Sophie Last Seen

by Marlene Adelstein

  “Who is? Ophelia?”

  “Ophelia. April. Sophie... I don’t know. We just have to watch and listen.” She stuffed the shirt into her big leather purse.

  Star went into the bedroom, looking for something on the floor, under the bed. She went back into the bathroom and looked some more.

  “What are you looking for?” Jesse asked.

  “My backpack.” Then something seemed to dawn on her. “I saw something blue bouncing as she ran off. Shit. My backpack. Ophelia’s a klepto.”

  “Hold on a minute.” Jesse pulled her cell phone out from her purse. “I’m calling Barnes. Whether the girl is April or not, he’ll know what to do.” When she got his voicemail, she said, “Hi. Uh. It’s me. Jesse... Albright. The strangest thing just happened. I’m at 235 Blueberry Lane. Well, next door to it. There’s a little cabin. There was a girl here. Star Silverman saw her. She just climbed out the window and ran off. She’s gone, but I’m thinking that maybe she’s your April Johnson. Red hoodie. Bad haircut. Call me.” She clicked off her cell and shoved it in her pocket. She gazed around the cottage and said, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  BACK AT THE BIG HOUSE, where Jesse had parked her truck, Star slid into the front seat, and the dog jumped in after her. He scrunched in, his rear end on Star’s lap, and he stuck his head out the open window. He was panting with his huge tongue hanging out, drooling on Star.

  “Gross,” she said.

  His thick tail thumped on the seat. He looked ecstatic, if a dog could be ecstatic.

  “What’s with him?”

  “He loves to ride.” Jesse scratched his ear as she started the truck and headed out. Just as she made the turn out of the driveway, Gary’s pathetic Saturn appeared, racing down the road. It made a racket, coughing and sputtering, with a trail of smelly black exhaust.

  He rolled down his window and shouted, “Jess. Sorry. I got held up.”

  She smiled at him and nodded but drove on.

  “Hey wait. Wait!” he shouted.

  Jesse nodded again. “Yeah right,” she muttered. Sticking her arm out her window, she gave him the finger.

  Star laughed.

  Gary stopped his car and got out. He was standing in the middle of the road with his hands on his hips, shaking his head, looking confused.

  “Isn’t that your realtor?” Star said, putting the word in air quotes.

  “Not anymore.” Jesse hit the gas, and they sped off.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jesse entered her house with Star following closely and tossed her keys on the side table.

  “Holey-moley,” Star said, as she stood in the middle of Jesse’s living room, surveying the tall stacks of boxes. She walked over and picked up a couple of items: a plastic backscratcher and a utensil that might have been a potato masher. She pointed at a pair of off-white lady’s panties that hung out of another box. “I’ve heard rumors, but I never thought it would be like... like this.” Star wrinkled her nose. “Did you turn this into some kind of recycling center?”

  “Of course not. I live here, remember?” Jesse pulled the Tweet shirt out of her bag. She held it out and looked at the front and back then brought it to her nose again. She placed it on top of her latest pile of finds, thinking she would examine it more closely later when she was alone.

  “Yeah, but where’d you get all this...stuff?”

  The dog was nudging up against Star’s thigh. He licked her hand.

  “Hey, cut it out,” she said, wiping the back of her hand on her jeans.

  Star had been quiet for the whole ride to Jesse’s house. “I’ll just hang out with you for a while,” she had said when Jesse asked if she should take her to school or back home. The girl seemed depressed—about the fire, Jesse assumed. She knew how that felt. So she agreed to let Star come home with her for a bit.

  Tossing her jacket and purse on a chair, Jesse said, “Never mind about the stuff. Just come in and sit down. Do you want something to drink?”

  Ignoring her, Star wandered around, touching things. She hadn’t stepped foot in Jesse’s house in years, and she seemed to be taking it all in. She stood in front of Sophie’s purple parka hanging on the coat rack and let her hand graze it. She got to the dining room and the mess scattered about the table—Jesse’s newest batch of deconstructed finds. She stopped to look, picked one up, and studied the rectangular piece of old wood with strange items attached to it.

  “Don’t you use your studio out back anymore?” asked Star.

  “Oh, I haven’t in a while. I don’t do art anymore. It’s nothing,” she said, taking the piece out of Star’s hand. “Come on. This isn’t really meant for visitors.” And Jesse tugged her by the sleeve, wondering if she’d made a mistake letting the girl come over. But Star pulled her arm away and went back to examining the pieces.

  “Have you sold any of these?”

  Jesse shook her head.

  “Why not?”

  “They’re not art.”

  “They’re not?”

  “No. And they’re not for sale.”

  “Wait,” Star said. “You made them, but they’re not art?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Oh, I get it. You’re pulling that ‘What is art’ business, right?” She looked at Jesse, her eyes bright. “We talked about that in class. We saw a painting that was all white, nothing else, by some guy named Robert or Berger or something.”

  “Rauschenberg.”

  “Right. And a video of a performance artist. A woman who just slept in a bed in a little room and didn’t say a word. You just watched her sleep. That kind of stuff? Is it art or not? That was the question. My class got into a big argument over it. It was funny.”

  Jesse shook her head. “Well, that is an interesting class discussion, but it’s not like that here. I didn’t make this as art. This is the found stuff I’ve been collecting.” She didn’t say, What Sophie has been sending me. I’m not a hoarder.

  “The stuff in your living room. The boxes of junk?”

  “Yes. But it’s not junk.” She paused, deciding if she should go on, if Star would understand. She took a breath and continued. “They’re clues. To Sophie. Her whereabouts.” Jesse looked away then back at the finds on the table. She shuffled some of the pieces around.

  Star just watched her, waiting. The silence lingered in the air. It made Jesse remember the times Lila wouldn’t speak during a therapy session, waiting for the silence to make Jesse uncomfortable. And it did, so much so that she always felt compelled to spill her inner thoughts. She didn’t know why. She normally reveled in silence, enjoying the peace the quiet gave her, that space between. “I don’t expect you or anyone to understand since I barely do. They come to me, and they’re sacred. How can I take money for these? They’re about my daughter's disappearance.”

  Star turned over the piece in her hand and studied it. A handwritten letter. A faded black-and-white photo of a woman from the 1950s in a sundress. A piece of doll clothing. All behind screening and collaged onto wood with thick blue paint around the edges. She set it down and then looked at another piece carefully. “I don’t know. I’m just a kid. I know nothing. I just think these are really cool. I think they’re art. They remind me of the stuff we did in Wellfleet that summer we made art together. Remember? We made collages. We’d pick up stuff from the beach. Rusty cans, seashells, plastic fishing line. Junk. But it wasn’t junk. You told me not to think so much. Go with my gut. It was fun. But these”—she tapped the piece with her finger—“are totally awesome. If I had money, I’d buy these and hang them on my wall. I think they’re amazing.”

  “Well, I’m glad you like them even though they’re not art.”

  Star rolled her eyes and exhaled. “Whatevs.” She set the pieces down and wandered off.

  Jesse straightened up the table, letting her fingers skim over the finds and the non-art, thinking about what Star had said, until Saint Anthony let out a muffled ruff. It sounded more like an annoyed grunt than a
real bark. Then she heard a knock on the door.

  Jesse opened it to see Barnes standing there, grinning. Her heart did a two-step. She couldn’t help herself. The guy made her smile. Saint Anthony ambled over, sniffing Barnes’s pockets.

  “His Brownness. Good to see you.” He patted Saint Anthony’s head then pulled a dog biscuit out of his pocket. He offered it, and Saint Anthony gobbled it up.

  “I went to that cabin on Blueberry Lane. Obviously, no April. You saw her there?”

  Jesse filled him in on everything that had happened there then said, “I guess you didn’t find her yesterday.”

  He shook his head.

  “There was nothing I could do. She was too far away.”

  He reached out to touch her, but Jesse backed away stiffly. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, nothing.” She was such a jumble of conflicting emotions about him. She wanted him yet also felt she didn’t deserve to be with him. She waved toward Star, who was back with the finds in the dining room. “Star is with me in the other room. I should probably go back to her.”

  “It’s clear you’re uncomfortable. You don’t want to tell me what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He looked at her closely and lowered his voice. “Maybe yesterday in the closet never happened.”

  “It did happen. You’re the best thing to come my way in ages.” She paused, leaving a gap of silence that felt like an eternity. Then there it was. That compulsion to speak. “I don’t know why I went over there to meet him. It was stupid, I know. He pushed me.”

  His eyes flashed open. “You went to meet that guy, Gary? To be with him again?”

  “I wanted to smooth things over with him. I made such a scene at the party. But nothing happened. He didn’t show up. He was late and...”

  “And what? You would have slept with him?”

  “No. No... I don’t know.” She was a terrible liar. “We never got together.”

  “I thought maybe we had something here. The start of something.” He looked off to the side then back at Jesse. “I don’t know why, but I’m drawn to you. Maybe it was a mistake. I misread things. Maybe you just needed another detective to help you find Sophie.”

  “What? No. No!” Jesse had been so appreciative of his offer, but that certainly had no bearing on her attraction to him. She shook her head. “No, you didn’t misread anything. It’s over with him. Totally. I screwed up. But at least I saw April. Please, give me another chance.”

  Barnes stuffed his hands in his front pants pockets. “We barely know each other. You owe me nothing. I had just hoped...” He exhaled and scratched his head. “I better ask Star a few questions. May I go in and talk to her?”

  “Yes, of course. But you’re mad. I don’t want you to be mad.”

  “I’m not mad. I’m disappointed. I’ve been through too much. I’ve got to protect myself. My heart.” He nodded then walked toward Star. He’d simply dismissed her like a child.

  Jesse covered her face with her hands, shook her head, thinking, I fucked up again.

  STAR WAS SITTING ON the couch, leaning over, her elbows on her knees, her head on her fists. Jesse stood off to the side, listening to Barnes question her. It gave her a chance to see him in action.

  “She made off with my backpack,” Star blurted.

  “How do you know?” He sat beside her on the couch.

  “I saw her running, and she had something blue kind of bouncing as she ran. It had to be my backpack. I couldn’t find it in Blueberry.”

  “Blueberry?”

  “The cabin. That’s what I call it. I looked all over. I’m sure she took it. I had it with me when I came in. Left it on the floor of the bedroom. I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. She just seemed kind of... well, lost. If you know what I mean. She didn’t seem bad. I figured she could hang out there for a day or two, get her act together, and then go home. That wouldn’t hurt anyone.” She lifted her head off her hands. “She didn’t look like the photo of that girl you showed me. She told me her mom was a drug addict and there was this mean boyfriend who did bad stuff to her.”

  Barnes shook his head. “She was telling you a story. She comes from a decent family. The mom’s not a drug addict. There’s no boyfriend. The father is a stockbroker. They live in a nice suburban neighborhood.”

  “Oh.” Star looked at Jesse then back at Barnes. She slouched down. “I thought maybe it wasn’t all true.”

  “What was in your backpack?”

  “All my stuff. My school books. And I had lent her my cell phone.”

  “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day. Give me the number of your cell.” He handed her his cell phone, and she punched in her number.

  “Best news? My parents are going to kill me.”

  Barnes smiled. “I doubt that. Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” He turned to Jesse. “I’ve got to go.” He headed for the door.

  “Wait. Please.” Jesse reached out for his arm.

  “I’ve got to find April.” He grabbed the doorknob.

  “Wait.”

  He stopped, turning back to her. “Yes, Ms. Albright?”

  “Don’t hate me.”

  He shook his head and walked out, closing the door behind him.

  “Whoa,” Star said. “What did you do to piss him off?”

  JESSE TOOK SAINT ANTHONY for a walk to clear her head, but she couldn’t stop beating herself up about her exchange with Barnes. It went so fast from their closet kisses to his abrupt departure. When she returned home, she didn’t see Star anywhere downstairs, but she heard someone talking. She stopped to listen. It was coming from upstairs, but it wasn’t Star’s voice. It was a child’s voice. A little girl’s.

  “Sophie,” Jesse whispered and leapt up the stairs taking two at a time, Saint Anthony galloping behind her. She stood at the open door to Sophie’s room, her heart thudding away, while she looked in, expecting to see her daughter.

  Star was sitting on the bed under the canopy of felt leaves, her back against the pillows, her knees bent up. She held out the remote to the DVD player and small TV that sat on the bookshelf across from the bed. She was watching a video of Sophie being interviewed by Charles Osgood on CBS News Sunday Morning. Star pointed the remote at the TV and kept playing, rewinding, and replaying the same moment on the video.

  Sophie, her binoculars around her neck, stood in their backyard, the various bird feeders hanging off trees behind her. Nearby, crows were in a tree, flapping and cawing loudly. Sophie wore a serious expression as the amiable Charles Osgood talked to her. Her brown hair hung down loosely around her face, and she wore a favorite red top. She held her plastic box of precious found items. “These are thank-you presents from the crows,” she said, opening the box with all its little compartments filled with colorful bits. She picked up the tiny piece of tin foil that had been scrunched into a ball to show him.

  Jesse held onto the doorframe for support. Of course it hadn’t occurred to her that in reality her daughter would no longer sound like the child on the DVD. But in her mind, when memories appeared, that was who she always thought of, who she heard. She hadn’t watched the video in years. She was too afraid to see it, to set off the pain again, just as she hadn’t been able to go through Sophie’s belongings. But seeing the image of Sophie and hearing her nine-year-old voice opened a cavern inside her chest so vast and deep, waves of emotions came pouring in.

  Star sensed Jesse standing there, and she looked up, her eyes brimming with tears.

  Jesse approached her. “It must be so hard for you to be in this house. In this room.” She nodded toward the TV. “Watching Sophie.”

  Star wiped her face with the back of her hand. She shook her head no. “It is weird being here, seeing her again on that show, kind of like a dream, but that’s not why I’m crying.”

  “Then what is it?”

  At first, Star didn’t answer. Then she said, “I haven’t told anyone.”


  Jesse sat down next to Star on the bed. The DVD kept playing, and Sophie was explaining to Charles Osgood how she’d befriended the crows. “I fed them every day for months. I watched them closely, and they watched me, too. We became friends.”

  “Are you sure they left these things for you?” he asked.

  “Of course!” she said confidently, and when he laughed, she smiled and let out a funny chortle, too, her binoculars bouncing a bit on her chest.

  Jesse gently took the remote out of Star’s hand and clicked the DVD player off. She looked at Star and waited. “Tell me.”

  Star glanced away then whispered, “It’s Sophie.”

  “What about Sophie?”

  Tears ran freely down Star’s cheeks.

  “What about her?” Jesse prodded.

  Star stared off into space. She sniffed.

  “Star, do you know something?”

  Star’s lower lip quivered.

  Jesse took hold of her by the shoulders and pulled her closer. “Has she called you? Have you seen her?” She raised her voice. “Is she alive?”

  “No.” Star pulled away and shook her head, her hair flying about her face. “I don’t know.” She let out a huge sigh. “I don’t think so.”

  Jesse leaned back and looked at her. “What’s going on?”

  “She haunts me in my bedroom at night. Once at the Book Barn. Today, she even appeared at school.” Jesse stared at Star. “Maybe I’m crazy. It’s freakin’ weirding me out. She’s trying to tell me something.”

  “You mean she appears to you in dreams? In nightmares? She’s not real, right?”

  “I guess not. She looks real. But she’s still ten, and she’s wearing her same outfit. The one she wore the day she went missing. Maybe it’s her ghost. Or maybe it’s a dream. I don’t know.”

  Jesse swallowed hard. “Sophie never appears in my dreams. I wish she did.”

  “No, you don’t. Trust me.”

  “Does she talk to you? What does she say?”

  “She sounds older and mean, like she’s mad at me. I drink coffee to stay awake. I thought if I don’t fall asleep, then I wouldn’t see her. But now she’s appearing during the day, too.” She looked away then choked back more tears before sputtering, “I don’t want what happened to Sophie to happen to Ophelia. Or April. Or whoever she is. That’s why I had her stay at Blueberry.”