What Janie Found

by Caroline B. Cooney

  Nothing can be happening! I panicked. I didn’t mail it. So if I haven’t mailed the letter, how does the FBI know? How could they be expecting me to contact my kidnapper? If they knew, they’d be there. They’d have Hannah in custody.

  Her pulse and Stephen’s raced madly and she could feel their separate fears blending and doubling, because they were not comforting each other, they were scaring each other.

  What if Mr. Donnelly was here to look in her purse? What if Kathleen had told him Janie was hiding something? What were the penalties?

  What am I afraid of? thought Janie. There are no penalties for me. Only for Hannah.

  But that was not true. Hannah got to run barefoot in Boulder, while Janie’s families suffered all the penalties.

  Stephen shouted on, being a big brother, being savage. Being wrong, Janie decided finally. Harry Donnelly could only be coincidence. If he’d known about Hannah Javensen’s presence, he would not have handled it as a social affair.

  What is a sister? she thought dimly, hidden by Stephen’s body. Should a sister protect? Shall I step aside and tell Stephen it’s all right?

  But whatever was happening to Stephen Spring was not all right.

  She let herself be inched backward. She was Stephen’s ally, and he hers, and if they had to back all the way to the East Coast, she would go with him.

  Brian was gripped by fear without knowing what to be afraid of. He felt like bones inside the huge T-shirt he had borrowed from Stephen. He was cold under the shirt, which wasn’t clothing anymore but a windy tent.

  Johnsons: We have never been in touch with Hannah.

  Springs: You must never take a risk.

  What was happening here? What was the risk?

  “Stephen,’” began Mr. Donnelly in a peaceable voice. He looked ordinary; a tall broad man in a dark suit and a red tie—he could have had any occupation.

  “Get out,’” said Stephen. “You’re not ruining this visit.’” His voice quivered like a failing radio signal. “My sister and my brother came to see me. This is a family visit. The FBI is not touching it. Never.’”

  “What’s the matter with you, Stephen?’” snapped Kathleen. “This is my father. It’s a simple visit, just like yours is a simple visit. You can be polite about it.’” Her sun-streaked hair fell across her face and she whipped it angrily away.

  “No,’” said Stephen. “Having the FBI shove your sister around is never a polite kind of thing.’”

  In Brian’s memory, the FBI had not shoved. It was more that Janie had fled, half hiding under furniture, covering her eyes and whimpering, and they had followed her. That was when Brian’s father ended the questions for good.

  What have we done? thought Brian. We’ve leaped feet first into more questions than any of us can face. Dear God, don’t let my brother know that this is not a simple visit.

  “Of course we won’t talk about that,’” said Mr. Donnelly. “That’s not dinner conversation.’”

  “It was last time,’” Stephen pointed out. “I told you the situation was crummy and I didn’t want to talk about it but the three of you wouldn’t let it go. I don’t want the FBI near my sister.’”

  So this is what it means, thought Janie, to let the chips fall where they may.

  It means, So what if your brother finds out you don’t care about seeing him when you haven’t seen him since Christmas? So what if he believes you missed him? So what if he finds out you’re here to make everything worse?

  On a graph of people she cared about, Stephen had a low rank. The people at the top were Miranda and Frank Johnson. And the chips were falling for them, too.

  So what if you tried and failed, Dad? I’m doing what I want.

  So what if you think the past is over, Mom? I’m doing what I want.

  “Why is my father’s occupation a problem, Stephen?’” Kathleen asked, eyes so blue against that honey-gold complexion. “If your little kidnapette cared about you, she’d live with your family.’”

  Kidnapette! The word mesmerized Janie. A little girl with a little hobby—that same panicky little girl she had been at the mailbox.

  Their sister, Jodie, would love that word. You are a little red-haired Barbie, Jodie would say, waving the pom-poms of your kidnapping. You kidnapette, you.

  “I told you not to say that!’” yelled Stephen. “Get out! Leave us alone!’”

  “Fine!’” said Kathleen. “We’re going! Have your little family reunion! See if I care!’” She got back into the car and slammed the door. Her father said in a patronizing voice, “I apologize, Stephen. You should have been warned. I know you don’t handle problems well. I know you aren’t strong.’”

  The car drove away, taking the curves slowly and silently, coming to a full stop at the main road, as if it might change its mind and return.

  Stephen let go of his sister and fell to his knees. He doubled over, holding his stomach as if gut-shot, and retched into the grass. Nothing came up except sound.

  Brian flung his thin arms around his brother. “It’s okay,’” he said desperately. “Nothing happened. You are so strong. You do so handle problems well.’”

  He isn’t strong, thought Janie. He doesn’t handle problems well.

  The black Lincoln disappeared from sight and Stephen visibly breathed easier.

  But Kathleen and her father were not the threat.

  I’m the threat, thought Janie.

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  Reeve herded them all back to Stephen’s room. Maybe in a small enclosed space he could think clearly, which certainly wasn’t happening out here under the vast Western sky.

  They shut the door after them and collapsed.

  Stephen fell backward on his bed, which was unmade, sheets half out, blanket on the floor. Stephen was not the type to notice.

  There were no chairs. Brian slumped against the wall, slid down until he was sitting and then flopped out flat. Reeve wadded up his sleeping bag to make a cushion for Janie and she sat on the floor.

  He himself opened the window, snapped out the screen and straddled the sill, one leg hanging outside. He played with the window, maneuvering the catch, flattening his hand on the glass, twisting his wrist until he printed out a chrysanthemum of fingerprints.

  Suppose Janie uncovers Hannah, he thought. Suppose the FBI follows her or Stephen follows her or Hannah sticks to her? What happens to Stephen then? Already, his girlfriend is ruined. With Hannah discovered, school will be ruined, the year ruined, the West ruined.

  And that’s just Stephen.

  What about everybody else? What about the Johnsons? The Springs? Janie herself?

  She had written that check. Reeve had watched her do it. He did not know what else she’d done, but presumably she’d mailed it, and on Monday, it would be in Hannah’s post office box, and Janie would go there, and spot Hannah, and talk to her.

  He had to stop Janie from meeting Hannah. But good reasons had not stopped her and responsibility had not stopped her and calling her names had not stopped her.

  He studied the whorls of his fingerprints on the glass and tried to follow little paths, little labyrinths on his own thumb. The only way to prevent Janie from meeting Hannah was to offer her a solution; an answer. Not the answer to her actual questions; she must never ask those. But some method by which Janie could get out from under Frank’s stupid support decision.

  But what could that solution be?

  Not for the first time, Reeve wished he were as smart as his sister Lizzie. As smart as Brian, for that matter.

  Finally he said, “So what’s with the FBI, Stephen?’” He smudged out the flower with his fist. “You acted as if Mr. Donnelly is dangerous to us.’”

  Stephen lifted a pillow high over his head and stared up at the puffy rectangle, and then lowered it slowly, as if considering suffocating himself. “It’s probably nothing. Coincidence. The kind of thing we’ve dealt with since the day it happened. People can’t keep their hands off it.
A crime happens to you, you turn into property. People touch you, and poke you; aim a camera at you; record you. You’re not a person anymore, you’re entertainment. Live-action crime.’” He cradled the pillow in his arms.

  “Then…,’” said Reeve, making new and very careful fingerprints, as if he intended them for the FBI, “the reason you were standing in front of Janie was…to protect her from…’”

  “Nothing, probably,’” said Stephen. “I guess I was being a jerk. I was lying when I said if I found the kidnapper I’d follow through and force a trial. If this started up again, I’d turn to stone.’”

  It caught Reeve in the chest, a fist against his ribs, and he looked at Janie and said silently, Are you listening? Do you hear him?

  Janie flushed and turned away from Reeve’s stare. She hears him all right, thought Reeve, she’s listening, but she’s going to do what she wants no matter what happens afterward.

  He felt sick and desperate, wanting so much for Janie to do the right thing; not wanting her to join the crowd he was in; people who didn’t bother with the right thing.

  “I bet Hannah Javensen wasn’t planning to see her parents the day she stole you, Janie,’” said Stephen. “She was on the run, maybe from her own cult, we’ll never know, and the kidnapping made things worse, so she threw the problem into her mother and father’s living room and drove away. I bet if we ever found her and questioned her, she would hardly remember.’”

  He flung the pillow aside. “It’s as powerful as vanishing to say to a person, So what? You’re nothing to me. And that’s why I hate her and why I can’t unhate. I don’t think she noticed what she did to us. And that’s evil.’”

  Janie crossed her legs and tucked her toes into the corners made by her knees. She was so graceful. So worth watching, sitting like that. Reeve wanted to pack everybody in this room into the nearest rental car and start driving. Anywhere, anywhere at all, just not near Hannah and this terrible decision Janie was making.

  “Stephen?’” she said. She tucked her long flowery skirt over her ankles and toes and pleated the cloth in her fingers. “Sometimes I think I have an evil streak.’”

  “Everybody has an evil streak,’” said Stephen. “You missed a lot of theology when you weren’t around to go to church like the rest of us. When you feel like doing evil, you have to stomp on it.’” He summoned enough strength to turn his head and smile at his sister. “I stomp a lot.’” He hoisted himself to a sitting position, tugged at the waistband of his shorts and blew out a huge breath of air. “I lost weight dating Kathleen.’”

  “How can you tell?’” said Brian. “You’ve always been the diameter of a tire iron.’”

  Stephen threw the pillow at him. It got Brian in the chest, so Brian just wrapped his arms around it. Foiled, Stephen began throwing books. Brian wasn’t the twin who could catch, so he ducked and the books slammed against the wall. Stephen threw books until he’d broken the spines of every one.

  He was right. He stomped a lot.

  Turned to stone, thought Janie. If I had mailed my letter and met my kidnapper, I would have shoved Stephen off the cliff.

  The letter, crumpled in her purse, felt as large as any Rocky Mountain.

  “We all look as if we’ve had the flu and we’ve been throwing up for two days,’” she said. “Listen, Stephen. I know the restaurant Kathleen chose. I could take a taxi there, smooth things out, settle everything down.’” She thought she faked cheerfulness pretty well.

  “Forget it,’” said Stephen.

  “She’s your girlfriend. You adore her.’”

  “I was going to break up with her anyway.’”

  “No, you weren’t, Stephen. You’re crazy about her.’”

  “She thinks her questions are more important than we are,’” said Stephen flatly.

  Oh, Kathleen! thought Janie. Me too. I totally agree. My questions are very important. How can I walk away from the chance to know everything at last? I have only a few hours left. I’ll never have this chance again.

  “Anyway, if I had to see Kathleen or Mr. Donnelly again,’” said Stephen, “I’d probably have to say I’m sorry. And I’m not. I’ve never been sorry. I hate being sorry. I hate people who want me to say I’m sorry.’”

  Reeve began laughing. He lost his balance and fell slowly into the room and down onto the floor, his outdoor leg scraping on the sill.

  He landed at Janie’s feet, still laughing, and Janie could not help herself. She put her hand on his cheek and felt the curved cheek edge of his grin. “My clothes are still in Kathleen’s room,’” she reminded them. “I still have to spend the night there. And the night after that, too.’”

  “You’ll have a three-man escort when you go get ’em,’” said Brian.

  “Two,’” said Stephen. “I’m not going.’”

  “I can manage Kathleen,’” said Janie. “But if she kicks me out because she’s broken up with you—’”

  “She doesn’t know they’ve broken up,’” Brian pointed out. “She just thinks Stephen is rude. In fact, we should split before they come back with a peace offering.’”

  Stephen catapulted off his mattress. “You think they’ll come back? I can’t handle that. We’re out of here. Take the back stairs. Down the hall to the left. Go! Beat it!’”

  They flew out of the dorm, feet pounding on stairs, doors flung open before them, on the run from Kathleen Marie.

  “Okay,’” said Brian, frowning. “Major decision. Do I take the last slice of pepperoni and sausage or try the white cheese, fresh tomato, bacon and onion pizza? I don’t like the look of white pizza. I never have.’”

  “I’m taking the last piece of red,’” said Stephen, “so I guess you’re going to find out what white pizza tastes like.’”

  One skinny pale arm and one muscular tan arm shot forward. One huge grin of victory and one little-brother-beaten-again grin. The brothers dug into their pizza. Janie watched her brothers talk through mouthfuls of cheese and lose their napkins and chew the ice in their soft drinks.

  My family, she thought. These people I’m just getting to know are my family. What are any answers worth when you can just go get a pizza with your own family instead?

  “Let’s see if we can still burp in unison,’” said Stephen to his brother. “Ready?’”

  “Me too,’” said Reeve. “Wait a sec. I’m not ready.’”

  Stephen waited for Reeve and Brian to signal burp readiness and then directed a burp chorus.

  The boys dissolved into garlicky laughter and something in Janie dissolved too. These two redheads were her brothers. Her actual real family. What had she thought the Springs were—room decorations?

  I wanted to find Hannah Javensen so I could have power, she thought. So I could have control.

  It wasn’t really answers I wanted from Hannah. I wanted to shove her around, the way we were all shoved around.

  But I don’t want to be a person who shoves.

  “Want my crusts, Janie?’” said Reeve.

  “You burped all over it, though.’”

  “It’s not any different from chewing all over it,’” he pointed out.

  “Tomorrow,’” said Stephen, passing Janie his crusts too, “Kathleen was going to borrow a car so we could drive in the mountains. I have a bad feeling the car is her father’s. So we need an alternate plan for Sunday that does not involve transportation.’”

  Kathleen and Mr. Donnelly aren’t so bad, thought Janie. They gave me a chance to see what happens when the chips fall. It isn’t just Honor thy father and thy mother. It’s also Honor thy big brother and thy little brother. I have been a kidnapette. I was going to honor myself.

  Oh, Mom! she thought, and the mother in her heart was the real one; the one who had lost the terrible contest of keeping Janie. Oh, Mom, you can be proud I didn’t do it in the end. I held back.

  Panic hit her.

  What if she had mailed that letter?

  What if she’d dropped the crumpled
old thing into the open mailbox instead of into the open purse?

  She ripped the zipper open and dug frantically into her purse. Next to the crumpled envelope was her cell phone. I’ve never called my mother, she thought. Not once. It’s been so long, Mom must be worried sick!

  She whipped out the phone to call home, realizing with astonishment that it had actually been only two days.

  “Oh, darling,’” said her mother. “How wonderful to hear your voice! I didn’t want to call because I knew you’d be having such a good time. Are you having fun, darling? Are you having a splendid weekend?’”

  Janie had to laugh. “A splendid weekend, Mom,’” she agreed. “Lots and lots of fun.’”

  Her brothers and Reeve rolled their eyes at the lies you gave to parents.

  “Oh, darling, I miss you so,’” said her mother in Connecticut. “Daddy is still stable, so try not to worry. I feel a bit guilty because I’m terrified you’ll fall in love with Colorado and I won’t have you and then I’m ashamed that I want to cut your life off at the pass and stash you at home where I can lean on you.’”

  I’m their real daughter, thought Janie.

  Janie knocked lightly on the dorm room door. “Hi, Kathleen. Is it still okay for me to spend the night?’”

  “Of course.’” Kathleen gave her a bright desperate smile, her face puffy from crying.

  Janie knew what it was to cry over a boy. She considered offering comfort to Kathleen but instead, after she brushed her teeth, she slid into a cotton knit sleep shirt and scooted down inside the sleeping bag.

  Kathleen turned out the lights. Safe in the dark, she whispered, “Is Stephen still mad at me?’”

  “It isn’t you,’” said Janie, although it was. “It’s our past. You treated it lightly, but it isn’t light. It’s dark.’”

  Kathleen is not bad, Janie thought. She just hasn’t gone through anything. She’s like me two years ago, or Sarah-Charlotte and Adair and Katrina now. Great family, great life. Straight teeth, shining hair. She thinks that’s what life is.