Missing
Summer 1964
We amuse ourselves with discussions of where to fit an eighth little person into a house that is still trying to digest seven.
“If it’s a boy, he can bunk with us,” Danny says.
“But when he cries, he’s going in the garage,” David says.
Sophie is quiet.
Valerie assures us that no decisions need to be made right away. “We’ll keep the baby in a bassinet in our room for at least six months.”
“That long?” Andy frowns.
Sophie sits on an arm of the living room sofa, next to David. They’ve just gotten back from an afternoon at the beach. Just as Roger predicted, the kids have been gone more now that they have a car.
Roger bought a used Pontiac Tempest that is stuffed with athletic gear, books and magazines, jackets and towels. Sophie has been struggling to learn to drive a car with a stick shift. I haven’t encouraged her, either. I’m just as happy that she prefers to take the train to the city when she can’t catch a ride with her friends.
Sophie has changed into a red and white polka-dot crop top over red shorts that showcase her long legs. Her hair, caught back in a white eyelet triangle scarf, gives her the look of a Seventeen Magazine cover girl. She has started babysitting in the neighborhood to pick up extra money to pay for classes and clothes. Her parents have given her an ultimatum. They will not send her an allowance past the end of the summer.
“Valerie, I have an idea,” Sophie cradles one knee in her hand, dangling her other leg over the sofa arm and wiggling her foot back and forth. “I’m planning to move to San Francisco but I have to save up some money before I can move out.”
“San Francisco is a pretty expensive place to live,” I say.
“Nobody is asking you to move out, Sophie,” Valerie says.
“I know, but listen. Let’s turn my room into a nursery for the baby, and when you get ready to move it into its own room, I can help you take care of it. I can be a mommy’s helper, or a baby nanny, or whatever you need. We can move my bed over by the wall and...”
“Well that certainly is a possibility. Let’s go take a look.” Valerie pushes herself up out of her chair and the two head down the hall. I can imagine that Valerie has been itching to get back into that room and prepare it for the baby. This plan would also put the brakes on Sophie’s intention to go live in San Francisco and join some modern dance movement before she’s established solid connections. I like it.
R
The next day, I drop Sophie off at the train station on the way to see Laura. The train she intends to take has not arrived yet, but Sophie thinks it will be by shortly. I watch her walk to a covered bench near the tracks, lugging her heavy dance bag. Bright, hot sun beats down on the commuter cars parked along the tracks.
“You sure you don’t want me to take you to Mountain View? I think the train has more runs from that depot. If you miss the morning train, you’ll have to walk back home and you’ll miss your class.”
“No, I’m sure it’s just late. It’s often late. You go on. Say ‘hi’ to Laura for me.”
With some misgiving, I wave goodbye and drive off through the neighborhoods across town to Laura’s house. As my car comes around the corner, Laura opens the screen door to let Goldie out. Goldie bounds to the edge of the grass and then sits down, thumping her tail wildly.
“I taught her a new trick,” Laura grins, walking across the lawn to stand next to Goldie. “I don’t want her to run out in the street. It’s busier than I thought it would be.” She gives the okay to Goldie and I get my proper greeting. “It’s hot today. I’ve made some iced tea. Let’s go inside.”
Ranch style houses and Craftsman bungalows dot the street, most in various stages of remodeling. Laura’s house is due for a remodel but it’s been nicely kept up.
I’ve tried to get over to see Laura once a week, but since Valerie’s announcement, I’ve been busy helping her assemble the baby’s wardrobe. Valerie has a light teaching schedule this summer. She’s planning to resume teaching in the fall and then take the winter off after she has her baby.
Laura splashes tea into tall glasses. “Gosh, Dee, it feels like a month since I’ve seen you.” We talk about Valerie’s pregnancy and Laura’s volunteer work at the high school.
“Have you made friends in your new neighborhood?”
“Not really. I still play cards with my old bridge group.” She pours a second pack of sugar in her glass and swirls a spoon around in her tea. “The people on the street are all young families with kids or older couples, except for the guy next door whose wife died last year.”
“Oh?”
“He’s eighty.”
“Oh. Do you ever hear from Father Mike?”
“All the time. He writes me long letters describing Berkeley, and the school he’s at, and the courses he’s taking.” Laura’s voice is sad. “I really miss him, Dee. I don’t know what to do about that.”
“Has he suggested that you visit him?”
“No.”
“Do it anyway.”
“What? Just show up on his doorstep unannounced? Don’t you think that would be,” Laura searches for the right word, “forward?”
“Yes. Do it anyway. What have you got to lose?”
“Not my virginity.” Laura claps her hand over her mouth, and we laugh until we cry and I have to go the bathroom.
R
I unlock the front door and walk into the atrium to water the plants. Opening all the doors does little to dispel the heat today. The leaves on the trees hovering over the creek are still. Adapting to the seasons in a glass house with single pane windows is like settling into a new marriage. You begin to notice that the charms that attracted you on a good day can annoy you when things start to heat up.
Roger’s easy, calm nature is beginning to look like passivity to me. He will not take seriously that Scott is dangerous. Why is Scott suddenly on my mind? This is a rare afternoon that I’m alone in the house. Everyone is off in different directions. In this heat, wouldn’t it be sensible to just sit down in a cool corner of the house with a magazine? Instead, I’m working up a sweat flitting from chore to chore, trying to distract myself from some unnamed dread blooming in my gut. While I’m washing dust off the leaves on the rubber plant, my head starts to buzz because I’m holding my breath.
I take a couple of deep breaths to clear my head, finish my grocery list, and start for the car. My Rambler, parked in the driveway, is sitting at an odd angle. My right front tire is flat. I walk around the car where the left rear tire seems to be losing air as well. Now I see why. Construction nails are scattered in the driveway. I must have driven through them and punctured at least two tires, maybe more.
I try to think of a reasonable explanation. Could Roger or one of the boys have spilled these? Not likely. They aren’t building anything big right now. Besides, they know better than leave a mess like this. Could the neighbors be starting up again? Things have been quiet since the meetings stopped. Could Scott have done this? I suppose he could be expressing his anger at us over trying to keep him away from Sophie, but that doesn’t make any sense either. Scott is antagonistic, but he’s not childish. There is no reason for this I can think of. Now I’m stuck in the house.
Valerie and Andy have gone shopping in the city for a crib. Roger is playing golf and won’t be home for hours. Danny dropped David off at Stanford this morning on his way to work. I have to take care of this myself.
By the time a tow truck arrives to deliver the car to Gordon’s garage up at Loyola Corners, my family starts trooping in.
“Dee, why didn’t you wait for me to come home?” Roger was over par; now he’s out of sorts. “It wasn’t necessary to have the car towed. I could have changed the tires myself.”
“I didn’t want to wait.”
“You have somewhere to go?”
“It doesn’t matter, does it? My car is in the garage and I can’t go anywhere. Gordon says he’ll have it ready tomorrow. The back tire needed to be replaced anyway.”
Roger looks at me like I’m some airhead teenager and shakes his head. “Then you should have had both back tires replaced, Dee. Gordon should have told you that. You should have waited for me.”
I turn on my heel and go to my room, slamming the door behind me. Of course, it’s not my room, it’s our room. My only personal space in this house is my closet-sized studio. To cross through all that open space now would mean I’d have to play my anger and frustration out in front of everyone.
I’m so mad I want to start yanking drawers out of Roger’s armoire and throwing his clothes all over the room. Instead, I go into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. Then I go back in the room, turn on the ceiling fan, spread out on top of the bed under the cooling air, and fall asleep.
It’s dark out when Roger opens the door an inch.
“Can I come in?” he whispers through the crack.
“Yes.”
Roger comes through the door carrying a tray of fruit salad and cold chicken. I put a hand to my throbbing temple. “I’m sorry I got so mad.”
“That’s okay, I understand.”
“What do you understand?”
“That you handled stuff like this quite well for years before we got married. It’s your car and you have the right to get it repaired any way you choose.” He sits down on the bed next to me and rubs my shoulders while I eat. A burst of fresh pineapple on my tongue banishes the pain in my head. Roger hugs my shoulders and kisses the top of my head. “Why don’t you come out now and have dessert with us.”
“Is everyone home?”
“Yes.”
Roger takes my tray and I sit at my vanity to redo my make up before showing my face in the family room. When I appear in the doorway, they look up with sympathetic smiles. I look at them and count my blessings. Then, the dread that has haunted me all day returns.
“Where is Sophie?”