by Lari Smythe
* * *
Mom was waiting in the morning. She had the map we used driving east, and the MapQuest route was almost identical—of course in reverse. She wasn't convinced I could do 800 miles a day, especially if the weather turned bad, but agreed that an extra day wouldn't make that much difference. She thought I was light on the monetary requirements, but said she could give me a credit card to use for things like gas and hotel rooms. After a bit, it felt like we were just rehashing the same old points—stalling.
"So what do you think?" I asked hesitantly.
"I still don't know how you're going to find her once you get there—you don't even know if that's where she went."
"I do, I know it."
"Because you want to believe it." She got up and got another cup of coffee. She looked tired, drained, this was difficult for her. She turned back from the sink and leaned against the counter. "Why Izzy, Jason? Why is she the one?"
"I'm not sure I can explain it."
"Try."
"Well, when we're together, there's nothing else, just the two of us, and when we touch, there's this electrifying energy between us that I can't even begin to describe."
"So the attraction is physical?"
"No, it's more than that. She completes me, that's the best way I can describe it. When we're apart, I'm not whole."
"She seems like a very confused girl. I mean, with all the black and then running away."
"She's not like that. The whole Emo thing is a mask—she uses it to keep people away—she's shy, and the running away, well like I said, that's my fault."
"You said you had a connection, why couldn't the two of you talk it out?"
"That's why I have to go, to find out. We're in love, I'm sure of it—we belong together—I can't believe I'm wrong, but I have to know for sure—I just have to know."
Mom came back to the table and sat next to me. She put her arm around me and kissed me on the cheek. There was a hint of a smile, but her eyes were still worried. "Why did you want to look through the pictures from Port Angeles?"
"I was going to look up our old house—"
"I thought we agreed to be honest."
"Yeah, you're right, sorry. When Izzy and I were talking about Washington, she described some places that I thought I recognized from Port Angeles."
"I thought you said she was from Forks?"
"Maybe, and it's certainly the most likely—wait here." I ran upstairs to my room and got my phone, then showed her Izzy's picture of the Olympic Mountains. "See what I mean?"
"And she doesn't remember living there?"
"No, she doesn't remember anything about her past at all, but she wanted to know and the only way to be sure is to go there. I think that's what she did."
"So how does Port Angeles fit in?"
"It's close to Forks. She might have visited there, and like I said, she described places that seemed familiar. I've got to go through Port Angeles, anyway. I thought I could ask around, see if anyone remembered her, or has seen her."
We went though the old photos and we found one of me and the older girl peaking out of a clothes rack. My memory had served me well, the girl looked a great deal like Izzy—Mom even commented. I put the picture back, not wanting to draw her attention and have her think I was totally insane. I slipped it out later when she wasn't looking. She did find a picture that had the department store in the background. I took a couple of our house just to make it look good.
Mom glanced down at her watch. "We should get going if we're going to make the bank before it closes."
We withdrew $3000, $2000 of it in travelers checks, the rest in cash. The next stop, the local electronics store for a GPS. We ate lunch while my Jeep was serviced and then went home to pack. She made my favorite for dinner; afterwards we watched a football game on TV. Mom was teary-eyed. I probably was too, and we went to bed at half time.
I was up early the next morning, but Mom was already in the kitchen. By the time I got downstairs, she'd packed a cooler, lunch, and was putting a stack of hotcakes on a plate for me. Breakfast was quiet, both of us anxious about the trip. I helped with the dishes and then it was time. We walked out to the Jeep and she ran through her list of things I was supposed to have—last but not least, my cell phone and charger. I promised to call her at least twice a day, and then wrapped her in my arms.
"I love you, Jason. You be careful. I'll never forgive myself if—"
"I will, Mom. I love you. I don't know how I can ever repay you."
"Come back with her, safe and sound." She checked to see that I had my seatbelt on and then closed the door. "Don't worry about school, I'll work something out with the administration."
I started the engine, she threw me a kiss, and I was on my way.
I called three times on the road, just to say I was fine and so she wouldn't worry unnecessarily. I wasn't tired when I hit the 800 mile mark, but decided not to push it. I found a cheap hotel room just off the interstate. It wasn't much, but at least it had a shower. I called Mom before turning in and told her I was in Iowa. She got all mad thinking I'd driven too far, but I had her check her copy of the map and she calmed down. She didn't stay on long, kept insisting I get to bed early so I wouldn't get over tired. The bed was gross, so I slept on top of the bedspread.
In the morning, the shower didn't turn out to be the blessing I'd hoped—no hot water. I grabbed a few breakfast bars at the gas station where I filled up and was back on the road. I began to wonder how Izzy might have traveled, would she have taken a bus? Flown? Ran? Could she actually do that, run all the way across country? What if she did, maybe I would get there before her—she couldn't do 800 miles a day could she? That had to make it easier to find her. I could check the places, the local libraries and know where to be when she got there, but how would I know? I wouldn't.
I was tired well before I made the second day's 800 miles. I got one of those energy drinks when I gassed up. It was late. I was behind schedule, so I called Mom and told her I'd made it to Wyoming so she wouldn't worry. It took another two hours to get there. I was still wired from the energy drink so I kept going until the buzz wore off. I was somewhere in Montana. I stopped at one of those all night truck stops and slept in the Jeep.
The next morning, I got a shower—with hot water—and headed out again. I could see what the map labeled Clearwater National Forest up ahead and the majestic mountains were encouraging. While I was sure Izzy's mountains were the Olympic Mountains, I couldn't help mentally compare the jagged outline. I was really sure I was going to make Washington, but even with another energy drink, I got dopey. I stopped early, got a nice room, decent dinner, called Mom and went to bed.
It was snowing the next morning. According to the morning news, the roads weren't too bad and heck, I had four wheel drive, so I headed out. The going was slow and I was glad I was ahead of schedule. When I crossed the mountains, the snow tapered off. I was finally in Washington. It was late afternoon when I reached Port Angeles—the Olympic Mountains were a welcomed sight. I went by our old house first—it didn't have anything to do with finding Izzy, but it rooted me—made it seem real. With picture in hand, I cruised the shopping district hoping to find the department store. I finally found a building that looked right, even though some of the surrounding buildings were different. I parked at a meter and went inside.
I'd hoped to walk in and instantly recognize things, but even if my memory was clearer, things had to have changed in ten years.
"May I help you?" An inquisitive voice asked from behind me.
I turned around and blushed, I was in the lingerie department staring at a girl even younger than me. "I was looking for something for my mother," I blurted out. "No, not my mother—I mean what would I know—I don't, of course I don't—okay, let me try that again."
The sales girl's face had to be as red as mine.
"I used to live around here, maybe ten years ago, and I was wondering if anyone might recognize the kids in this picture?" I held it
up to her.
She shook her head. "Ten years ago I was what, four?" she said, then glanced over her shoulder toward the sales register. "Is Marge in the back?"
The woman nodded. "Do you want me to get her?"
"Ya think? Some guy out here is taking a trip down memory lane—maybe she can help."
Some guy? A trip down memory lane? That's a little harsh. I'm not that much older than her.
An older, heavyset woman came out of the back room and hobbled over to where we were standing.
"He's all yours," the sales girl said and walked off. She suddenly stopped and turned back. "If he buys anything, I want credit."
"Ah," Marge waved annoyed, "if she wasn't my granddaughter, I'd bounce her out of here on her pretty little—well now, young man, what can I do for you?"
"I was wondering if you might recognize either of the kids in this picture?" I handed her the photo and she started fumbling around the front of her blouse. I pointed to her head.
"I can't keep track of the darn things, that's why I put them on a chain." She slipped on her reading glasses and examined the photo. "I'd say from the clothes this is maybe 10 - 15 years ago."
"I think it was taken here."
"Yes, we still have those old racks in the back." She glanced up at me a few times. "Well, I'd say the little boy is you."
"Yeah, my bad, but do you recognize the girl? I think she must have been around twelve. Our mothers used to make her watch me while they shopped—we played hide and seek."
"What's your name?"
"Whitaker, Mom's name is Nancy."
"Nancy Whitaker? Well saints alive, I haven't seen Nancy in years. Why she was one of our best customers, but that little boy of hers." She smiled. "You were quite a handful. Whatever happened to Nancy?"
"Uh, well we moved to California—"
"Ah," she gestured with the same annoyed wave she had to her granddaughter. "Nothin' in California but sun and crazy people. They don't call it the land of fruit and nuts for nothin'—know what I mean?"
"Yes ma'am. Well, we moved east earlier this year."
"Nancy was from the east, wasn't she?"
"Maryland."
"Yes, that's right, Maryland. Well I'll be, it's a small world."
"Do you recognize the girl in the picture?" I asked, trying to get her back on track.
"Come with me—hard time standin' for any length of time." She hobbled back to the dressing rooms with me in tow. "Your mom put you in these seats quite a few times and told you not to move." She winked. "Now let me see, someone used to come up from out of town and shop with Nancy on occasion—I can see her plain as day, but I can't recall the name."
"Is this her daughter?" I motioned toward the picture again.
"I think so, but can't say for sure. Darn, that's going to bug me—I can see her plain as day." She handed the picture back to me. "You just visitin'?"
"Yes ma'am. Thought I'd stop and see where I used to live, then I'm headed down to Forks."
"Forks!" She slapped my knee. "By golly, that's it, your mom's friend was from Forks—Janice—no that's not it—Joan—Jan—Jessica. That's it, Jessica Newton. Her husband owned a little outfitter place just outside of town." She leaned back in her chair, with a satisfied smile on her face. "Dagnabit, I knew I'd get it."
"I can't thank you enough. That's a huge help. Well, I should go, it's getting late. Thanks again."
I almost ran out of the store, I was so excited. I still didn't know the girl's name—and I couldn't be sure it was Izzy—but I had a connection to Forks and even a name. This was way better than I'd hoped.
I checked into a decent hotel on the bay and called Mom as soon as I got in the room. I was so excited, I started talking without thinking. "Mom, remember that photo of me and the girl in the department store? Well, I found the store and there was a woman there who remembered you, her name is Marge."
"Yes, I remember Marge. She was one of the sales ladies."
"Well, I showed her the photo, and it took a while, but she remembered the name of your friend, Jessica Newton. How awesome is that?"
"Oh yes, Jessica. How could I forget?" I could hear the reminiscing in her voice. "I wonder what happened to her, we lost touch shortly after that picture was taken and then we moved. Jessica and Isabella. Jason? Jason are you there?"
"Yeah, I'm still here." Izzy had to be short for Isabella, what other explanation could there be.
"Jason, don't get that crazy imagination of yours going. Izzy couldn't possibly be Isabella Newton. Isabella would have to be in her twenties, probably a Junior in college, maybe even graduated for all we know."
"Yeah, yeah, I mean of course. It's just quite a coincidence, don't you think?"
"It sure is. Didn't you say Izzy's mother's name was Elizabeth? I'm sure Izzy is short for Elizabeth."
"Sure, makes perfect sense. Well, listen Mom, I need to grab a bite and get to bed. The serious work starts tomorrow."
"You should go down to that little place on the pier where your father used to take us."
"That's a great idea. I love you Mom. Talk to you tomorrow. Wish me luck."
"You'll find her. I know it seems impossible, but I just know you're going to find her."
"Night, Mom."
"Night, Jason."
