She's Gone: A Novel (25 page)

32

Fireworks

On Friday morning, Jolie paced back and forth on the back porch while Will slept. Her bag was packed for New York. The letter to her parents was tucked in the bottom, and the sealed envelope for Leon, along with his phone number, was in the side pocket. Feeling guilty about leaving Will for the weekend, she went into the kitchen and made a double batch of chocolate chip cookies. He could take some into the office for Charlie and Adam and the others.

Will came up behind her and put his arms around her. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

She inhaled and her body stiffened. “Don’t worry. I’m not hitchhiking. I’m never hitchhiking again.”

The terror of that night played in her mind like a movie that wouldn’t stop. She had wanted to find his house again and call the police. Daniel encouraged her to report it. He kept insisting that they had a description of the car, and she could probably locate the neighborhood again. But the police could unveil her secret, her true identity. It weighed heavily on her that the evil man was still out there and other girls could fall victim. The day before she had finally gotten up the nerve and used a pay phone in Harvard Square to call the police. She described the car, the man and his North Quincy neighborhood and the three locks on the door. The officer on the phone thanked her and encouraged her to come in to the station. In a panic she hung up.

“I don’t want you to go.” She felt his body shift behind her and he held her tighter.

She stared straight ahead and willed herself to be strong. “I’m going. Leah is picking me up at ten.” He turned her around and looked into her eyes.

“Leah said we’re going to the watch the fireworks tomorrow from a rooftop.” She was looking forward to it. Anything to get her mind off the attempted kidnapping.

“Oh, so you’re getting all patriotic now?” From his sly grin, she knew he was kidding.

Around ten, a horn honked out front. “They’re here,” she said.

Will held her by the shoulders facing him. “I’ll miss you. Make sure you call Leon. The letter has to be delivered tomorrow.”

She nodded and picked up her pack and camera. “Bye.” She grabbed a bag of warm cookies and bounded down the stairs to the waiting car.

Jolie hopped into the back seat of the white Chevy Nova. She looked up at the house. Will’s imposing figure stood in the living room window, watching them. She waved to him. Leah and Sarah waved, too. Will smiled and flashed the peace sign as they drove off.

“He’s so handsome,” Leah said.

“Is he a real revolutionary?” Sarah asked.

“I guess if the FBI thinks you’re a revolutionary, maybe you are,” Jolie said.

“The FBI?” Leah and Sarah said in unison.

“Just kidding,” Jolie said.

Leah drove south on I-93. James Taylor crooned from the radio. Jolie sank back into the seat. They were going to New York.

“I can’t wait to go to SoHo and check out the vintage clothing stores. You have me hooked now,” Leah said.

“Me too. Look at this cool blouse I got at the vintage store by our house,” Sarah said, tugging at the sleeve of her blouse.

Jolie peered over the seat at Sarah’s silk blouse. Delicate beading adorned the scooped neckline. “Good find.”

“My mother is so excited we’re coming. She’s making a ton of food. She said she wants to fatten you up.”

Jolie sat back and listened to the music while Leah and Sarah talked. She was nervous about going back to New York, but knew she would be safe staying at Leah’s parents. It was going to be a good weekend. If she could just get the image of that evil man out of her head.

Sarah passed back a
Vogue
magazine. Jolie flipped through the pages. “I can’t believe they are trying to force us into the midi,” Jolie said. “They’re saying the mini was the sixties and the midi is the seventies.”

“Nobody’s listening,” Leah said.

“They’re hideous. Half way below your knees.” Sarah said.

“Let’s all get hot pants this weekend,” Leah said.

“Your mother would never let you wear them,” Sarah said.

“I’ll wear them in Boston,” Leah said.

They laughed and continued their banter about clothes. Four hours later, the New York skyline was visible. Leah drove through the congestion into Brooklyn and the Borough Park neighborhood. Jolie looked out the window, fascinated. Many of the men had long beards and wore small round caps. Others wore black jackets and black pants with white dress shirts and black fedoras. Some wore fur hats. Fur, in the summer? Jolie asked about the clothes.

“They’re Orthodox Jews. They live strictly according to the Torah,” Sarah said.

“You can tell which movement they follow by their hats. The little round caps are called yarmulkes,” Leah said.

They passed a woman wearing a shawl over her head. “If you are an Orthodox married woman, you are not allowed to show your hair,” Sarah said.

“What are your parents?” Jolie said.

“Both of our parents are modern, but kosher. You’ll get to meet my parents tomorrow at the temple,” Sarah said.

“The temple?” Jolie asked.

“The synagogue.” Sarah looked at Leah. “You forgot to tell her we go to prayer on Saturday?”

Leah looked at Jolie in the rearview mirror and raised her eyebrows. “Sorry.”

“I’m sort of a Buddhist,” Jolie said.

“Sort of?” Leah said.

“Well, I adhere to the teachings but I do kill spiders when they come in the house. So technically I violate one of the teachings and probably won’t obtain enlightenment.”

Leah and Sarah looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“Being a Buddhist should get you off the hook for tomorrow,” Leah said, pulling into the driveway of a large three-story house.

Sarah hopped out and grabbed her bags from the trunk and ran up the steps. “See you later.”

Leah drove another block and pulled into a driveway with a similar style three-story house. She sounded the horn once. The front door opened, and Leah’s mom beamed at them. They slung their packs, purses, and Leah’s oversized laundry bag over their shoulders and followed Leah’s mom into the house.

Dark antique furniture and thick Oriental rugs welcomed them. Jolie scanned the built-in bookcases laden with books. A massive fireplace with a carved wooden mantel anchored one wall. Black-and-white photographs covered the walls on either side. The people in the photos posed for the cameraman. The clothes, dark and thick, looked like scratchy wool. Were they relatives from Europe? What kind of camera did they have back then? The room was like a museum adorned with hand-painted ceramic vases and oil paintings.

Leah’s mom led them into the kitchen. Two platters were piled high with small sandwich squares and bite-sized cakes. It was all for them. They washed up and sat down at the table. They were starving, and Leah’s mom watched approvingly as they ate and talked about Boston until they couldn’t eat another bite.

“Let’s get you settled,” Leah’s mom said to Jolie. They picked up their bags, and Jolie followed them upstairs to the third floor where Leah and her brother’s bedrooms and a guest room were located.

“This will be your room when you come to stay.” Leah’s mom led them into the guest room.

Her room? She was already being asked back? “Thank you,” Jolie said. An antique four-poster bed with a white chenille bedspread awaited her. An armoire and matching dresser were set against a wall. Intricate lace doilies had been placed on the dresser. “It’s beautiful.” She put her bag down and followed Leah to her room. Leah’s mom went back downstairs to start dinner.

A pink canopy bed and light pink walls gave the room a soft glow.

“My room at home is pink,” Jolie said.

“I hate it.”

“Me too. Why do they assume we like pink?”

A thundering noise approached from the stairs. A second later, a tall young man burst in. He moved toward Leah and without hesitation put his arms around her waist and whirled her around.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he said. He noticed Jolie and seemed startled.

“Missed you too. This is my friend, Jolie. Jolie this is my brother, Zack.”

They surveyed each other in silence. His tall lean frame hovered above her. His square jaw and smile were framed by a halo of longish black curls, just like Leah’s. She resisted the urge to touch them.

“It’s good to meet you,” he said.

A radiant smile spread across her face. “Nice to meet you too.”

Leah and Zack launched into catch-up mode and quickly filled each other in on friends and events. Jolie liked it here, in this big welcoming house. Leah’s mom stood at the door, smiling.

“My baby’s home,” she said. “Dinner is at six and your father will be home soon.”

They all went to their rooms to clean up and change. Before Leah and Jolie went downstairs, they dabbed patchouli oil on their wrists and neck. Jolie followed Leah as she dashed down the stairs two at a time to greet her father.

“Welcome home, princess,” he said, hugging Leah. He stood back and sniffed. “What is that musty smell?”

Leah’s mother lit two candles on the dining room table and carried in the homemade challahs. The warm, yeasty-smelling bread was covered with an embroidered cloth.

They took their places at the dining room table. Leah’s father stood over the bread and said a prayer in Hebrew. They toasted with glasses of wine and began to eat the braided challahs.

“This embroidery design is beautiful,” Jolie said, admiring the cloth that had covered the bread.

“My grandmother made it,” Leah said.

Leah’s mom’s eyes rested on Jolie. “It’s a dying art. Where did you get your blouse?”

Jolie looked down at her handmade peasant blouse. An embroidered garland of intricate colorful flowers entwined the neckline. “I made it,” Jolie said.

“It’s beautiful work,” Leah’s mom said. She got up to bring the food to the table. “I’m not used to seeing embroidery on clothes.”

Dinner conversation turned to Zack, a second year student at New York University.

“He’s not home much,” his father said.

Zack smiled. “I study a lot.”

Leah’s father turned to Jolie. “Are you joining us for prayer service tomorrow afternoon?”

Jolie could see Zack rolling his eyes next to his father as he lifted his glass of wine.

“Actually, I’m a Buddhist,” Jolie said.

Zack snorted and choked on his wine. When he recovered, he said, “Did you know about one-third of North American Buddhists are Jews?”

Jolie looked at him, puzzled. You could be a Jew but not Jewish? “I learn something new every day,” she said. She would have to talk to Daniel to understand what Zack was talking about.

“Tell us about your family,” Leah’s father said.

Jolie swallowed. “Well, I have two brothers. One is in college and one is a senior in high school.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Leah said. “You said they were both older than you.”

Jolie’s mouth opened but nothing came out. She was on a tight rope. “Ah…well…I meant the one in high school is taller than me.”

Leah cocked her head, absorbing the response. “Oh, well brothers usually are.”

“They’re Dodger fans,” Jolie said.

“The Dodgers used to be New York’s team,” her dad said, and then he proceeded to tell them the history of the Dodgers.

Jolie sat on edge, half listening. Will warned her to never reveal information. She needed to get her story down.

Zack joined them later in Leah’s room. Leah and Jolie sat on the bed. He flipped through a stack of records and put on Cream’s
Disraeli Gears
and straddled the desk chair. When “Tales of Brave Ulysses” came on they got up and danced around the room. Zack kept changing the music, taking requests like a D.J. Their parents called up good night from the floor below and he turned the music down a notch. Jolie couldn’t take her eyes off his beautiful black curls.

“I’m proud of you, Leah. You moved out of the house and to a different city for college. I honestly didn’t think you’d survive. And I hear you actually cook now.”

Leah looked at Jolie with unspoken gratitude.

When they couldn’t stay awake any longer, they went off to bed. Jolie lay in the luxurious guest room feeling very small in the grand four-poster bed. A wave of isolation washed over her. Why was she overcome with sadness and a deep loneliness when she was surrounded by this family who welcomed her? Was it because she missed Will? No, not yet, anyway. She felt for the moonstone in the suede pouch around her neck.

She closed her eyes. It was her family she missed. Tomorrow she would call them. Would they be angry with her? What if they weren’t home and she’d come all this way for nothing? She could still mail the letter.

Drifting off to sleep, she began to dream. She was below the surface of emerald-green water, looking up at a faint shaft of sunlight. She swam up and up but couldn’t break through the depths to the sunlight. She was drowning. She could see the surface and fought to reach it. There was a weight on her chest, and her lungs couldn’t hold out any longer. Struggling, she finally broke through the green depths and woke, gasping.

Startled, she lay breathless in the dark. Where was she? She sat up and was comforted by the sight of the four-poster bed. Leah’s house. The vivid emerald-green color stayed with her. It was the color of the heart chakra, the fourth of seven major energy centers in the body. Jasmine had taught her that each chakra has a color and a function. If one is blocked, the body is unbalanced.