Authors: Jean Stone
“I heard you in the kitchen.”
Charlie wanted to yell: IF YOU HEARD ME IN THE KITCHEN WHY THE HELL DIDN’T YOU COME OUT? But the somber look on Tess’s face told her that yelling would do no good, that Tess was in her own place of pain that Charlie couldn’t reach. She’d seen that place before, that dome of isolation in which Tess seemed destined to dwell.
Then Tess began to cry. “I’m so sorry. I tried, Charlie. Honestly, I did.”
“Tried?” was all Charlie could ask. She did not care how despondent Tess looked or seemed, she had entrusted Jenny to her, and Tess had screwed up.
“I tried to make her happy. I tried to
communicate
with her, as they say today. I know she was unhappy—”
“She wasn’t unhappy when she left to come here,” Charlie said dryly, though in her heart, she knew it was not true.
Tess sat up and started to say something else but stopped.
“What happened?” Charlie asked.
“Sit down,” Tess said as she patted the mattress.
“I’ll stand.” Charlie’s body was rigid; she wasn’t sure if it would bend to sit.
“We had an argument.” Tess fidgeted with a tissue in her hands, tearing off bit after bit, dropping the white shreds onto the thin rug on the floor. “She’s changed a lot in the last year.”
“She’s growing up. That’s not always easy.” Charlie hated it that she was consoling Tess.
She
was the one who needed consoling, not Tess. But Tess had always been so damn … needy, that was the word. Tess had been needy, and Charlie had gone along with it. She squared her jaw and realized she’d learned a lot in the last fifteen years. “What did you fight about?”
“I’m not sure you want to know.”
“Of course I want to know!” She leaned into Tess’s needy, putty face. “I’m her mother, remember?”
Tess looked squarely into Charlie’s eyes. “Look, Charlie, you can blame me for the argument. You can blame me that she ran away. But don’t for one minute try to make me believe that Jenny was happy when she came here. She was miserable. She was unhappy. And if you must know, we argued because she didn’t want to go back to you and Peter. She wanted to stay and live with me. She
begged
to stay and live with me.”
The air in the room grew stuffier. Charlie pressed her hand against her forehead, trying to calm her thoughts, trying to slow them down. “What?”
“You heard me.”
Charlie sank onto the bed. “I had no idea.…”
“I asked if she wanted me talk with you. She said no. I told her it was impossible for her to stay here. I told her how much you—and Peter—love her.”
Charlie gripped the edge of the bed, bracing herself from falling off. “How did she react?”
Tess glared at her. “She ran away.”
Charlie stared at the muted flowers on the gray papered wall. She could not look at Tess. She could not say anything. She could not think anymore.
Beside her, Tess signed. “You might as well know everything.” She paused and closed her eyes. “When Dell and I found her missing, we found something else.”
Charlie squeezed her eyes tightly. She didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t know what was coming, but she knew she didn’t want to hear it.
“We found my scrapbook. From Smith. It was on her bed. It was open.”
Charlie turned her head. The pain in her shoulder stabbed; she did not care.
“It took me a minute,” Tess continued in monotone, “but then I realized it was open to the picture. The one from graduation.”
Charlie tried to speak. Suddenly her mouth was dry. Her words cracked. “The one of you and me … and Marina?”
Tess nodded. “The one where you were obviously not pregnant. But Marina was. None of us really noticed it with those big gowns. But the picture showed it.”
“I know. I looked at it a few years ago. Then I threw it out.”
“I guess I should have, too.”
Charlie took a breath. “Jenny was looking at the picture?”
“Apparently.”
“Do you think she noticed?”
Silence filled the room, then Tess spoke again. “Charlie, the truth is, Jenny looks a lot like Marina.”
Charlie stared back at the wall. “I know.”
“I hope you’re not angry, but Dell and I did something else.”
The pain in Charlie’s shoulder grabbed her again.
“We called Marina,” Tess said. “We thought she should know.”
The pain shot up Charlie’s neck and landed on the back of her head. The lie they’d lived with all these years was about to end. Charlie thought of Jenny—beautiful Jenny—the child who was her daughter. But was she? Had Jenny ever really been hers? Would it have been different if they
had adopted Jenny from an unknown birth mother, someone who hadn’t been a friend, a roommate, a princess?
A pool of acid rose in her throat. She gritted her teeth and swallowed the vomit. The faded flowers on the grayed wallpaper swayed. She clutched her stomach and slowly rocked. Maybe it would be for the best, she reasoned. Maybe it would be best if Jenny learned the truth. But maybe Charlie had learned how much she loved her too late.
There was a knock on the bedroom door. It was Dell. “Joe’s here. He wants to ask some questions.”
“Joe Lyons,” Tess reminded Charlie. “Dell’s nephew, remember? He’s the police chief now.”
Charlie sat at the kitchen table in the chair by the window, at the place with no elbow room because of all the papers stacked there. It was the seat she’d sat in so many years ago while she waited, first for her wedding, then for Marina’s baby to be born. For Jenny.
Tess moved beside her; Joe took off his cap and sat across from them. Dell remained standing, dunking a tea bag in and out of a thick ceramic mug.
“You can’t file a missing persons’ report until Jenny’s been gone forty-eight hours,” Joe said.
“She’s just a child,” Charlie said.
“I know. But she’s fourteen. She’ll be considered a runaway, whether you think that’s what she’s done or not.”
Charlie put her hands in her lap, her shoulders slumping.
“Do you think that’s what she’s done?” Joe asked. “Do you think she’s run away?”
“I don’t know. I suppose she has.”
He turned to Tess. “Did she hang out with anyone?”
“No. Only me.”
“What about last year?”
“Jenny’s a quiet girl. She likes to stay close to home.”
Charlie stiffened. She’d never thought of Jenny as one who liked to stay “close to home.” Jenny was forever out riding, or begging to go riding, or conjuring up a million reasons why she needed to leave the house. But then, Tess’s house wasn’t like Hobart Manor. It was a home, not a mausoleum.
Joe scratched his chin. “We have to investigate all the possibilities.”
“Like what?” Charlie asked, fearful of his answer.
“She could have been abducted.”
Charlie and Tess were silent. Dell shuffled to the sink and dropped her tea bag in the overflowing wastebasket.
“It’s only a remote possibility,” Joe said.
“Then why even mention it?” Tess snapped.
“Well …” Joe looked at Tess. “Remember what I told you earlier this summer?”
Tess did not respond.
Charlie couldn’t stand the silence. “What?” she demanded. “What’s going on?”
Joe scratched his chin again. “He hasn’t given us any trouble … but you never know.”
“What?” Charlie screamed now, rising from her chair. “Who?”
Joe put out his hand to calm her. It didn’t help. “Willie Benson,” he said slowly. “Willie Benson is back in town.”
Charlie felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “Bastard,” she mumbled. “Sick bastard.” She could still feel him reach for her. She could see the look of mania in his eyes. She could feel herself run, tumble, slip…
“He wouldn’t dare,” she said slowly, methodically. “He wouldn’t dare.” She would rather be called an incompetent mother, she would take all the blame deserved, than have her daughter experience what she had so long ago.
Please, God
, Charlie begged,
don’t let Willie Benson get his hands on Jenny.
Tess stood beside her and put her arm around her.
“It can’t be him,” Tess said. “How would he know that Jenny is Charlie’s … daughter?”
Joe shrugged. “It’s just a possibility.”
“Well, forget it,” Tess said. “I think she ran away,”
A sudden thought struck Charlie. If Tess truly thought Jenny had run away, why had she called Marina? If Jenny had discovered that Charlie was not her mother, why couldn’t they have handled this themselves?
Why did Tess call Marina?
She stared at Tess. She wanted to ask her these questions. But Joe Lyons was there, and Joe didn’t know the truth. No one knew. No one except Charlie, Tess, Marina,
Dell, Nicholas, Peter … the names ticked off in her mind like a laundry list of suspects, roll call at an inquisition.
“Did she take any clothes?” Joe asked.
Tess shook her head. “No. No clothes.”
Charlie watched as Tess sucked in her cheeks. Beneath the table, Tess began to shake her foot
“Tess, what is it? Something else is wrong. I can tell.”
“Well,” Tess muttered, “maybe. I’m not sure. She didn’t take her clothes, but something else is missing.”
Charlie waited, wondering if the others could hear her heart banging against the walls of her chest.
“The egg, Charlie. The Fabergé egg. Jenny took it with her.”
“Oh, God,” Charlie cried.
Joe’s eyebrows raised. “A Fabergé egg? You’ve got to be kidding.”
Charlie closed her eyes. “Her grandmother left it to her in her will. I told her not to bring it.…”
“Is it valuable?” he asked.
“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Tess snarled.
Charlie looked at Tess, then back to Joe. “Yes,” she said quietly, “it’s very valuable.”
“How much?”
Charlie let out a rush of air. She ran a hand through her hair, then rested it on the back of her neck, where she began to rub the throb. “Her grandmother said she could have any one she wanted. But Jenny picked the least valuable one. I didn’t understand that. She said she thought it was the prettiest, because it was so simple.”
“How much?” Joe asked again.
“A couple of hundred thousand. Maybe three.”
Hardly a token
, Peter had said.
Joe whistled. Tess lowered her head.
Charlie stood quickly. “I’ve got to call my husband. I’ve got to call him now.”
“Phone’s in the same place,” Tess said.
Charlie squeezed behind her and staggered into the hallway, still shaking, still pushing down the vomit in her throat.
Peter will know what to do
, she told herself over and over. She picked up the receiver and slowly dialed Peter’s number at his office.
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Hobart,” said the perky executive secretary
parked outside Peter’s office. “How are you? I haven’t seen you for a long time—”
“Janice,” Charlie interrupted, “I need to speak with my husband. Now.”
“Is something wrong, Mrs. Hobart?”
“I need to speak with him.”
“I’m afraid he can’t be—”
“Get him. I don’t care if he’s in conference with the president of the United States.”
“I can’t—”
“I’ll take full responsibility, Janice. Just get him. Now.” Charlie hated that lately Peter was usually “unavailable,” even to his wife. Before Elizabeth died, Charlie had always been able to get through. And she had never really needed him. Not like this.
“Mrs. Hobart, you don’t understand. He’s not here.”
“Then get him on his cellular phone.”
In the brief silence, Charlie overheard the low voices from the kitchen.
“A quarter of a million bucks?” Joe was asking. “For an egg?”
“It’s a Fabergé,” Tess said. “Some are worth millions. But you wouldn’t know about such things.”
“I don’t think this is necessary,” Dell chimed in. “I think we should wait another day.”
Charlie tapped her fingers on the wall.
“He’s out of range,” Janice said when she returned to the line.
The throbbing in her head grew stronger. “Where exactly is my husband?”
“I tried to tell you, Mrs. Hobart. I can’t get him right now. He’s on the company jet.”
“The plane? Is he coming to Northampton?”
“He didn’t say anything about Northampton. I know he was headed for a management meeting. In Singapore.”
“
Singapore?
”
“It happened this morning. Some problems came up—”
Damn him.
“I can try to reach him once they’re airborne.”
“Forget it, Janice,” Charlie said and slammed the phone into its cradle. “Just forget the whole fucking thing.”
She marched back into the kitchen. Tess was still at the
table, Dell still at the sink. Joe Lyons stood by the back door, his cellular phone pressed to his ear.
Charlie grabbed her purse from the counter. “I’m going to look for Jenny. The rest of you can sit here on your asses, but I’m going to do something.”
She stomped across the linoleum.
“Where do you plan to start?” Tess asked dryly.
Charlie stopped. She clutched her purse. The pain in her shoulder stabbed her again. “I have no idea,” she answered.
Joe clicked off his phone. “There’s no point in going anywhere. I’ve called in the FBI. They’re on their way.”
Charlie snapped around. “The FBI?”
“I think there’s more here than a runaway kid,” Joe continued. “This egg has gone with her. What’s she going to do? Sell it on the sidewalk in front of Thorne’s Market? If she doesn’t sell it, how’s she planning to live?”
“Maybe she took the egg because she likes it,” Dell said.
“No,” Tess replied. “The stand is still there. Jenny never would have taken the egg without its stand.” Charlie noticed that Tess’s eyes were distant, unfocused. “She likes to look at it in the stand. You don’t have to touch beautiful things to admire them. To love them.”
A ridiculous trait she learned from you
, Charlie wanted to scream.
“Well, whatever, I’d appreciate it if everyone would stay put until the FBI arrive.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Tess said.
“Don’t look at me,” Dell added.
Charlie moved her gaze from one to the next. She was appalled at their passivity. Tess, as always, was just going to sit there and do nothing. Just sit there and feel sorry for herself.