All Your Pretty Dreams

by Lise McClendon

  A moment of silence. They stared at their coffee. “Does she have a coach? She hasn’t gone out for volleyball for a couple years,” Jonny said.

  Artie shrugged. “What about a male teacher?”

  Neither brother was very involved in their sister’s life. She was so much younger, a child when they left home. A flower girl in both their weddings.

  “What did the sheriff say?” Sonya asked.

  “That they’d put her into missing persons tomorrow morning. It’s still too soon.”

  “But she’s been gone almost a week.”

  “You can call him if you want.” Artie rubbed his eyes. “A week. Christ. She could have hitched to Alaska by now.”

  Jonny peered into his cup. “But why? Where does she want to be?”

  “You’ve been with her most of the summer,” Sonya said.

  “Think, man,” Artie said. “Did she talk about going somewhere?”

  “She wanted to go away to college.”

  “Where?”

  “I got the feeling anywhere. She was intrigued by the college students who stayed at the Rainy Days. But they go to college all over. Utah to Connecticut.”

  “Are they still in town?”

  “They left Friday.” Jonny looked up. “Shit. I bet she got a ride with one of them. I left in a hurry to take Isabel to her grandfather’s funeral.”

  “Who’s Isabel?” Sonya asked.

  “The leader of the bee study.”

  “You drove her to a funeral?”

  “Wait,” Artie barked. “Jonny, are you telling me there were college students, young guys, right next door? All summer?”

  “Only two guys and they weren’t her type, really. Science geeks.”

  “Do they have cars? Then they might be her type.”

  “If all she wanted to do was get out of town. But why?” Sonya asked. “What could have happened to make her want to leave Red Vine? “

  The brothers’ eyes met. Artie’s mouth turned up. Jonny drummed the table with his fingers. “Being born there?”

  ——

  Isabel was finishing the first student appointment of the morning, advising the girl to stick with her biology and chemistry courses if she wanted to go to medical school. It seemed doubtful with her grades, but she did seem determined. The phone rang as the student gathered her backpack. “Thank you, Miss Yancey.”

  Isabel wasn’t used to the formality. She nodded uncomfortably, watched her leave, then picked up the phone. “Dr. Mendel’s office.”

  “Isabel.” The professor, now in a rehab hospital, being tortured from the sound of it. “I’ve just had a call from someone in Red Vine. A Jonathan Knobel.”

  Isabel’s stomach dropped. “Yes?”

  “Do you know this person?”

  “His parents own the motel. Where we stayed. Yes.”

  “He said that. This is most unusual. He’s requested the names and phone numbers of everyone who was on the field study. I told him that was confidential, that some of them were underage, and all of them were under our guidance and care. That under no circumstances can we share personal data.”

  Isabel blinked, staring at the cat calendar on the professor’s wall. The August kitty looked like she’d encountered a two-by-four in the dark. Why was Jonny asking for phone numbers? Dr. Mendel sounded like she’d had too much coffee this morning.

  “What’s going on?”

  “He was talking about his sister, I believe. Or some relative. She’s missing or something. Sounds like they are accusing one of the students with spiriting her away. Or worse! I tell you, Isabel, this could be a black eye for us. If one of the students aided or abetted this runaway, or did god-knows-what to the child, well, I don’t have to tell you the press will get hold of it. The president will have my hide, and I’m afraid, yours as well. This could affect our funding, all our future projects.”

  Wendy, of the halter tops and Daisy Dukes. Certainly a candidate for running away from Red Vine if there ever was one. But did the students have anything to do with it? She couldn’t remember any of them even speaking to Wendy.

  “Did Jonathan leave a number?”

  The professor read it out to her. “Can you take care of it, Isabel? This semester is starting off the worst in a lifetime. They’re giving me sleeping pills and they make me so groggy in the morning I can’t keep my eyes open.”

  “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”

  Isabel reached into her backpack for the file with all the contact information for the field crew. Then she took a deep breath and dialed the number.

  A man answered. “This is Isabel Yancey calling from the University of Illinois. My professor, Dr. Lillian Mendel, asked me to call.”

  “This is Art Knobel. Do you have the numbers?”

  “Ah, well, I’m not supposed to give them out.”

  “Miss Yancey. This is a matter of life and death. The privacy of your students is important and we respect that but this is our—”

  He was cut off with a rustling of voices. Then: “Isabel, this is Jonny.”

  His voice. She wiggled her toes. Her foot was almost healed. It will go away.

  “How are you?” she said, trying to keep her voice cool.

  “Listen, Wendy’s skipped town. My mother’s worried sick. Nobody has seen her since Friday. She might have hitched a ride with one of your students. Friday’s the day everybody left the motel.”

  How could she forget? “I’m sorry to hear about it. But we can’t give you those numbers. Most of them are cell phones. Unlisted. There are all these privacy regulations. But I can call them. Let me call everybody.”

  There was a long pause. Let me.

  “Come on, Isabel, just give me a couple. We can get this done in an hour. She’s probably not with any of them. Let’s just eliminate this possibility.”

  Isabel looked at her schedule and the clock. She had another student in for advising in fifteen minutes. She had more work to do on her lectures. The desk was covered with textbooks, schedules, memos.

  “All right. I’ll give you Andrew and Terry. I’ll take the girls.”

  “Because I’m a stalker. Jesus.” He sighed. “Okay, shoot. I’m ready.”

  He hung up immediately after she read him the numbers. She pulled out the department cell phone, and called Dana, the first on the list. Brief conversations with the first three girls revealed nothing. Two more went to voicemail. No one had seen Wendy on Friday, or given her a ride. Then it was time for her next appointment.

  After the advising appointment there was one callback. Maddie hadn’t seen anything but sent her best wishes. Isabel put it a check mark next to her name and dialed the next name, Alison. “What?”

  “It’s Isabel Yancey, Alison. How are you?”

  “Really busy getting my panties off.”

  “Hey. You remember the Knobel girl, Wendy? She’s missing and I wonder if you saw her on Friday as you were leaving.”

  “That kid? Where’d she go?”

  “Nobody knows. Did you see her that last day?”

  She hadn’t and she had to go. Isabel checked her off. “Sorry to interrupt your playtime, Alison,” she said aloud. She called the Knobel brothers. The older one answered.

  “I just wanted to let you know I haven’t reached anyone who saw her on Friday. I have a few more and some who will call me back.”

  Jonny came on. “No luck?”

  “Sorry. Did you get Andrew and Terry?”

  “Just Andrew. He seems to have known Wendy but didn’t see her Friday.”

  Jonny hung up the phone. He tried not to think about Wendy and her thoughtlessness. But where the hell was she? Sonya moved around behind him, making more coffee. Artie was pressing keys on his cell phone. Calling Wendy again. They’d been up most of the night. None of them had gone to work. Jonny took his fresh cup of coffee out into the small backyard and moved a chair into a patch of sunshine.

  He should go to work. It would take his mind off the speculation
of where in the world his sister had gone. Margaret had called several times during the night, and there was a threat of Ozzie driving down. What good that would do nobody knew. If Wendy was in the Twin Cities wouldn’t she have contacted them? What sort of trouble was she in? He kept going over all their conversations in his mind. Was she still upset about Mom and Dad separating? She’d cried for an hour that day. Was there somebody at Lenny’s party she’d met? He remembered her dancing with Zachary, that was all. Lenny hadn’t seen Wendy all last week. For a small town Red Vine didn’t take much note of its inhabitants.

  There was no point in trying to sleep off the headache that was forming between his eyes. He needed to work. Even if he only got a couple hours in. He took a sip of black coffee and flung the rest in a graceful arc into the grass.

  Just after one, Jill Martel, the junior partner, came straight from lunch to his cubicle, a shiny shopping bag under her arm. She moved into his line of sight, nudging his desktop with her hip. She wore a black suit with tight pants and something lacy under the jacket.

  “Are you okay? Gary said there was a family emergency.”

  Jonny finished the corner he was working on and pushed back, folding his arms. His headache had bloomed into an international incident. Jill was peering down through glasses that screamed I am an architect.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she gasped, hand to her mouth. “I’m being too nosy. I just wanted you to know I’m here, if you need somebody to talk to.”

  “I just have a headache. Up all night.” He sighed. “It’s my sister. She’s run away from home.”

  “Oh my god. That’s terrible.” Jill pulled a chair over and sat down, knee to knee with him. “What can I do? Is there something I can do, somebody I can call? I give good phone.” She smiled like she wasn’t thinking about phones at all.

  People picked the weirdest times to flirt. “I’ll let you know if I think of anyone you can give phone to.”

  She tried to look embarrassed. “That was a joke, Jon. Seriously, tell me what I can do.”

  “If I knew of something, I wouldn’t be here working. I’d be doing it.”

  She stood up. “Then stop working. Right now. I mean it. Go look for her.”

  “I appreciate that. Right now working keeps my mind off it.”

  “Are you sure? Because this project is going to be late anyway, I can feel it. I am terrible with deadlines and we are all about deadlines, aren’t we?” She sat down again and leaned toward him, her breasts pressing against the desktop. “I’ll bring you some food up later. How’s that?”

  After she left Sven rolled his chair across the aisle with a bottle of ibuprofen and a cup of water. Jonny took the pills and kept working. He was at a point in the office complex where things were finally starting to make sense, at least on the first set of plans. The mechanicals were another story. He plunged deeper into the notes from Jill and the other architect, hoping to drown out everything else.

  His phone rang at three. Artie said, “Your Miss Yancey called again. Nobody saw anything. She reached everybody but one.”

  Normally he would ignore so slight a suggestion by his brother. But he felt on edge and snapped, “She’s not my anything.”

  “Well, excuse me. She sounds like she really cares. Mom called twice. The sheriff’s been over and snooped around in Wendy’s room. Didn’t find much. Mom’s got Carol on the case. Apparently she has a daughter who might help.”

  “Frances? She couldn’t find her shoelaces.” But Kiki, maybe. “She has a friend who was in Red Vine. I’ll call her. Anybody else phone?”

  “Lenny. Oh, he said to tell you the grain bin is being moved to the courthouse park on Monday. He’s setting up his campaign office in it. He has a theory Wendy joined the circus. Or Girls Gone Wild.”

  Jonny looked up Kiki’s mother’s number on the internet. The phone rang three times and a machine picked up. A husky woman’s voice asked him to leave his particulars. He almost hung up then—

  “Kiki, it’s Jonny. We’ve got a problem. Remember my sister, Wendy? She’s run off or something. Just wondering if you—“

  “Jonny?” Kiki sounded excited. “How did you know I was here?”

  Where else would she be? “Listen, we’re looking for Wendy. Do you, did you— ?” The same question, over and over. “Did you see her Friday or after.”

  “Last Friday? We left on Monday. We drove to Madison that day. Remember, we said goodbye.”

  “Did she say anything to you while you were in Red Vine, like where she might want to go? Somewhere she’d always wanted to see?”

  “We didn’t really talk. I’ve got people here. Sorry I couldn’t help. Good luck!”

  Good luck. Nobody had a clue about Wendy or what to do to find her or how it feels to be so helpless. Waiting for a call, a letter, an email, something. Anything that shows she’s alive, that she cares that we are frantic, that she even thinks about us. How long would the feeling sustain itself? How long before you just stop hoping? He felt the weight of hope like a lead bar resting on his shoulders, straining his heart, his lungs.

  At six he shut down his computer and grabbed his jacket. As he walked out the front of the building, through the cold reflective surfaces of the lobby, Jill Martel walked toward him, carrying a white deli bag. She smiled and touched his arm.

  “No need to leave. I’ve got your food right here, as promised.” She handed him the brown bag. “Hero sandwiches, one meatball, one salami, chips, sodas. All for you. I got extras because I didn’t really know what you like. I hope you’re not a vegan or anything.”

  “No.” He cradled the bag. “Thanks.”

  She stepped toward the door. “Coming?”

  “I have to get home. But thanks for the heroes.”

  “But— ”

  “Good night, Jill.”

  Sonya and Artie were sleeping in the basement. Artie was stretched out on the sofa, his feet over the arm, a hole in one sock. Sonya was curled awkwardly in the recliner. The television was on with the sound off, tuned to Headline News. Were they expecting bad news, an abduction, a kidnapping? Jonny snapped it off.

  In the kitchen he chewed on the meatball hero, barely tasting it. Then called Terry again.

  “Yo.” Static blurred the signal.

  “It’s Jon Knobel, from Red Vine.” He explained quickly. Terry was traveling back to Kentucky. He hadn’t seen Wendy.

  Well, that was it. So much for that idea unless Isabel had come up with something. He dialed the number at the University. No answer. It was after seven, on a Friday night. Why hadn’t he gotten her home number? Because he’d been afraid to ask. She’d basically accused him of stalking the students.

  He finished his sandwich and poured himself a glass of milk. Drinking it at the sink he watched the play of twilight build across the yard. The weeping birch next door fluttered in the breeze, its shadow almost alive, dancing on the grass. At the far fence white phlox glowed in the dusk.

  Time progressing, noiselessly, endlessly. Friday night. Was Wendy out having a good time? Was she exploring a new city, having coffee with new friends, dancing at a nightclub? Smiling, laughing, twirling?

  He sure the hell hoped so.

  The telephone was ringing. He had dozed off on the living room sofa. He stumbled to the kitchen and picked it up.

  Artie was already on. “Do you have some news?”

  Jonny looked at the clock. Ten-thirty. Isabel was saying she had contacted everyone on the field crew. No one had seen Wendy.

  “Well, thank you for your trouble, Miss Yancey,” Artie said. “Good night.”

  “Isabel,” Jonny blurted. A click as Artie hung up. “Are you there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have another phone number? In case, you know.”

  “In case you get another bright idea about the field crew?”

  He bristled. Was she taunting him? For his stupid notion that one of the students had been responsible for Wendy’s disappearance— and not her own
wild nature? He supposed he deserved it. His sister was incorrigible. Spoiled rotten without manners or morals. Sonya had been saying so for years.

  “In case I have to talk to you,” he said. It was the best he could do, half-asleep.

  She gave him a number, a cell phone. He scrawled it on Sonya’s blackboard with blue chalk. He was ready to hang up and go back to sleep, if possible. Downstairs the television blared ominously, public television on the march.

  “Jonny?” Her voice had gone soft.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m so sorry about Wendy. It must be awful, not knowing where she is. I wish there was more I could do.”

  He closed his eyes. “Me too.”

  Chapter 19

  Isabel fell asleep on the professor’s desk at home, mashing one cheek on an open book. She jerked awake, stiff and sore. The page was wrinkled where her face had lain, and she smoothed it. The professor’s textbooks were sacred. She hadn’t exactly given her permission for Isabel to peruse them.

  Climbing the stairs to her room, she flicked off lights. The old house was everything an academic’s should be, a sanctuary full of books and projects, with a few spare bedrooms and a vast, cluttered kitchen.

  The professor’s houseplants had suffered in her absence. Isabel had been able to revive a few, one of her duties as houseguest. She was grateful not to have to find an apartment at this busy time, and would try to find replacements for the two brown things. One sat next to her bed, awaiting identification.

  She crawled under the covers. As she drifted off she heard a beeping from somewhere. A smoke alarm? The oven? She padded back downstairs. The cell phone. Sighing, she sat on the desk chair and read the text message. “Wht abt Curtis? A thot. Mads.”

  Sent at 2:45 a.m. from Maddie Elliot. The driver, of course. The return call went straight to voicemail. She snapped the phone shut.

  Curtis drove the van back to the campus on Friday, full of the screens and protective gear and logbooks from the crew. Professor Mendel had arranged to have all that delivered to her lab at the Bee Research Lab. Isabel never saw Curtis after he dropped her off at the motel that last morning. Had Wendy talked him into taking her somewhere?