit of a thrill when he opened the overhead door to his storage unit and saw the vintage Harley parked there among the other possessions that he’d acquired during his Austin years.
Minutes later, he was on his way. Even though he was fairly certain that he was not being followed, he rode around the Memorial area for a time, then took a turn through downtown and headed south on Galveston Road. Only when he was absolutely certain that he was in the clear did he make a U-turn and head north, cutting over to Interstate 45. He then took I-610 to Highway 290, which took him into Brenham. He was there before dawn and checked into a generic motel where he slept for a few hours, then ate a huge breakfast at a pancake house and got directions to the Independence Cemetery from the waitress. He arrived well before noon, parked his bike in the back of the cemetery, and wandered around for a time. With its stately old trees and ancient tombstones, the cemetery was a poignantly beautiful place. Maybe someday he and Jamie could come back here and poke around.
He waited until after one o’clock, and since he hadn’t passed any semblance of an eating establishment on the ride out from Brenham, he made his way back to the town. He ate lunch in a vintage hotel and wandered around the quaint downtown for a time.
Around five, he headed back up Highway 50 to the cemetery. He waited until dark before heading back to town.
He downed a few beers at a tavern to take the edge off his disappointment, then fell asleep watching TV in his motel room.
The next morning he killed time poking around the rolling countryside, arriving at the cemetery well before noon. He wandered up and down the rows of headstones, glancing up every time a car approached, which wasn’t very often.
At two, he got on the Harley and headed back to town. At five-thirty he was back at the cemetery. Once again there were no people, no vehicles, no Jamie.
But it was not yet dusk.
To pass the time he began to make a more methodical inspection of the cemetery. He hadn’t taken two steps when he saw a pair of tattered athletic shoes jutting out from behind a tombstone.
The wearer of the shoes was a sleeping female with a baby in her arms. Her face and arms were sunburned and smudged with dirt. Her brown hair was dusty and disheveled. Her clothing was filthy. She looked limp-more like she had passed out than fallen asleep. The baby was awake and seemed to be studying the gently moving leaves on the low-hanging branch of a live oak.
He felt as though he should look further. This person could not be Jamie. Jamie had long, beautiful blond hair. Jamie was a lovely young woman. This woman wasn’t lovely. And Jamie wouldn’t have a baby.
But this person had her long legs. And the sweet curve of her chin.
He knelt and put a hand on her shoulder. When she opened her eyes, she smiled.
“Jamie?”
“Hi,” she said, struggling to a sitting position, the baby cradled in one arm. He grabbed her free arm and helped her to her feet. Once she was upright, she closed her eyes for a few seconds and took a deep breath.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Just hungry and thirsty,” she said. “And I desperately need a bath.”
Joe fished a water bottle and a small bag of peanuts out of one of the Harley’s saddlebags and watched while she wolfed down the peanuts and drank the entire bottle of water.
He helped her put the baby in a cloth contrivance she wore across her stomach, then held her arm as she slung a leg over the Harley. When he climbed on, she grabbed hold of his belt. “Don’t go fast,” she said. “I’m feeling kind of dizzy.”
He drove at a very sedate pace back into Brenham, enveloped in a cloud of disappointment. He had expected more from finally seeing Jamie once again. A great deal more.
He pulled into the same motel, wondering if he should find someplace nicer. But Jamie felt pretty limp behind him, and the baby was crying. He helped her off and took her into the room. “I’ll go get you something to eat. What sounds good?”
“Anything. And I need diapers. And I’d really like to see a newspaper.”
“What about some milk for him?” he asked, nodding toward the baby.
She shook her head. “I’m nursing him.”
“So, he’s your baby?”
She closed her eyes and nodded. “Oh, yes. He’s my baby.”
When he arrived back at the motel, Joe knocked on the door. There was no answer.
He unlocked the door and peeked inside. He could hear the water running in the bathroom. The baby was lying in the middle of one of the double beds. Joe put his purchases on the table, iced the beer, then stood looking down at the baby. He was quite small and had big eyes and was waving his arms about aimlessly. “I’m sure you are a nice enough baby,” Joe said, “but I must admit that I’m not very happy about you.”
Jamie came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her body and another around her head.
“Do you have any extra clothes?” she asked, heading for the table. “And I need to borrow a comb,” she added as she picked up one of the milkshakes, took off the lid and gulped some down. Then she ate a handful of fries and unwrapped a hamburger.
Joe produced a pair of gym shorts, a T-shirt, and a comb. Jamie went back into the bathroom. When she emerged again, her wet hair was combed, and she was wearing his clothes. She picked up the phone and called the office to ask if there were laundry facilities.
When she hung up she covered the now sleeping baby with a corner of the bedspread, picked up the newspaper, and glanced at the headlines on the front page. Apparently she found what she looking for on page two. She read the story and ate the rest of the hamburger. “You have any quarters?” she asked.
While she was in the laundry room, Joe read the article on page two. A baby girl kidnapped from an Oklahoma City apartment house had been left in a hospital waiting room apparently unharmed and was returned to her mother’s arms. A woman named Janet Wisdom had been caring for the baby in her apartment. Wisdom was now missing, along with her own child. There were no signs of violence in the apartment, but there was a dead dog on the bed. Police were searching for Wisdom and her infant son.
When Jamie returned, she glanced at the baby, then sat across the table from Joe and reached for his hand. “Thank you,” she said and burst into tears.
Joe knelt in front of her and took her in his arms. Then he helped her to the empty bed and stretched out beside her, cradling her, stroking her damp hair, her arms, her back. His shoulder grew wet with her tears. At one point he went to the bathroom for the box of tissues. She blew her nose and tried to regain control. But she couldn’t. Not yet. She said something about a dog named Ralph. And being so afraid. So very afraid.
Finally, she was cried out. She blew her nose again then went to splash water on her face. When she returned the baby was starting to thrash about. Jamie picked him up, leaned against the headboard, propped a pillow under her left arm.
Joe carefully looked away as she placed the baby at her breast. He felt jealous of a very small baby.
He wanted to ask who the father was-and if she had loved the man. If she had been married to him. Or maybe he should turn on the television. He couldn’t just sit here not watching her nurse a baby. He offered to get her clothes from the drier.
He took his time, jogging around the block several times before searching for the motel laundry room. When he returned, Jamie was curled on the bed. The baby was asleep in a dresser drawer with a folded blanket for a mattress. Jamie opened her eyes and offered a small smile. “I’m in terrible trouble,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said. “I figured out that much on my own.” He covered her limp body with a blanket then sat beside her and stroked her shoulder.
“They killed my dog so he wouldn’t bark while they stole my baby, but they took the wrong baby. Then they came back to kill me.”
He could hear the utter exhaustion in her voice. “You go ahead and sleep,” he said with more gallantry than he felt. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“This isn’t how I thought it would be when we first saw each other again,” she said, her eyes fluttering closed.
“Have you thought about that-about us seeing each other again?”
“Yeah. What about you?”
“Me, too,” he said. He ran a finger along her jawline, then briefly touched her lower lip. She had a beautiful mouth. As a sixteen-year-old boy he had felt like a dirty old man because he thought that ten-year-old Jamie Long had the most beautiful mouth he had ever seen.
She kissed the tip of his finger, then gave herself over to sleep.
He understood that she was exhausted, but he felt cheated. And a little regretful that he was here at all. Maybe more than a little.
He drank two cans of beer then took a shower and crawled into the empty bed.