“Deja, this is serious. Andie is gone,” I said, sliding my arms into my jacket. I slipped the Mickey pin into my pocket. “Tell me right now what really happened between the two of you. No more lies.”
She sank into the corner of the couch, pulling her knees up to her chest.
“Why was she upset that her uncle called?” I demanded. “Is her grandpa worse?”
“I don’t know. He only said he would call later.”
“Is that what you told her? Nothing else?”
Silence.
“What did you tell her?”
“I was just teasing. Omigosh.”
I crossed my arms and waited.
“I said her grandpa was really … bad. But I didn’t tell her to run away. That’s so not my fault!”
“You mean you said he was dying? Deja, how could you do that to someone?”
She lifted her eyes to mine—defiant. “All you care about is her,” she spat. “You always take her side. ‘Deja, don’t upset her.’ ‘Be quiet in your room, Deja.’ ‘Don’t be mean, Deja.’ She’s your perfect little doll. Just like Ginger.”
If she had physically slapped me, it wouldn’t have shocked me more. Pressing her advantage, she continued to scratch her claws across my heart.
“Winnie and I didn’t exist after Ginger got sick. You never came to school, or cared if we got in trouble. You never took us anywhere. Dad couldn’t even stand to be here. I thought after she died, it would be different. But nothing’s different. Andie is Ginger now.”
My hand went to my throat. “That’s not true, Deja.”
“I hate her. I hope she never comes back.”
I gripped the back of the chair beside me for support, feeling pierced and bloody. Mortally wounded. That my own daughter could have stored up so much hatred without my even knowing. It was unfathomable.
Could she be right?
I couldn’t deal with that now. I pushed it to the back of my mind, in the same place where I kept the knowledge that Deja had actually stolen from the family.
I groped for my purse, cell phone, keys. “When Dad gets home, tell him I’ve gone to look for Andie.” I stopped at the door with my back to her. “I would do the same if it were you.”
I stumbled out to the Toyota, got in, and turned the key in the ignition. It sputtered and coughed and shuddered, but I pumped the gas pedal and the engine caught. Feeling numb and wretched, I struggled to put the car into drive and pulled away from the house. Dusk was settling in, and I had the presence of mind to switch on the headlights as I pulled out into the street.
I knew where she was headed. But did she have the means to get to Pine Run on her own? Please, God, don’t let her be hitchhiking.
I cruised the streets in town for twenty minutes before it occurred to me to check the bus station. I parked there and went in, scanning the faces. No luck. I cut in line to ask the ticket agent whether a girl of her description had gotten on a bus. His cubbie smelled like an ashtray. He squirmed a little when I asked the question.
“Lady, we don’t let minors fourteen and under travel without permission.”
“I know, but she could pass for older than she really is. Her name is Andie Lockhart. Winslow.” I showed him a school picture. I saw recognition in his face.
“I’ll check it out.” He punched into his database. “Winslow?” He paused. He looked up at me. “No Andie Winslow.”
“You have another Winslow?”
“Sorry, lady, no-can-do.”
I was a woman on the edge. I practically climbed into his window, jabbing a long fingernail an inch from his nose. “Look,” I snarled, “if you let my fourteen-year-old daughter get on a bus alone, you’re in it up to your—”
“All right, all right, lady. Back off.” He motioned for me to keep my voice down and looked furtively to the other passengers. “Name of Deja,” he said, confidentially.
“Deja?” I straightened up and gave him his space back. “Deja’s at home.”
“Showed me her school ID. It was old, but her birth date was on it. Even had on the same shirt in the picture.” He looked at me disapprovingly and tsked. “Really nasty attitude on that one.”
I ignored him. “Which bus?”
“Six thirty to Pine Run. Arrives 9:15.”
I raced back to the car and drove to a gas station to fill the tank before hitting the freeway. The gallons ticked by as the tank filled, like the seconds passing before she was safe again. Lights were coming on all over town, and I thought of her, alone in the dark and vulnerable and worried for her grandfather. I had to find her.
I took the on-ramp for the interstate, buckling my seat belt one-handed as I slammed my foot on the accelerator. I got the Toyota up to fifty. It was as fast as the car would go before shuddering violently. A strange noise gurgled in the engine.
It wasn’t until I passed from the lights of town into the growing dark of the countryside that I realized I should call the police. Why hadn’t I thought of that back at the gas station? I grabbed my cell phone, but it bleeped. BATTERY LOW. I didn’t have the charger with me. I’d have to pull over and call at the next town. I dug in the change tray, searching out quarters. I had enough change for maybe one call.
I knew it would look bad, her running away like this. What would the judge say? That she obviously wasn’t happy. That I was an unfit mother. That Deja was right, giving ammunition to her uncle’s petition. We might lose custody of her completely.
The Mickey pin rested in my pocket. Andie had left it on my dresser for a reason. Was she sorry for leaving? Was she saying good-bye or “come and find me”?
I glanced at the clock, and deflated inside. Thirty minutes past my scheduled appointment with Julian. There was nothing to do about it. I didn’t even have his number with me.
He’d probably waited in his office for fifteen or twenty minutes, then gone home. I was a flake who couldn’t even show up for an appointment. He was wasting his time on me. My one chance to realize my dream, and I’d sailed away from it at fifty miles an hour in the opposite direction. All because a headstrong, rash, hurting young girl hadn’t trusted me enough to wait until I got home.