My Lost and Found Life (3 page)

I woke up to the sun shining in my eyes through the open drapes and Stella yowling up at me from the living room floor. Reluctantly, I sat up. A quick glance at the driveway confirmed my mother's car still wasn't there. I staggered into the kitchen. The clock said 6:47. I groaned and groped in the cupboard for the cat food, knowing Stella wouldn't let up until I fed her. That, at least, was normal.

After scraping some pukey brown muck into the cat dish, I stumbled down the hall and flopped on my bed. But even though I was exhausted, I couldn't get back to sleep. Last night's anger had dissipated, leaving only anxiety in its place.

Finally, I pulled myself up again and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Same old Ashley—in fact, I looked good. How weird, when I felt as if I should have worry lines on my face or some other blemish to mark the misery of the last seventeen hours.

Since no real alternative presented itself, I got ready for school. Staying home waiting for my mother all day would
drive me completely off my rocker. Besides, I knew she'd show up—of course she would. In the meantime, I would do what I do best: look good and pretend I didn't have a care in the world. This whole mess would be cleared up before the day was out. It had to be.

Just to give me a happy reminder, a cop car cruised slowly by as I went out the front door. I ignored it.

I tried to sashay through the morning, pretending that nothing had changed. It wasn't hard to fool Scott. He was, as usual, oblivious to anyone else's feelings. As he droned on, describing yesterday's surfing, I stared up at his tanned face and sun-bleached hair. No doubt about it, he was a great boyfriend—good-looking, tall, a star athlete, a good dancer, and the owner of a brand-new Jeep Cherokee. Plenty of girls (including Mara) had tried to get their hooks into him over the past two years, but I knew how to reel him in when he got restless. Like most jocks, Scott enjoyed a challenge, so I never let him get too sure of himself. He also liked the prestige of having the homecoming queen as his girlfriend.

Believe me, there were plenty of guys who wanted me, even though I didn't put out. But why should that matter, when a hand job or blow job would do just as well? Sex was too risky, too messy, too much like surrender as far as I was concerned. I liked to be in control and keep Scott happy while teasing him with the promise of total capitulation in the future.

Today, though, Scott's lack of awareness annoyed me. In fact, no one at school noticed anything unusual about me although I was fighting hard to control my panic. Why didn't my mother call? Where was she? I wanted to go home to see
if she was there, and I was afraid to go home in case she wasn't.

There was no real reason to be at school—lessons and tests were over. All of us, students and teachers alike, were just serving out our sentences. In first period we watched a boring movie, and during second period we erased pencil marks from our textbooks. In third period, American Government, we slouched in our chairs while Mr. Grant, a pint-sized bully, blathered on.

Then my cell phone rang.

Everyone in the class turned around to stare as my phone beeped out a rendition of “What a Wonderful World.” Mr. G. paused in midcliché and raised his eyebrows in exaggerated astonishment.

Ignoring all of them, I snapped my phone open and whispered, “Hello.”

No response.

Mr. G. barked out, “Ashley!”

I ignored him and looked down to read who was calling. The screen said “Blocked ID.”

“Hello,” I said again, much louder this time.
“Hello.”
Still, no one spoke. Frustrated, I pounded the buttons. But it was no use—the phone was dead.

By this time Mr. G. had moved to my desk and stood there like a prison guard ready to clobber an unruly inmate.

“My, my,” he said with undisguised glee. “Taking calls during class, are we? It must be of earth-shattering importance. Was it from the White House perhaps? Or maybe the governor wants your opinion on the state budget crisis?”

“I'm expecting an important call,” I answered defensively. “From my mother.”

“Your mother? Come, come, Ashley, I'm sure you can do better than that. What do you think, class? Does anyone here believe for one minute that our fair Ashley would disobey school rules to take a call from her mother?”

Several students tittered in response.

Smirking, Mr. G. continued. “Whatever your
important
call concerns, I fail to see why you should take up class time with it. If you're overdue for a bikini-wax appointment, it has nothing to do with American government, does it?”

A few of the geeky boys guffawed at this.

Just in time the dismissal bell screeched, and everyone surged toward the door. I quickly moved with them, and Mr. G. called after me.

“Don't bring that phone in here tomorrow, Ashley, or I'll own it.”

Nicole was right on my heels and grabbed my arm in the hall. “What was that all about? What's going on?”

“What do you mean?” I feigned ignorance.

“Why would your mother call you during school? And why were you acting so weird last night on the phone? Something must be wrong.” Her blue eyes blinked up at me in concern.

I stared at her silently for a moment, weighing exactly what or how much I should tell her. It wasn't that I didn't trust her. Talking about it meant that I couldn't pretend anymore that it wasn't really happening.

Nicole and I had been friends since fourth grade. I could count on her. I found that out when we were only ten. One
Friday afternoon the two of us were dropped off at my house after a gymnastics class. My mother wasn't home from work yet. We came dashing in, giggling and happy because Nicole was sleeping over that night.

I should have been warned by the smell.

“P-U, what's that stinky smell?” I said as we crossed the living room. That's when we saw him. Outside the hallway bathroom, my father was lying facedown on the carpet, his gray pants and jockey shorts pulled down around his ankles. Jimmy's body was twisted so we could see his naked butt, hairy legs, and soft, fleshy penis drooped to one side.

We stood there for a moment, mouths open, staring at him in shock. I couldn't help staring at his penis, which looked like one of those pale, slimy Italian sausages my mother sometimes cooked.

“Is he...all right?” Nicole asked.

I gave his closest body part, his upper arm, a sharp tap with the toe of my shoe. He snorted and stirred slightly without getting up. His eyes stayed closed, and I could see drool pooling in the corner of his mouth. The odor of alcohol emanating from him made my stomach lurch.

“No,” I said. “He's drunk. He's a dirty, disgusting drunk. Let's get out of here.”

We went outside and sat on the porch. I was so humiliated that I wanted to run away and never come back. But I put on a big act and pretended nothing had happened, even though I wasn't able to meet Nicole's eyes. We were still sitting on the porch when my mother's car pulled up a few minutes later. I lied and told my mother we hadn't gone inside yet. Diane went
in the house and came out again ten minutes later, giving me a searching look.

“Let's go out for pizza” was all she said. “Your father isn't feeling well.”

When we came home, Jimmy was in bed. The hallway still reeked of urine. We pretended not to notice. After Nicole left on Saturday, I worried that she would tell her mother or someone at school on Monday. I kept expecting Cindy to call and say my father was a pervert and Nicole couldn't come to my house ever again. Her mother didn't call, though, and no one said anything at school because Nicole didn't tell. She never told anyone. I loved her for that.

From then on, Nicole was my best friend. I protected her whenever anyone tried to bully her—even her mother. So it was time I filled Nicole in on my situation. But I only managed to get out the words “I need to tell you something” before Mara came prancing up to us.

“Wait till you see my new blue bikini,” she boasted. “You'll die when you see it. It's very, very hot. Where did you buy yours, Ashley?”

Even on a normal day I found Mara annoying. Although she was part of my crowd, I didn't trust her, and with good reason. The girl was a complete wannabe and imitated everything I did. If I bought a pair of high-heeled suede boots, within days Mara would be clip-clopping down the hall in an identical pair. She even went to Sheila, my hairdresser, and asked her for the same hair cut. Being around her was like having an evil twin or clone or something.

“Don't you ever think about anything except clothes?” I
snarled. “I swear, if you were going to have your head cut off on the guillotine, you'd be wondering what you should wear on the scaffold.”

“God, what is your problem?” Mara squealed indignantly.

“Guess what!” I said. “Some of us have real stuff to worry about.”

I stomped away, and Nicole scurried after me to find out what was up. She followed me to the school parking lot and we sat in my car, talking. It was a relief to finally tell her about my mother.

Her jaw dropped at my news. “No way!
Your
mother? It can't be true. I don't believe it.”

“Believe it. I'm totally freaked. No one can find her, and the cops keep driving by my house.” I looked in the rearview mirror as if they might be pulling up behind me in the student lot. “I don't know what to do.”

“God, I hope nothing's happened to her. What if she's been kidnapped or something?”

“You're not cheering me up, Nic.”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” she apologized. “I mean, this is awful. I don't know what to say. This kind of thing just doesn't happen. To your mother, of all people.”

“That's what I thought, but it is happening. It's a nightmare.” I blinked back tears. “We're supposed to be leaving for Hawaii on Sunday, and I have no idea where my mother is. And what am I supposed to do for money? I just don't know what to do. Maybe Diane has been kidnapped. Or what if she's being framed for a crime she didn't commit—you know, like in a movie? You know my mother. She doesn't have the gumption to be a crook.”

“Yeah,” agreed Nicole. “She's definitely not the type. What does Gloria say?”

“Oh, she's hopeless. She doesn't know anything, she's so wrapped up in those brats of hers. And when I called Phil, there was some woman there. Her voice sounded familiar but …” I shook my head. “Well, anyway, I think he's dumped my mother. He sure didn't seem worried about her whereabouts.”

“Men can be such jerks,” she said. Maybe she was thinking about her own father, who had ditched Cindy two years earlier for a woman from his office. Nicole had idolized her father and couldn't forgive him for his desertion.

I squeezed Nicole's hand and we sat there, brooding about men and our mothers and the enigma of adult relationships.

“I guess I should go talk to Phil in person,” I decided, rolling down my window to let in some air. We were having another day of dazzling sunshine. “Maybe if I corner him, he'll have to tell me what's going on.”

“That's a good idea. What about calling your mom's office and talking to someone there?”

“No way! I'm not Nancy Drew, Girl Detective. Anyway, listening to someone accuse my mother of being a thief would
not
be fun. That's the last thing I need.”

“Sorry. You're right. Do you want me to come with you to see Phil?”

That last part was said very bravely, but I wasn't fooled. Nicole hated confrontations. I smiled and shook my head. “No, I'll do it by myself. But come over later. I don't want to be alone. Waiting for my mother is driving me stark raving mad.”

“I have to do some errands for my mother, but I'll come over around three,” she said, opening the car door.

I sighed and pulled my hair up off my neck. “Nicole, be careful you don't let something slip about this. Especially not to your mother. Please!”

“I won't,” she promised.

As I watched Nicole walk away, I thought maybe I should have told her the other part of the story. Maybe I should have told her about the vicious quarrel my mother and I had the night before she went missing. But my side of that argument wasn't very pretty, and I was ashamed to repeat it.

• • •

Even though Phil's gas station is always super clean, I could still smell the acrid odor of gasoline as I walked inside the garage. Overhead, a black Lexus was suspended on the hydraulic lift. Phil was in the back, leaning against his workbench, with a cell phone pressed to one ear. He raised his eyebrows when he saw me, said something into the phone, and hung up. He was dressed in his usual faded jeans, denim shirt, and shitkicker boots as if he were just off the range from wrestling a few broncos. I always considered his look totally phony—this is California, after all, not Montana.

Reynaldo was nowhere in sight.

“Well, well, what an honor—a visit from the Duchess,” Phil quipped, leaning back against the workbench with his arms crossed in front of him. “Careful you don't get those dainty sandals dirty.”

He always thought it was funny to refer to me as “the Duchess.” I gave him a
Ha, ha, how amusing, you hopeless dork
look.

“Have the cops been to see you?” I said.

He nodded warily. “Yes, but I couldn't help them. I haven't seen Diane much lately.”

“What does that mean? The two of you have been a couple for years. Now suddenly you hardly know her?”

Phil shrugged. “Things kind of tapered off between us.”

“This is the first I've heard of it,” I sneered. “What happened—you dumped her?”

“Duchess, you're too wrapped up in yourself to notice anyone else,” he shot back. “No, I didn't dump her.” He gazed down at his hands as if he were studying them. They were big hands, callused and stained.