Janie’s voice broke when she used it again. But that did not stop her from using it again. “School is out in six weeks,” said Janie, “and I want to go back home then.”
CHAPTER
18
Jodie and Stephen were stunned.
“I thought we were doing so well,” whispered Jodie. It’s my fault, she thought. I pushed too much. I demanded too much.
Jodie’s daydreams—the old ones when she wondered what a sister would be like—came back like a movie rented for the VCR. The daydreams had no more to do with reality than Hollywood. In daydreams, sisters laughed about boys, shared clothes, told stories into the night, were each other’s best friend.
She has a best friend, thought Jodie. Sarah-Charlotte. If that isn’t the most show-offy pretentious name I ever heard in my life. And a boyfriend. Reeve. Please. It’s not even a name. It’s just a syllable.
“I hate her,” said Jodie.
The family had sent Jennie to Uncle Paul’s for dinner so they could talk without her there. Now they held hands around the table, not to bless the meal, but once more for a missing child.
Jodie’s hand was held by Brendan on one side and Brian on the other. The twins were just not very interested. They were consumed by their own lives. Jennie had not really entered into their thinking.
Jodie decided if you put your mind to it, you could hate everybody on earth for something. She already hated Jennie. She was perfectly willing to hate Brendan and Brian because they weren’t upset at what this was doing to the family. She certainly hated Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. If she ever met Sarah-Charlotte, she would be sure to hate her, too. Reeve—well, Reeve was too cute to hate.
“I refuse to share the same bedroom with Jennie for six more weeks,” said Jodie. “I might put a knife through her. Make her sleep on the couch.”
“Just let her go back to Connecticut now,” said Stephen. “What difference is six weeks of school?”
“Let her walk,” said Jodie. “She doesn’t even deserve a ride.”
“She’s your sister,” said their father with terrible sadness, “and my daughter. And we’re going to be nice to her up to the last minute no matter how we feel inside. I don’t care how much discipline it takes. Whatever memories of this family she carries away the second time around, they’re not going to be ugly or frightening.”
Instead of dipping into his chocolate pudding with the spoon he held in his right hand, he bent it, and went on bending it until it was entirely round. The twins were awestruck.
“Wow, Dad,” said Brian. “Do it with mine.”
Dad did it with Brian’s. He held up the now circular spoon. “That,” he said, “is what I would like to do with Hannah’s neck.”
Everybody giggled hysterically.
“What would you really do to Hannah if you found her, Dad?” said Jodie.
“I’d like to beat her to a pulp,” said their father gloomily, “but I suppose in reality, if we found Hannah she’d be a pathetic middle-aged mental case.”
“It’s nicer thinking of her as a teenager,” said Jodie. “Blond and dishwatery and Used Rag Doll. I’d tie her to the railroad tracks and watch the next train cut her in pieces.”
Everybody laughed again.
“This is sick,” said Mom. “Now we’re not going to talk like this again.”
“Why not?” said Stephen. “I think this is great. Look what Hannah did to us! Why can’t we cut her in pieces? In the Middle Ages they quartered people.”
“Quartered people?” said Brendan. “What does that mean?”
Stephen drew a stick figure on his paper napkin, tilted his chair back from the table to reach the utensil drawer, and pulled out the kitchen scissors. Carefully he cut the napkin into fourths, right through the stick figure’s waist. “They chopped ’em into four pieces back then,” said Stephen with considerable satisfaction.
“Eeeuuuhhhh! Did we do that in America, too?”
“There were no Middle Ages in America, dumb-o,” said his sister. “White people hadn’t gotten here yet. Only Europe had Middle Ages.”
“I hope they were alive when they got quartered,” said Stephen. “Can’t you just picture old Hannah tied by the ankles and wrists while we take a long rusty dull saw, and divide her into quarters?”
“Yes,” said their father. “I can picture it and I like it.”
“Jonathan,” said their mother warningly.
“Okay, okay, I’d let the police come along and restrain me,” said Mr. Spring. “But I’d get in at least one good kick in the shins.”
“Have we heard anything from Mr. Mollison?” Jodie asked her parents. “What kind of progress are they making on finding Hannah?”
“None,” said her mother. “They never will. Most of those cults disbanded or threw their older members out on the streets. Discarded them like waste paper. Hannah won’t have left a trail.”
“Then why did the police make such a big deal of interrogating Jennie and opening the case up again?” cried Jodie. “Jennie going home is the police’s fault.” It had to be somebody’s fault. Preferably the fault of somebody within reach so she could hurt them back.
“Maybe for publicity,” said her mother. “Or curiosity. Or perhaps the law bound them. I think they were just fascinated and wanted to be part of the action again. Except there turned out to be no action on the Hannah front. Only on the family-collapse front. The police aren’t keeping track of that. It isn’t criminal. It’s just tragic.”
“I do not wish to talk about Hannah again,” said Dad. “Not now, not ever, not on this earth, not in hell.”
Brian grinned. “Sounds pretty final.” Brian began eating with his now-circular spoon. Brendan, envious, handed his spoon to Dad to circularize. Dad bent it willingly.
Dad’s thinking of Hannah, Jodie thought, but the twins are thinking only of spoons. Jennie’s fading for them before she’s gone. “Is Jennie going to stay till school’s out?”
Mom was crying, the kind Jodie hated: tears sliding out on their own, from a bottomless pit of pain. Jodie wanted to drive back and forth over Jennie’s body in a truck with nail-studded tires. “Mom? Don’t you think Hannah must have known what she was doing?”
Her mother didn’t answer.
“The Johnsons and Jennie want to believe that Hannah was a sweet lost soul. A dear girl of a spiritual nature led astray by stronger minds. And she just happened to hold hands with the first friendly person she met, who just happened to be a three-year-old. I don’t believe that.”
Jodie’s mother shrugged. She took the photograph of little Jennie, the one they had given the newspapers twelve years ago and the one they had put on the milk carton last year. “I’m losing her again. My baby girl. I’m losing her twice.”
“I think,” said Jodie, “Hannah knew perfectly well she was kidnapping Jennie. If Hannah had really been a mental case, she wouldn’t have pretended Jennie was her own daughter. She wouldn’t have pretended it was their granddaughter. I don’t think Hannah was afraid of the cult. I think she was afraid of the police. Hannah ran away so her parents would be the ones who would get in trouble.”
“What difference does it make?” said her mother. “We’re not going to have Jennie now, and the only improvement is that I don’t have to worry whether she’s safe or well or scared.” Mrs. Spring laughed in despair. “I only have to worry that she doesn’t want me, doesn’t love me, and needs to finish growing up with somebody else.”
Jodie, Stephen, and Dad watched the silent slide of tears.
Finally Dad said, “Stephen, I think you’re right. It would kill us to keep pretending. The only reason to stay is school, and she might just as well finish school up there.”
Jodie’s rage was so great it was a pit bull and had her by the throat.
“You are scum,” said Jodie in the dark, in the quiet, of their bedroom. She didn’t care what the parental instructions were. Mom and Dad didn’t have to undress in the same room with Jennie. They didn�
��t have to fall asleep listening to rotten worthless Jennie breathe.
“I know that,” said her sister. “I haven’t been a good daughter, and I haven’t been a good sister. I just want to go home. What happened, happened. That’s that. I’m not going to pretend anymore.”
“There wasn’t any pretending!” cried Jodie. “You really and truly are my sister! You really and truly are Mom and Dad’s daughter. That happened, too!”
The silence lasted. Jodie hoped that Jennie would have cardiac arrest from shame and badness.
“I don’t know if there is a right thing morally,” said Jennie at last. “Every choice in this is second best. So I picked a second best. I’m going home.”
Jodie lay flat on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, keeping her hands stiff at her sides. She felt laid out, like a corpse. “We weren’t good enough for you, were we?” she said.
“You are good! This is a very good family! I’m the one who’s not good.”
“Why can’t you think of Mom? Think what this is doing to her! You are leaving her twice, and each time because it’s more fun someplace else!” Jodie hung on to her sheets to keep from leaping across the room and shaking Jennie by the throat. “You’re spoiled. You were a spoiled-brat three-year-old, and now you’re a spoiled-brat teenager! You’re going because the Johnsons have a better house! You get your own bathroom. That’s what this comes down to. You’re sick of waiting in line for the shower!”
The pause was very long.
“I hope not,” said Jennie, her voice quavering. “I hope I’m a better person than that.” She sounded three years old, in need of a hand to hold.
Jodie got out of bed, took the single step required to cross the little lane of rug between them, and lay down next to Jennie on top of the covers. “I thought we were doing so well,” said Jodie. “I thought you were getting happy.” Two thin blankets lay between them. There would always be something between them. “Were you acting?” said Jodie.
Jennie lay still.
“I want you to know something,” said Jodie. Her throat swelled hideously. “We weren’t acting. We were happy. We were glad to have you home.”
CHAPTER
19
Jodie sat cross-legged on her bed as Janie emptied the bureau drawers: the half of the room Jodie had so optimistically, so childishly, prepared.
Jennie had too much for her three suitcases. Now she was filling brown-paper grocery bags. Very neatly she folded sweaters to the exact dimensions of the bag and very neatly lowered them on top of each other.
“We’re not going to have a life as neat as that,” said Jodie, “after you’ve gone. Do you think we’ll just lie here, neatly stacked? Color coordinated, like shirts on a shelf? Do you think you’ve been fair? Do you think you’ve been kind?”
Janie could not meet her sister’s eyes and stared out the window instead. It was a warm day—wild and wonderfully windy. The sun was gold and the sky was cloudless and all the earth felt like a gift. Here we are! the world was saying. Just what we used to be! Loving, flawless, and good. Come home! We’re waiting!
When she had telephoned home to tell her Johnson parents she had permission to come back for good, even those parents said what Jodie said. We have to be fair: we have to do the right thing by your birth family, we have to—
But her Connecticut mother paused. “Forget fair,” whispered Mommy. “Come home.”
No matter what Janie chose, she could be fair only to half the people involved.
She thought of all divorcing parents whose children were forced to decide whether to live with Daddy or to live with Mommy. Tons of kids had to make this decision. Which parent to go to? Which parent to slap in the face? Nobody deserves a slap, thought Janie. Unless it’s Hannah.
“This is the best I can do,” she said to her sister.
Jodie Spring shook her head once. “You didn’t do your best. Not by us, anyway.”
It was true, so Janie said nothing.
She lined up the suitcases, the cardboard boxes and paper bags by the bedroom door. Mr. Spring had said good-bye to her early that morning, when he took the twins to their baseball game. He looked a hundred years old. He had put his arms around her and she had wept but he had not. He said sadly, “We love you, sweetie. Take care of yourself.”
There were few words for a man whose child wanted her other father.
The twins unemotionally waved good-bye. She had hardly made a dent in their existence, nor they in hers.
Mrs. Spring was driving her to Connecticut. Janie would not pick out her prom gown with Jodie and Mrs. Spring after all. She would not see a single baseball game of the twins’ and she would never play Nintendo with a brother and sister again. She was going home to finish the school year where Adair and Pete and Katrina and Sarah-Charlotte would have lunch with her and Mr. Brylowe was her English teacher and Reeve would drive her each way in his Jeep.
Janie could hardly wait to see the huge blue turnpike signs with their immense white letters:
WELCOME TO NEW ENGLAND
CONNECTICUT AND POINTS NORTH
When she crossed the state line, it would be solid; it would really be over, she’d wake from the nightmare at last.
She could not look at her New Jersey mother, who had to stay in the nightmare.
Stephen silently loaded Janie’s belongings into the car. Janie was actually slightly surprised that Stephen had not killed her. He’d wanted to. “You,” Stephen had said, “deserve to be dead.” Now he was arranging her belongings with great care, so nothing would tip or rattle. As if it mattered.
In a dreadful circle of events, it was now Mrs. Spring who would bring her daughter to Miranda Johnson, just as Hannah had done twelve years ago. It was Mrs. Spring who would place her baby girl’s hand in the hand of the woman who would be her mother from now on.
She loves me enough to give me up, thought Janie Johnson, but I don’t love her enough to give up anything.
Jodie, Stephen, Mrs. Spring, and Janie stood on the driveway. Nobody touched. Stephen extended his hand and it took Janie a moment to realize he meant her to shake it. This is my brother, she thought. Don’t sisters and brothers hug when they say good-bye? Stephen’s been a brother, but I haven’t been a sister.
She shook his hand.
“Tell your mother,” said Stephen, “thank you for inviting us up for the weekend.” Janie could not imagine what it had cost him to refer to Mrs. Johnson as Janie’s mother. “Brendan and Brian aren’t going to come, but Jodie and I will. So we’ll see you in a month.”
Such a gentleman. Janie looked sideways at him, wondering.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t poison the sandwiches.” His control slipped and vanished. “It’s you Johnsons who do that kind of thing,” he spat out. “Hannah, she thinks nothing of stealing cars and babies. And Janie, she thinks nothing of destroying families and damaging—”
“Enough, Stephen,” said Mrs. Spring.
Stephen stopped.
For his mother’s sake, thought Janie. He loves her enough to give her what she needs. And I don’t.
Jodie touched Janie’s shoulder. It was hard for her, and the closest she could come to an embrace. Jodie shrugged, and bit her lip, and stepped back. Janie wanted to fling her arms around Jodie, tell her that she was a wonderful person—
But instead she gave Jodie a tight and trembling smile, and quickly climbed into the front seat. Mrs. Spring sat behind the wheel. They backed out of the driveway. Janie waved. Neither Jodie nor Stephen waved back.
The car pulled away. The red house disappeared. They left Highview Avenue, and in a little while they were on the interstate, heading north.
Once they commented on traffic, noting a close call by a poor driver. They did not discuss their mission. In northern New Jersey, Mrs. Spring pulled into a service area to get a cup of coffee. They left the car and went into the restaurant. Janie got a Pepsi. At the end of the cafeteria line, Mrs. Spring paid for both drinks. It was a tr
ansaction that absorbed her deeply. Tears welled up in her eyes as she accepted her change, and Janie thought: this is the last thing she will ever do for this daughter.
“I want you to know I’m sorry,” said Janie.
They walked stiffly, each trying not to cry.
“I don’t know why I went with Hannah,” said Janie. “I want you to know I’m sorry I did it. I know that Hannah didn’t make me. I know she didn’t use force. Jodie and Stephen are absolutely right. You can blame me for everything.”
Mrs. Spring seemed unaware of the stink of exhausts and the roar of traffic. She looked up into that same lovely windy blue sky they had left an hour ago and blinked hard. “No. It’s my fault, sweetheart. Don’t take this on your shoulders.”
“Your fault?”
“You were the middle child. A pair of kids above you and a pair of kids below you. The twins took up tremendous time and attention. They were in diapers, they were yellers and screamers, they were kickers and fighters. Jodie and Stephen could do things in a pair. Even though in some ways they were antagonists, they were inseparable. And there you were in the middle.” Janie and Mrs. Spring went down the wide cement steps from the restaurant into the parking lot. Janie tried to remember where they had parked the car. “I didn’t have quite enough time,” said Mrs. Spring. “I tried, but … the twins … in the shoe store that day … you stormed off. You were only three but you had a mind of your own. I’m sorry, sweetheart, that … oh, God! I’m sorry!”
Now Janie was weeping. “No! From the minute I saw my face on the milk carton, I knew I was the one who had been bad. Because my parents couldn’t have been.”
“You were three, Jennie. Three-year-olds aren’t bad. The only person to blame is Hannah, and Hannah is out of reach. There’s no point in laying blame.”
They reached the car. Set their drinks on the hood while they fumbled for the locks. Hesitantly, Mrs. Spring ran her fingers over Janie’s face. Janie flung her arms around Mrs. Spring in a hug so tight it hurt her own muscles. Their tears mixed when they touched cheeks.
Whatever Happened to Janie? Page 12
