Deliver Her: A Novel

by Patricia Perry Donovan

  Murphy was listing possible lunch choices: burgers, pizza, pretzels. Alex wanted a bagel. And gum. She was almost out of Rainbow Bubble, which was almost as rough as being out of cigarettes. If she couldn’t smoke, at least they could replenish her gum. They couldn’t expect her to go cold turkey on that, too. It was humiliating, having to ask for every little thing.

  “We’ll see,” Murphy said when Alex asked for it.

  Such a mom answer. “Is he, like, your boss or something?”

  Murphy smiled. “He pretty much runs the show.”

  “You guys married?”

  This time, Murphy threw her head back and laughed. She had a nice laugh, soft and ending on a high note as though she were surprised, not like her mother’s demonic cackle. “No way. We are definitely not married. We’re just colleagues—you know, people who work together.”

  “I know what colleagues are,” Alex snapped, offended. “I take English honors.” Took, she silently corrected herself, having been bumped back to regular English for never handing in homework. Now, today’s sick conspiracy obliterated any chance of salvaging her junior year.

  “I have a daughter,” Murphy volunteered. “Younger than you. She’s ten. Her name’s Jamie.” Alex pictured a smaller version of Murphy, a Mini-Me wrapped in her own black trench. She felt sorry for the kid. Murphy dug for her phone and pressed a few buttons. For a second Alex wondered if she’d let her borrow it.

  “Here’s my girl.” She knew what Murphy was doing, like Dr. Fallon after. Trying to get all buddy-buddy, relating. Alex played along, as she had for a time with the counselor, peering into Mom Haircut’s screen. The girl actually was kind of cute, probably took after the dad. Her straight brown hair came to her shoulders, and light pink glasses framed blue eyes. She sat cross-legged on grass, smiling as she tickled the underbelly of a squirming puppy.

  “My mother takes care of her when I have to travel for work.” Another divorced mom. Wasn’t everybody, these days?

  “Does she see her dad much?” Probably more than she saw hers, Alex thought.

  Murphy cleared her throat. “Jamie’s father died. In the line of duty.”

  “In 9/11?” The question popped out before she could stop it. Her mom had rushed to the city to help that day with a bunch of nurses from the hospital. Alex was six at the time; she didn’t remember it very well. They watched the Ground Zero memorial service every year. Their own town lost fourteen people in the attack.

  “Oh, my. That was such a tragic day. But no. It was a year later. Jamie’s dad was a police officer. In Jersey City.”

  Alex did the math quickly. “Does Jamie remember him?”

  A quick intake of breath. “No, unfortunately. I was pregnant when my husband Jimmy died. Jamie was born a few months later.”

  Jimmy. Jamie. Duh. Named for her father. Like Jack was, for her dad. Except their dad was living and breathing. He might even be in the same state as Alex was right now; she glanced behind her, as though her father might magically stroll out of the men’s room.

  He didn’t. Alex rolled her shoulders, thinking that if he had, he would take her home, no questions asked. At least, Alex thought he would. Lately he resisted Alex’s charms, always tired and cranky after his tree jobs. Like over that college thing; her entire body stiffened at the memory of that confrontation. It wasn’t fair when he changed the rules.

  To Murphy, Alex mumbled what hundreds had murmured in her ear as they streamed past her at Cass’s service: “Sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. We miss him every day.” For the first time, Alex noticed the American flag pin on Murphy’s trench.

  They were getting along so well, Alex forgot for a second why they were even together. When their turn came, Murphy was all business again, waving her into an empty stall. “Meet me out here by the sinks,” she instructed. Alex locked the stall and sat on the toilet. She didn’t have to go, just needed a few seconds alone to think. She wished the giggling girls outside the stall would shut up. And she sorely missed her phone. It was like losing an essential organ. She could only imagine the bazillion missed calls from Evan. And Shana must be losing her mind right about now without Alex at the lunch table. Although Alex had skipped so many times, Shana had found other random people to eat with.

  Twirling the toilet-paper roll loudly to buy more time in the stall, Alex weighed her options. With Murphy all business again, the moment to ask for her phone had passed.

  1. Find a pay phone. The ones right outside the bathroom were too obvious, too out in the open. And if her keepers took her cell, they’d never let her use a pay phone.

  2. Make a break for it. She surveyed the stall: Behind her, a sign listed all the gross things you weren’t allowed to flush. (Did people need a reminder not to dump grease into the toilets, she wondered, reading?) Overhead, the ceiling looked like the ones in all her classrooms: square fluorescent panels set in an aluminum grid with lighting that made everybody look sick. And there were no windows anywhere. In short, the bathroom offered zero possibilities.

  3. Push Murphy down and run past Carl through the front door, then hitch a ride or hide on a tour bus. Although she’d gotten good at hitching, the thought of running made her head ache. And Carl was right outside waiting. He’d probably have the place on lockdown in thirty seconds.

  Murphy pounded on the metal door. “Alex, almost done?”

  OMG. She wasn’t a three-year-old. “Be right there.” Alex spun the paper roll once more for effect, fuming at the unfairness of being held against her will. She’d read that abducted people sometimes fell in love with their captors. She thought of Camo Man outside the bathroom and almost threw up in her mouth. As if she’d get all Stockholm syndrome-y over him.

  4. Get a message to somebody. She could slide it across the counter to the coffee guy: Help! I’m being held against my will! Then again, Carl and Murphy would probably whip out their badges and shut that one down, fast. Someone would tweet it and she’d end up on the seven o’clock news. Not that her friends ever watched; stuff had to be trending on Twitter or heart-ed by a bazillion followers on Instagram to get on their radar. But their parents watched.

  What else? She couldn’t think with the girls’ stupid laughter echoing in the cavernous bathroom. They must be on a school trip, bored to tears, this rest stop the highlight of the day. Proud owners of Boston whale-key chains.

  Alex sat up. It was a long shot, but maybe the message thing could work, if one of these idiot girls would help. If the situation were reversed, Alex and her friends wouldn’t be able to resist the opportunity, she reasoned. Well, maybe not Cass. She’d be all: Don’t do that. What if you’re texting a criminal or something? As much as Alex loved Cass, she could be a major buzzkill sometimes.

  Not Shana. Shana had a pair. Like the week before her Sweet Sixteen, when the three of them tested party makeup in Alex’s bedroom, and Shana had pitched her vodka idea again, and for the bazillionth time, Cass shot her down.

  “Geeze, Cass, you’re such an angel,” Shana had teased, turning to Alex. “Come on. It’ll be cool, Al. We’ll use your prezzies to sneak it in. Gift bags are the perfect size.”

  “Seriously, Shana,” Cass had said. “Why do you always have to create drama?”

  There was a glimmer of truth in Cass’s words. Shana liked to stir things up a bit—get the party started. But when it came down to it, Shana usually ended up on the sidelines, watching everyone else turn into waste products without partaking much herself.

  Yeah, Shana definitely would be game for this, Alex thought in the bathroom stall. So if any of these girls had even an ounce of Shana’s guts, this might have a chance of working. Cracking her gum, she pulled her wallet from her purse. Movie stubs, school ID, ATM card, but nothing in the bank account it linked to. She swore she’d had a ten last night, but then remembered she bought cigarettes. There had to be change, though. She shook her bag, rewarded with the clink of coins at the bottom. Peering inside, she separated two wadded-up dollar
bills from a mess of gum wrappers and grabbed a couple of quarters. Less than three bucks; she’d have to sweeten the pot a little. There must be something else she could add.

  There it was. A smile played at Alex’s lips. Evan had given her a little something extra awhile back. Mom Haircut had missed it. Or thought it was a Tic Tac. Yeah, that would definitely seal the deal. It would have been nice to have it for the rest of the ride, but this was more important.

  Next, paper and something to write with. More digging: last semester’s progress report, a neon blue highlighter. They’d have to do. She put her purse on her lap like a desk, smoothed the paper over it and wrote: Plze text to 555-897-3320. Other than her mother’s, Evan’s was the only number she had memorized. Shana made fun of her for it. She added a brief message for Evan, hoped he’d figure it out. At least he’d know she tried.

  She folded the bills, making a little pocket and dropping the coins inside. She added the yellow pill from her purse pocket, wrapped the entire thing inside the note and folded it as small and flat as she could, leaving a little money sticking out. This was for real, not like that trick Jack liked to play from under the promenade, poking a dollar through the boards to tempt walkers overhead, only to yank it away when they went for it. Every time. Jack would tumble back into the sand cracking up until their mom yelled for him to get out of there.

  The last challenge: getting the packet to the girls at the sink without Murphy seeing. Concentrating, she blew a bigger bubble than usual, peeling the residue from her lips and rolling it between her fingers.

  OMG. Gum could work. Quickly she wadded her gum and stuck it to the inside of the stall door, then pressed her SOS packet to it. Voila. Pleased, she silently unlocked the stall door, opening it just enough to see the line of people waiting. When the next giggling girl stepped up, Alex swung the door open and held it for her.

  “About time, Alex.” Mom Haircut’s arms were crossed; all Alex’s sympathy for the woman vanished.

  “Sorry. Thought I got my period.” Under the woman’s watchful eye, she washed her hands and tossed the wet towel in the garbage. “Thanks for waiting.” Adjusting the purple scarf around her neck, she gave Murphy her sweetest, most sincere smile. “Let’s eat.”

  CARL

  The Charlton rest stop’s layout was pretty straightforward: a single set of doors in and out, aside from the emergency exit. From where Carl stood, he had a perfect 360-degree view of the facility. A busload of giggling girls straggled in, a handful breaking off to use the toilets.

  He used the wait to check in with the mother, who picked up immediately. “Mrs. Carmody, Carl Alden here. Just wanted to let you know everything is going according to schedule.”

  Her relieved sigh reminded him how much parents relied on his updates from the road.

  “I’ve been crazy with worry all morning. How did everything go?”

  “Like clockwork. We’re at a Massachusetts rest stop on I-90, not quite halfway. We’re about to have lunch.”

  The mother haltingly asked for details about the morning pickup: Did Alex yell or scream, fight them in any way?

  He measured his words. “There was, shall we say, a certain amount of resistance on her part.”

  She sniffed. “I bet she had some choice things to say about me after I left.”

  Again, he edited his response. “She was upset. It’s understandable. She wanted to say good-bye to you and her brother.”

  The mother asked what they’d talked about.

  “She’s been sleeping, mostly. Maybe we’ll chat some at lunch.”

  Scanning the stream of women exiting the toilet, Carl thought he saw Murphy and the girl coming out. The pair separated, one strolling toward the sunglasses display, the other to the ATM. He’d been mistaken. But he had to remain vigilant. You just never knew. Alex may have been sleeping in the car, or just thinking. He still wasn’t sure yet about this one; he had to be prepared for anything.

  The mother asked what was happening next.

  Carl checked his watch. “After lunch, we’ll get back on the road. We’re anticipating a little wet weather toward the end of the ride, but nothing that should keep us from the timetable I gave you.”

  “OK.” A few seconds of silence. “Did you give her my letter?”

  “Still waiting for the right moment. How are you and your husband holding up?” He knew the day was extremely draining for clients, how much faith it took to place their children in his hands, the stress of waiting for updates.

  They needed as much reassurance as the children themselves.

  “I’m trying to hold it together and get through work. I feel better, knowing things went OK at the house.”

  “Glad to hear it. I doubt we’ll stop again, so I’ll text you once we arrive at The Birches this afternoon. We can talk more tonight, once the school has taken over.”

  “OK. Please be careful.” She sniffed again. “Tell Alex I love her, huh?”

  “Of course. Try not to worry, Mrs. Carmody. We’re off to a good start.”

  Ending the call, he flagged the pair, who headed toward him, only Carl reading Murphy’s hand on Alex’s back as anything more than a guiding touch. He caught the vestige of a smirk on Alex’s face before his charge tossed her braid and smiled brightly at him—a little too brightly, he thought. Like the mother this morning, leaving her daughter’s room.

  ALEX

  Camo Man set a pill in front of Alex. “Your mother said to take this at lunchtime.”

  Good old Nurse Meg, Alex thought, rolling it around the fake wood grain of the food-court table. Aren’t you afraid I might sell it, Mom? Even if Alex had been somewhat creative with the truth lately, her mom had no right to hatch this entire plot based on a teeny-tiny bag of pills.

  She could just pretend to take the pill; then again, the meds did mute the jackhammers. She swallowed it with a gulp of soda. “What else did she say?”

  “To tell you she loves you.” Way to show your love, Mom. Pay strangers to yank me out of my bed in the middle of the night.

  “Great. Love you, too, Mom,” she muttered.

  The three now sat at a cramped plastic table with their food. Carl across from her, Murphy to her right, so close their shoulders touched. The woman would probably cut Alex’s food if she let her, Alex thought, biting into her bagel. She was starving, jonesing for a cigarette. The whole bathroom scene had primed the jackhammers for a workout.

  She forced herself to listen to their chatter. They had checked out Playland and the promenade last night, Carl said.

  Alex stopped chewing. “You were around last night? Were you like . . . at my house?”

  Camo Man nodded and took another bite of pizza.

  So they were stalkers, too. She imagined them in a car outside her school, creeping on her. Everything had happened so fast this morning, she hadn’t even thought about where they came from. But now, the sleep and food clearing her head, the logistics of this adventure began to sink in—the scheming her mom must have done to make this come off.

  The whole thing made sense now. The bagel turned to cardboard in Alex’s mouth.

  Peals of laughter made her look up. The giggling bathroom girls passed behind Carl with loaded trays. Did they ever stop laughing? The tallest one stared at Alex for a second, offering an exaggerated thumbs-up before sprinting to catch up to the rest. They sent the message, Alex thought, relieved. But what if they were messing with her? And now they had Evan’s number. Strange girls texting him crap would seriously piss him off, killing any chances she had with him. If Larke hadn’t already moved in on that territory.

  The undigested bagel churned in her stomach. Of course, they were messing with her. She’d been a total douche to pull that in the bathroom. Despite the meds, the jackhammers grew louder. She unwrapped her last stick of gum and rolled it into her mouth, staring at the bathroom girls and praying for the power to read lips.

  “Why do you do that?” Murphy asked.

  “Do what?”
r />   “That thing. With the gum wrappers. I noticed you doing it in the car.”

  Alex dropped the folded silver W onto her tray. “I don’t know. Habit, I guess.” The action was only a reflex these days. At one time, the silver links were the building blocks of a whole DIY thing she and Cass envisioned—a line of soft-sided metallic phone cases and wallets they would sell on Etsy to subsidize their dream. Alex still had a massive pile of folded wrappers on her vanity, combined fruits of six months of marathon gum chewing. They had planned to get down to business after her party.

  The wrappers meant nothing now.

  “Nervous habit.” Murphy had a blob of creamy salad dressing on her chin, which Alex meanly decided not to mention. She felt sorry for the woman, with her husband gone and all, but she was still the enemy.

  “Got any hobbies, Alex?” Carl asked.

  Seriously? This guy probably had a whole file on her. Out of nowhere came a stupid urge to impress them. “Yeah. Music.”

  Why did you just tell him that? He had a way of getting her to talk. She’d have to be more careful.

  “You go to concerts?”

  She shifted on the hard plastic seat. “Sometimes. I like this band Amphibian.” He already knew that; his performance in her room this morning hadn’t fooled her. He probably saw her concert poster when he scoped out her room yesterday.

  Carl wiped his hands on a napkin. “Ah, Amphibian. Excellent bassist. How about ‘Rock of Ages’. . . that ten-minute jam in the middle? I saw it live upstate New York a few years ago.”

  Alex knew the band’s tour history by heart. The guy had his facts straight. “You saw the Grass Is Greener tour?”

  He nodded. “Eight thousand people camping for three days. Got nasty the second day, when the skies opened up. Thought for sure they’d shut the whole thing down. But they kept on playing. The crowd went nuts. When the drummer flew out on those wires . . .”