She's Gone: A Novel

by Emmens, Joye

  “Ready to explore?” Will asked.

  “I’m famished. How much money do we have left?”

  “We have enough for another week’s rent or food, but not both,” Will said.

  Outside, Will led her through the Back Bay along quiet, tree-lined streets. They paused while she buttoned up her coat. The sun was out but it was cold and her cheeks were numb. She felt refreshed and almost herself again.

  A sign hung outside a diner on a sandwich board: Cheap Breakfasts Served All Day.

  “Let’s splurge.” He took her hand and led her inside. They slid into a booth. The mood here was different than New York. Not as rushed. They ordered tea and pancakes and eggs. Jolie held her warm tea mug to her cheeks. When their order came, they smothered the pancakes in butter and warm maple syrup and devoured the feast.

  Will picked out the Boston Globe Help Wanted section from a stack of newspapers in a nearby vacant booth. “We’ll read this tonight and plan out where to apply for jobs tomorrow,” he said.

  Jolie nodded, but an uneasy feeling crept over her as she glanced at the thick help wanted section. The big city was intimidating.

  Outside they turned onto Boylston Street. In the distance, four pyramids and a huge tower trimmed in red sandstone stood out in the skyline: a glorious church. They stopped in front of another building. Jolie stared up at it.

  “This is the library? It’s beautiful. I can’t wait to come back here,” she said.

  People walked by and didn’t seem to notice the grand building. “Everything is so old and dignified. I’m going to learn all about the history and architecture,” Jolie said.

  “Focus on the future, not the past.”

  They walked up Newbury Street past vintage row houses, boutiques, and restaurants.

  “Look for Help Wanted signs,” Will said.

  They passed men in long wool coats and women in skirts, leather boots and cashmere scarves. She eyed a handbag in a shop window. The price tag was equivalent to a small fortune. She didn’t have anything to wear to an interview, much less to work in these shops. Her vintage clothing would be considered too bohemian.

  They turned onto Commonwealth Avenue and walked along the Mall, a wide street lined with grass. Benches and monuments decorated the promenade. At the end of the avenue they stood and gazed at the Public Garden before heading to the Charles River. After three blocks it lay before them. Mystic blue, with rowing teams racing along the banks. They walked along the riverfront and sat on a bench.

  “I love Boston,” Jolie said. “It’s much more laid back than New York.”

  “Don’t let your guard down. All cities have crime,” he said, and took her hand and kissed it. They sat on the bench, gazing across the river at Cambridge.

  To warm up, they walked back along Arlington Street and wandered into the Public Garden. A path lined with elms, horse chestnuts, redwoods, and ginkgo trees meandered alongside a lagoon. Weeping willows spilled over the banks. Couples strolled hand in hand and children fed the ducks. Jolie was drawn to a large bronze statue of George Washington. She gazed up at him astride his lifelike, prancing horse and stroked the horse’s leg.

  They walked across Charles Street from the Public Garden into the Boston Common. People were everywhere. Some bicycling, others picnicked on benches; it didn’t seem to matter that there was a chill in the air. Everyone seemed happy for the sun and to be outside after the long winter. Jolie and Will walked through the Common, pausing at the monuments and fountains, taking in the history.

  “They used to hang people in gallows here,” Jolie said, reading a plaque.

  Ahead, a small group of about fifty or so anti-war protesters had congregated around a stone-columned bandstand. The protesters, finished with their march, hung around in small groups talking. Two policemen on horseback watched nearby.

  Will and Jolie approached the group. Will sought out a clean-shaven, short-haired blond man who appeared to be the leader. He was finalizing instructions for the next protest to be held at the Cambridge Common the following Saturday. When he finished, Will introduced himself. The man’s name was Adam. Will talked to him at length about the West Coast anti-war activities and the Revolutionary Youth Movement. Jolie stood next to Will, silently observing.

  “I’ve written a revolutionary socialist manifesto that I plan to publish,” Will said.

  “Like The Communist Manifesto?” Adam asked, his face lit up at the prospect.

  “Along those lines. But I’ve made it relevant for our government, our corporations and our social inequities.”

  “Bring it by our meeting place. We hang out at Liberation Books in Cambridge. I’ll introduce you to the owner. We need new ideas to organize,” Adam said.

  Jolie glanced at Will. Their first day in Boston, and he’d already met up with a movement. That was good, if it didn’t distract him from looking for work.

  The protesters disbanded as the light faded. Jolie and Will walked back toward the hotel. They stopped at a neighborhood Italian grocery and bought food for dinner. In their room, they ate cheese and olives and Italian bread on the small table. It was basic, but they were off the street.

  Jolie took the crumpled Help Wanted section Will had been carrying around all day and started reading down the column out loud. “Bus Driver, Cook, Dishwasher, Engineer, Machinist, Medical Assistant, Nurse, Preschool Teacher, Sales, Shipping Lead, Waitress.” She looked up. “I’d like to be a preschool teacher.”

  “Focus on restaurants. People give you good tips, they like you. Plus you get food.”

  She went back to the Waitress section. “Here are some waitress jobs in Harvard Square. Is that by Harvard University?”

  “They’re both in Cambridge.”

  “This one says ‘Apply in person Monday–Thursday. Ask for Manager. No phone calls.’ There are a bunch in Harvard Square.”

  “Let’s go there in the morning. I want to check out Liberation Books. Cambridge seems to be the heart of the movement.”

  She glanced at him. Shouldn’t work be his priority?

  Exhausted by the past five days, they fell into bed. The radiator sputtered intermittently. The bed creaked, and the mattress sagged, but it was safe and warm and one hundred times better than last night’s bus bench in New York. Will held her tight. They talked of all the places they would explore and the things they would do.

  “I want to live in a historic brick house in one of the quaint neighborhoods,” Jolie said.

  “Someday. But first you have to score a job.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll be looking. I don’t fit into an eight-to-five job. I need my own gig.”

  Her heart sank. “But you’re the one with the college degree.”

  He laughed. “All the more reason to be my own boss. It’ll be easier for you. You’ll find a job in a day or two. You have to. Our money is almost gone.”

  Her body froze. What if she didn’t? What if their money ran out and they were back on the street? “Can your parents lend you some money?” Her voice small in the dark.

  “I disowned my father years ago. He was a control freak.”

  “Like what did he try and control?”

  “Me. My mind, my ideals, my politics. Nothing I did was good enough. End of story.”

  “Don’t you miss them?”

  “I said end of story. Don’t ever mention them again.”

  Jolie shrank away from his brusque words and lay with her eyes open in the dark.

  17

  Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?

  Monday morning, Jolie stood by the dinged-up dresser where she had unpacked their clothes. A queasy feeling swirled in her stomach. What would she wear to look for a job in this sophisticated city? She picked out a pair of navy-blue wool bell bottoms and a vintage cashmere sweater. It was too cold for a skirt.

 
Jolie showered and dressed. Her pants fell loose around her waist. She found a safety pin and cinched two inches from the waist band. Around her neck and under her sweater was the moonstone in the soft leather pouch, her amulet of protection. She’d need it today. She sat at the table and made a list of all of the Cambridge restaurants hiring and their addresses. All were located on three streets. Her right leg jiggled rapidly. What if they saw through her lie and knew she wasn’t eighteen? She needed to meditate to calm and center herself while Will showered.

  Sitting cross-legged on her small rug, she closed her eyes and grounded herself into the earth. She channeled her breath into her core, trying to find peace within. Worrisome thoughts intruded no matter how hard she concentrated on clearing her mind. What if she couldn’t find a job? If a job called her back at the hotel, would they hire her if they knew she was staying there? What if she got hired and couldn’t keep up with the work? She had to be strong and not held back by fear. She’d gotten along so far. Her mind reeled with the sounds of the city outside the window. She silently chanted om.

  They took the Red Line Transit, the T, to Harvard Square and emerged from the underground subway onto JFK Avenue. The Square teamed with pedestrians. People swarmed around Out Of Town, the newsstand in the heart of the Square. The sidewalks were brick, the buildings were brick, and the avenue was lined with bookstores and restaurants. In front of the Harvard Co-op bookstore, they stopped by an ornate iron clock set on a tall iron post.

  “This will always be our spot to meet,” Will said.

  A jazz musician on the corner coaxed notes from a trumpet. The ethereal sound of Miles Davis’s “Sketches in Spain” wafted down the street. At a coffee shop, they sat by the window and watched the throng of people stream by. They drank tea and shared an English muffin smothered in blackberry jam.

  Jolie looked at the bookstore across the street. That’s where she’d rather work instead of a restaurant. Her mom had wanted her to become a librarian because she spent so much time reading at the library. A librarian? Just because she loved to read about travel and adventure didn’t mean she wanted to be in charge of the Dewey decimal system. Thinking about her mom made her homesick.

  “What if I got a job in one of the bookstores?” she asked.

  “It’s minimum wage with no tips or food. We need your tips.”

  He was right. She could buy books with tip money. She took out her list of waitress jobs and oriented herself to the streets.

  Will stood. “I’m off to check out the scene.” He left some money on top of the check. “I’ll meet you at the clock post at noon.” He leaned down and kissed her. “Good luck.”

  Sipping her tea she watched him walk down the street and disappear into the crowd. She ordered more hot water and lingered, trying to work up the nerve to go out. Finally, exhausting her tea bag, she left the warmth of the cafe.

  Jolie walked by the restaurants on her list and read the menus. There was a crepe café, a German joint, a restaurant with an ice cream counter, and an Italian place.

  She circled back through the streets, gathered her courage, and paused before Brigham’s. The sign in the window read, “I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream for Ice Cream.” She walked in, passed the ice cream counter in front of the restaurant, and stood before a busy breakfast counter where a middle-aged waitress talked with her customers.

  “May I please see the manager?” Jolie asked.

  “Frank,” the waitress called in a harsh accent.

  Jolie stepped back and waited. There was no way she would be waiting tables when she was that old. A man in a starched white shirt and black pants walked over to the waitress. She nodded her head in Jolie’s direction. He looked at her expectantly.

  She swallowed. “I’m here to apply for the job.”

  “Come on back.”

  She followed him to the far counter.

  “Fill out this application,” the manager said. “I’ll be back in a few.”

  She completed the paperwork and waited for him to return, nervously pulling up her waistband and smoothing her sweater down. The restaurant was packed. The waitresses hustled as the cook in a white uniform and chef’s hat flung orders onto a counter and yelled out names. The manager returned, picked up her application, and scrutinized it.

  He reached out his hand. “Jolie, I’m Frank.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Jolie said. She shook his hand and winced from his powerful grip.

  “You can start tomorrow at the ice cream counter. Your shift is from eleven to seven. If that works out, we’ll use you waitressing.”

  “Really?” Jolie said.

  “Really.” He smiled. “At least one of my problems is solved. Be here at eleven a.m. sharp. We’ll have a uniform and apron for you.”

  “Thank you,” Jolie said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She floated outside into the hum of buses, cars, and throngs of pedestrians. Wow, within fifteen minutes she had a job.

  A panhandler stood in front of the restaurant. “Spare change?”

  She shook her head. She had nothing to spare now, but she would soon. She glanced down the street at the tall iron clock. There was another two hours to go before she met Will. Wandering up Massachusetts Avenue past boutiques, restaurants, and more bookstores, she found herself on the edge of Cambridge Common. She drifted along the center path, reading the historic plaques and monuments. The Common had been a staging ground for American Revolutionaries. In 1775, right where she stood, George Washington had taken command of the untrained, starving American army. She wanted to know more.

  A constant stream of students passed through the Common. Small groups of young people sat in circles and talked or played Frisbee. Refrains from a steel drum band drifted from the far corner of the Common. Drawn to the Jamaican beat she sat down on a nearby bench. The band moved with the music; their long, braided hair streamed out of brightly colored knit hats.

  Sitting back, she relaxed for the first time in a while. She had a new job twenty-four hours after arriving in Boston. A week ago she had been in Eugene and now she was sitting on a park bench in Cambridge, three thousand miles away. Once they got settled she would somehow get a message to her parents, letting them know she was okay. She closed her eyes. They had been so close to finding her.

  When the song ended, she opened her eyes. A young man with brown hair falling past his ears shared the bench with her. His backpack was so stuffed with books the zipper didn’t close. They eyed each other. On his head was a beanie with a red symbol of a lion and the word Veritas.

  “Do you go to Radcliffe?” he asked.

  Radcliffe? She wished, maybe one day. “No, I just got here yesterday.”

  “I’m Nick, I’m a student at Harvard.” He offered his hand.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Jolie. You really go to Harvard?”

  “I’m a first year law student.”

  “Why law?”

  “There are so many inequities in the world. I want to help the underprivileged.”

  She nodded. They sat there for a minute not saying anything. The reggae beat started up again.

  “Hey, since you just got here, can I show you around Harvard? I’ve got about an hour before my next class.”

  She looked across the avenue at Harvard. It lay before them in its stoic and intimidating beauty. Turning back to Nick, their eyes locked. Neither looked away. “Okay, that sounds good.”

  Nick walked her through Harvard Yard and pointed out the hallowed brick buildings from the 1600s. She was awed by the history and architecture. She was at Harvard. They stood in front of the library.

  “Can we go in?” she said.

  “Students only. But Cambridge has a library. It’s on Broadway, about four blocks away.”

  A sudden gust of wind bit through her coat and a shiver ran through her.

  “You’re cold.” He took off h
is beanie, placed it on her head, and pulled it down around her ears.

  The cap was still warm from his body heat. She pressed her hands over her ears and smiled up at him. “Thanks.”

  “Come on. There’s more to see.”

  Harvard Yard buzzed with students bundled in pea coats, scarves, and hats. They sat in groups or walked hurriedly to class. Shouts and laughter spiked the air. Nick pointed out the architectural details of columns, arched windows, and leaded glass. When it was time for his class, he pointed her in the direction of the Square. She didn’t want to leave the cocoon of Harvard Yard.

  “Thanks for the tour.” She tugged off his beanie.

  “Keep it. It looks good on you.” He hesitated. “There’s lots more history and architecture in Cambridge to see. How can I get in touch with you?”

  “I just got a job at Brigham’s, the day shift.”

  He smiled. “Okay, see you sometime.”

  She slipped the beanie back on and watched him walk off. He turned and called out, “Ciao.”

  “Ciao,” she called, smiling back at him, trying out the word. She didn’t know anyone who really used it. It sounded so worldly.

  Jolie walked toward the clock post in the Square. She liked Nick and his altruistic goal. She was no longer intimidated by Harvard after walking around with him. They were all just kids with dreams. A revelation swelled within her. College. She wanted to go to college and study. And she would study hard. She needed to think of her future.

  She leaned on the clock post and watched and waited for Will. Streams of students passed by in either direction. The Co-op bookshop window was plastered with posters of events. Inside, the display was filled with textbooks, glossy hardback best sellers, travel books, and T-shirts and hats with the red lion emblem and the word Veritas. She fingered the emblem on Nick’s beanie and saw her reflection. It was the Harvard logo. She smiled. What did Veritas mean? How would she explain the hat to Will? She pulled off the beanie and tucked it in her purse.