Roy still has his between moments and this is one of them. Sitting in the air-conditioned cab of their new Dodge Ram, Dug nods off as they wait, and Roy studies the shimmering waves of heat that rise from the white runway. Makes the air look like pulsing, transparent jelly. With that and the regular sound of Dug breathing heavy through his nose, Roy can almost hear the drone of the Amazing Mizmars voice, he can almost see through the heat-shimmered air into some other place.
Almost but not quite, because Ricky Lang pulls him back into the big bad world. Yanks open the door and pokes Roy with an index finger that feels like a warm steel rod in the ribs.
Wake up, says Ricky.
I wasnt sleeping, says Roy. Im keeping watch.
Ricky, studying him from behind his mirrored sunglasses. Nodding to himself. Uh-huh. Whatever. What you watching for, Roy?
Like you said. A plane.
Rickys face untightens, and he smiles with just his lips. Good. The specific aircraft were expecting, that would be a Beechcraft King Air 350. Twin turboprops. Color, green and silver. Tail number ends in seven, my lucky number.
Yes, sir, says Roy. Hes tried nudging Dug, but Dug is deeply asleep, and hes worried about how it looks, his brother snoozing while the boss is giving instructions.
Leave him be, Ricky suggests. Dont matter if he sleeps through the end of the world. This is on you, not your retarded brother.
Dug aint retarded.
Whatevers wrong with him, thats not my concern. You got the Glock?
Yes, sir.
And you know how to fire it? How to get the safety off, rack a bullet into the chamber, all that?
Roy nods. Hes pretty sure he knows all that.
Good, says Ricky. Then you know how to leave the safety on, how not to fire it.
Whatre you saying? Roy asks.
Im saying the gun is for show. Dont shoot nobody is what Im saying.
Okay, says Roy. I wont.
Good. Little while, the aircraft will circle the field. It will land from the east, over there, Ricky says, indicating where the long runway blends into the low scrub pine. It will taxi to us. First thing you do, when the engines shut down, you come around from behind and put the chocks under the wheels. Think you can do that?
I guess.
Make sure you come at it from the back of the plane, behind the wing, so you dont get your fool head cut off by the props.
Okay. Roy files it away, the propellers are dangerous, watch out for the props.
You just follow my lead, Ricky says. Wheels chocked, okay? Next, we get the passengers out of the aircraft. Theres a little door unfolds in the tail, thats where theyll exit. Dont show the gun till their feetre on the ground.
How many passengers? Roy asks, just to show that hes always thinking.
One or two, Ricky says, indifferent to the question. Whatever, you just hold the Glock on em. Dont say nothing, just look like you mean it. Dont let em go back in the plane but dont shoot em. Im doing all the shooting.
Roy follows Ricky to his BMW, parked nearby. Dirt adheres to the lower panels, fouling the hubs, probably messing up the brakes, too. Waste of a good car, Roy thinks, not meant for the backcountry. And then Ricky Lang, his scary new boss, Ricky the crazy damn injun who is going to change Roys life, he pops open the BMW trunk, produces an oversize, odd-looking rifle. Almost a crossbow look to it, fitted out with some sort of dartlike powerhead.
Whats that? Roy wants to know.
Animal tranquilizers, Ricky explains. Showing his white teeth in a killer grin. Works on people, too.
8. Jumping Into The Bare Blue Sky
There are some things your eyes refuse to see. Sights unimaginable, or so out of context your brain cant make sense of them. Thats how it is with Kellys secret photo album. Im looking right at the pictures and still it doesnt make any sense. What would my daughter be doing on a runway, near a small airplane? Why is she grinning so mischievously? What is she holding up to the camera, some sort of backpack?
I know what it is but find it hard to even think the word, let alone speak it aloud.
Parachute.
Must be a joke. Shes kidding around. Like those old trick photos on Coney Island, where you stick your head through a hole in the canvas and pretend to be a cowboy on a painted horse. Like that.
More photos. Kelly climbing into the little airplane, wearing a baggy jumpsuit and what looks like a crash helmet. Kelly crouching inside the plane, giving a thumbs-up. Kelly buddied-up with a handsome pilot, a young man with dark, soulful eyes, gorgeous hair and white, white teeth. I didnt really get a good look at the guy on the motorcycle, but something about the way this young man holds himself erect, good posture even sitting down, something makes me think this might be Seth.
If so, hes way too old for a girl of sixteen. Old enough to be a pilothow old is that? Has to be at least twenty-one, right? Or is it younger? Hard to saythey both look so pleased with themselves, and happiness makes you look younger. Whatever his age, no way is he in high school with my daughter. Hes not a school kid. No droopy drawers and skateboards for him. Hes into airplanes, motorcycles, high-speed machines.
Have him arrested, thats my first dark impulse. Send this handsome, grinning man to jail. How dare he take my daughter up in a small plane without my permission? How could he let her jump into the bare blue sky. What was he thinking?
Because I know what comes next, even before I flip the page. A shot of Kelly waving bye-bye from the open door. Pale sky all around her. A wobbly, slightly blurred shot of an open parachute, a slim figure dangling beneath it. Then the reunion on the ground, with Kelly looking triumphant as she folds up her colorful parachute. A parachute that looks about as substantial as the silk scarves displayed next to her counter at Macys.
It feels like Ive been kicked by a mule. At the same time, in some weird way, everything has gone numb. How could I have been so stupid, not to have had an inkling of what was going on with this boy? Never knew he existed until yesterday, and yet he and my daughter have, obviously, been executing a series of death-defying stunts. No doubt theres more going on than motorcycles and parachute jumps.
Suddenly, whether or not Kelly has decided to have sex is a lot less important than the fact that shes risking her life to impress an older, thrill-seeking boyfriend. Save that hogwash about skydiving being as safe as going to the supermarket. If my purse doesnt open, I dont end up embedded in the concrete, okay? When I make a mistake parallel parking, do I drift into the high-tension wires? No. Skydiving is about certain death being averted at the last possible moment, thats what makes it exciting. I may be a stick-in-the-mud, the type who always fastens her seat belt, but I know that much.
When Kelly calls with whatever lame excuse shes cooked up, what should I do? What can I say that wont make it worse? Ferns idea of chaining her to the radiator is starting to sound reasonable. Im at a complete loss here, but whatever I decide to do, it means clearing my calendar for today. No way can I meet with clients, or deal with Alex over lunch.
When Kelly calls with whatever lame excuse shes cooked up, what should I do? What can I say that wont make it worse? Ferns idea of chaining her to the radiator is starting to sound reasonable. Im at a complete loss here, but whatever I decide to do, it means clearing my calendar for today. No way can I meet with clients, or deal with Alex over lunch.
First call is to Alex. Unfortunately, I get him, not the machine. Janey doll, he says, chipper as ever. I have you down for Cholos at one.
Ive got to cancel, I tell him. My daughter.
The divine Miss Kelly? Is she okay?
Just like that I spill the beans. Everything, more or less. Alex makes all the usual sympathetic noises, but he sounds slightly impatient. So your daughter has a boyfriend, Jane. Its not the end of the world.
She ran away! Shes jumping out of airplanes!
She left a note, he reminds me. Shell call. And by the way, more people get struck by lightning than die while skydiving.
Shes a child!
No, Alex says firmly. Kelly is no longer a child.
I could strangle him. How dare he?
Shes a totally amazing woman, Alex concludes. Very much like you.
Its a great relief when my accountant doesnt pick up and Im able to leave a message about the quarterlies. Ditto for my contact person at East Coast Wedding Wholesalers, imploring them to put a trace on the Norbert and Spinelli orders. Both calls seem to take a tremendous effort on my part, as if merely thinking about work is exhausting. Luckily Tracy has her schedule and can take care of herself, workwise, because I cant bear the thought of another phone call. Whats wrong with me? Why do I feel so hollow and shaky?
Food. Havent eaten since I got up and discovered Kelly gone. And Im one of those people who simply must have something in her stomach in the morningmust be a blood-sugar thing.
Thats probably why my hands are shaking when my cell phone rings. Im thinking it cant be Kellyits not quite noon and she never calls earlybut thats her name glowing on the little screen.
Kelly honey? Where are you?
Theres a delay, a pause, long enough so Im almost convinced the connection has been broken. Then her voice comes through. Not her bright, confident chatty voice. Her whispering voice, as if she doesnt want to be overheard. As if she might be afraid.
Mom, I need your help. Please call
Thats it. The call cuts off in mid-sentence. No static, no nothing. Just a final, overwhelming silence.
9. Watching The Detectives
Kelly and I watch a lot of movies. Started out with kiddy stuff, of course. When she was hospitalized or enduring chemo, movies were an escape, a way to avoid the harsh reality of our situation. Early on I stopped worrying about how a violent or racy scene might affect her. When an eight-year-old stares death in the face every day, can you tell her she cant watch a car chase, or cartoonish villains firing automatic weapons at infallible heroes, or someone saying a bad word?
Some parents did. Not me. Kelly wouldnt let me. If a movie had a kid with cancer in itnot many did, actuallyshe always insisted on seeing it. Even if the child died. As she told me, her face screwed up with righteous indignation, she knew plenty of real children who had really died. Okay, four or five at least, which is way more than the average kid. So a character dying in a movie was no big thing to her. It was pretend. Sometimes shed cry, but that was because it was a sad story, not because she thought the actor really died.
Movies were movies and life was life, and they were connected, but not in a scary way. Not for my Kel. And weve continued our habit of watching films together. Lately Ive had to keep my comments to myself, so as not to endure her please, Mom, give it a rest reactions, but we still screen two or three movies a week, more if shes in the mood.
One of her favorites is The Usual Suspects. That comes to mind because Im waiting in a Nassau County Police Department office, at the Fifth Precinct, in the Village of Valley Stream. My very first visit, although Ive often driven past the building. From the outside its a blocky, innocuous kind of place, plain as a potato. Inside its all cop, purposeful and a bit machoa banner declares The Fighting Fifththough its a lot less frantic than what you see on TV.
Detective Jay Berg has a cork bulletin board behind his desk and thats what reminds me of The Usual Suspects. Kevin Spacey staring at the stuff on the bulletin board, using it to make up a story. Not that Detective Berg thinks Im making up a story about a girl, a boy and a motorcycle.
We treat every missing minor report seriously, he intones, tenting his fingers together as if in prayer. Hes a pleasant-looking guy, very earnest, with a thinning widows peak and jowls that make him look just a tiny bit like Kevin Spacey, which is probably what got me started, come to think of it. Even when the minor may have left of her own accord, we take it seriously, he says. Runaways are still missing, however it started.
Not for the first time I remind him, She didnt run away. Somethings wrong.
Its always wrong when a minor leaves parental custody.
She called. Said she needed my help. But when I called back her phone was off and I got her voice mail. Thats not like Kelly. She never shuts her cell off.
He nods sympathetically. Giving the impression that hes counseled many an upset parent out here in the not-so-peaceful suburbs. Very troubling, he says. Naturally youre upset. I would be, too. As I said, thats why were issuing a Be On The Lookout. Your daughters photograph and description will be circulated throughout the tri-state area. Local police, county police, state police, within the hour theyll know to be on the lookout for Kelly Garner.
What about TV news?
He leans back in his chair, touching his prayerful fingers to his plump and dimpled chin. We cant compel the media to run the story, but they will get the BOLO, and then its up to them. Absent any indication that shes been abducted, they may or may not use it.
What about an AMBER Alert?
Berg sighs. Hes been waiting for that question, and hes ready with an answer. Im sorry, Mrs. Garner, the AMBER system has been effective precisely because its reserved for child abduction cases. Your daughter left home on her own accord. Theres no indication of abduction. I really do expect shell call you as soon as the excitement wears off.
She did call! I say, exasperated. Shes in trouble, I could hear it in her voice. Im sorry I dont know the boyfriends last nameI feel really stupid about that, okay?but that doesnt mean this isnt an emergency.
More sympathetic nods from the detective. Of course it doesnt. The fact is, we are treating this as an emergency. Believe me, all police officers take this kind of thing seriously. Many have daughters of their own. They know what youre going through, Mrs. Garner. You can be sure theyll study the BOLO and they will in fact be very much on the lookout. As I said before, if you had a probable destination, or a point of origin, or a make and model of a motor vehicle or motorcycle, we could start from there.