Gone (3 page)

“What is it?” Cabel says, coming into the cabin. “What’s going on?”

“Here,” she says. She dials voice mail and hands the phone to Cabel. “Listen to all the messages.”

As Cabel listens, Janie, in a daze, continues to pack.

After all her things are crammed inside, she realizes that she needs something to change into—she can’t drive all the way to Fieldridge in her swimsuit.

She can’t drive at all.

Cue major detail.

“Fuck,” Janie mutters. She watches as Cabel listens to the messages. Watches his expression intensify.

“Holy shit,” he says. He looks at Janie. Takes her hand. “Holy shit, Janie. What can I do?”

Janie just buries her face in his neck. Trying not to think.

Endless.

7:03 p.m.

It’s a three-hour drive home. Cabel’s at the wheel of the Beemer that Captain Komisky lets him drive. A Grand Rapids radio station deejay cracks a lame joke and then plays Danny Reyes’s “Bleecker Street” in his all-request hour, and Janie stares at her phone, willing Carrie to call. But it’s silent.

Janie calls the hospital. They have no record of a Dorothea Hannagan being admitted.

“Maybe she’s fine and they didn’t have to admit her,” Cabel says.

“Or maybe she’s in the morgue.”

“They’d have called you by now.”

Janie’s silent, trying to think of reasons why the hospital hasn’t called, much less Carrie with an update.

“We can call Captain,” Cabel says.

“What good will that do?”

“The police chief? She can get info from anybody she wants.”

“True. But . . .” Janie sighs. “I don’t . . . my mother . . . never mind. No. I don’t want to call Captain.”

“Why? It would put your mind at ease.”

“Cabe . . .”

“Janie, seriously. You should call her—get the scoop. She’d totally do it for you if you’re worried about imposing.”

“No thanks.”

“You want me to call her?”

“No. Okay? I don’t want her to know.”

Cabel sighs, exasperated. “I don’t get it.”

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.

“Carrie!” Janie says.

Carrie pops up. “Oh, good, you got my note.”

“Where’s . . . Is my mother . . . ?”

“She’s in the room with him.”

“What? Who?”

“Didn’t you get my note?”

“What note? All I know is what you left on my voice mail.”

“I left a note on Ethel—in the parking lot. Figured you’re a detective now, or whatever. You oughta think to look for my car. Anyways, how the hell did you find me, then? Never mind. Your mom—she’s fine. I mean, she’s still drunk but I think she’s coming down now . . . like way down. She’s all weepy and shaky. But—”

“Carrie,” Janie says firmly. “Focus. Tell me what’s wrong with my mother and where I can find her.”

Carrie sighs. She looks tired. “Your mom is fine. Just drunk.”

Janie glances nervously through the open door to the
hallway as a nurse walks by. Her voice is low and urgent. “Okay, okay, I get that she’s drunk. She’s always drunk. Can we stop shouting that please? And if she’s fine, why the fuck are we all in Intensive Care?”

“Oh, man,” Carrie says. She shakes her head. “Where to start?”

Cabel nudges Janie and Carrie toward the chairs and sits down with them. “Who’s ‘him’, Carrie? Who is she with?” he says gently.

Janie nods, echoing the question.

But she already knows.

There’s only one “him” it could possibly be. There is no one else in the world. No one else that would make Janie’s mother react this way. No one else Janie’s mother dreams about.

Carrie, whose normally dancing eyes are dulled from the weariness of the unusual day, looks at Janie. “Apparently, it’s your father, Janers. He’s, like, really sick.”

Janie just looks at Carrie. “My father?”

“They don’t think he’s going to make it.”

10:06 p.m.

Janie falls back into the chair. Numb. No idea how she’s supposed to feel about this news. No. Freaking. Clue.

Cabel lifts his hand to pause the conversation. The three sit in the waiting room in silence for a moment, Janie
looking blank, Carrie working a piece of gum, Cabel closing his eyes and shaking his head ever so slightly. “Start from the beginning,” he says.

Carrie nods. Thinks. “Yeah, so, this afternoon, probably around three o’clock, I heard somebody hollering outside. I ignored it ’cause there’s always somebody yelling around our neighborhood, right? And I’m folding laundry on the bed and then through my window I see Janie’s mom, which is so weird, because she, like, never goes outside unless she’s walking to the gas station or the bus stop to get booze, right? But today she’s in her nightgown wandering around the yard—”

Janie flushes and puts her hands to her face. “Oh, God,” she says.

“—and, uh, she’s calling ‘Janie! Janie!’ and then she sort of stumbles and I go running outside to see what’s wrong with her. And Dorothea, she’s crying and says, ‘The phone! I gotta go to the hospital,’ over and over about twenty times, and I’m calling you and leaving you messages and finally I just drive her here ’cause I don’t know what else to do. And it takes us like an hour of sitting in the ER and talking to the receptionist before she’s . . . um . . . calmed down and able to explain that she’s not sick—that she got a phone call and she needs to see Henry.”

Janie looks up. “Henry?”

“Yeah, Henry Feingold. That’s the guy’s name.”

“Henry Feingold,” Janie says. The name sounds empty. It has no meaning to her. It doesn’t sound like what she imagined her father’s name would be. “How would I even know if that’s him? Dorothea,” she says, emphasizing each syllable, “never bothered to share any information with me about him.”

Carrie nods solemnly. She knows.

And then.

Janie blinks back the tears as she realizes the truth. “He must live nearby if they brought him here. Guess he didn’t ever bother to know me, either.”

“I’m sorry, hon.” Carrie looks at the floor.

Janie stands abruptly and turns to Cabel and Carrie. “I can’t believe she ruined our vacation. And I’m so sorry, Carrie, that you wasted your whole day and evening here. You are such a good friend—please, go on home or to Stu’s or whatever.”

She turns to Cabel. “Cabe, I’ll handle this from here. I’ll take the bus home once I collect my mother. Please, guys. Go get some rest.” She walks toward the door, hoping Carrie and Cabe will follow so she can usher them out and suffer the embarrassment of all of this in private. Her bottom lip quivers.
God, this is so fucked up
.

Cabel stands up, and then Carrie stands too. “So,” Cabel says to Carrie as they follow Janie to the door. “What’s wrong with him? Do you know?”

“Some brain injury or something. I don’t know much—I heard the doc tell Dorothea that he called 911 and was still conscious until after he got here, but now he won’t wake up. They finally let Dorothea in to see him about thirty minutes ago. And Janers,” Carrie says, “it was no problem, okay? You’d do the same if my mom needed help. Right?”

Janie’s throat tightens and she blinks back the tears. All she can do is nod. When Carrie hugs her, Janie chokes back a sob. “Thanks,” Janie whispers in Carrie’s hair.

Carrie turns to go. “Call me.”

Janie nods again, watching Carrie walk to the elevators. And then she looks at Cabel. “Go,” she says.

“No.”

He’s not going anywhere.

Janie sighs uneasily. Because it’s great he’s so supportive, but this situation is totally weird. And Janie’s not quite sure what to expect.

Some things are really just easier done alone.

It’s quiet and the lights are low as Janie and Cabel push through the double doors into the ICU patients’ hallway. Janie feels the faint pull of a dream from a distance and she combats it immediately, impatiently. Spies the culprit’s room whose door stands ajar and silently curses him. Frustrated she can’t ever get away from people’s
dreams, even when her mind is extremely busy doing other things.

They check in at the nurses’ station. Janie clears her throat. “Henry, uh, Fein . . . stei—”

“Feingold,” Cabel says smoothly.

“Are you family?” the nurse asks. She looks at them suspiciously.

“I, uh,” Janie says. “Yeah. He’s my . . . father . . . I guess.”

The nurse cocks her head to the side. “The trick to getting into someone’s room is to lie
convincingly
,” she says. “Nice try.”

“I—I don’t want to go into his room. Just tell my mother I’m here, will you? She’s in there with him. I’ll be in the waiting room.” Janie turns around abruptly and Cabel shrugs at the nurse and follows. They march back through the double doors to the waiting room, leaving a puzzled nurse watching them go.

Janie mutters under her breath as she flings herself in a chair. “Feingold. Harvey Feingold.”

Cabe glances at her. “Henry.”

“Right. Jeez. You’d never guess I work for the cops.”

“Which is probably why you’re so convincing undercover,” Cabel says, grinning.

Janie elbows him automatically. “Well, not anymore. Don’t forget you’re talking to narc girl.” She turns to him.
Grabs his hand. Implores. “Cabe, really, you should go. Get some sleep. Go back to Fremont and enjoy the rest of the week. I’m fine here. I can handle this.”

Cabel regards Janie and sighs. “I know you can handle it, Janie. You’re such a damn martyr. It’s tiring, really, having this same argument with you every time you’ve got shit happening. Just let it go. I’m not leaving.” He smiles faux-diplomatically.