The Wake Trilogy: Gone Part 2

"Hey. I'm taking your mom to County Hospital. If she blows in Ethel, you are so dead. Call me. Jesus. Also? s.h.i.t. My phone battery is dying, so maybe try the hospital or something . . . don't know what to tell you. I'll try you again when I have a chance." Click.

"Oh, my G.o.d." Janie stares at her phone, not really seeing it. Then she calls Carrie.

Gets Carrie's voice mail. "Carrie! What happened? Call me. I've got my phone now. I'm so sorry. I wasa"taking a nap." It sounds hollow. Careless. Frivolous, even, when Janie says it aloud. What was I thinking, leaving my mother alone for a week? "G.o.d. Just call me."

Janie stands there, all the breath being sucked out of her, replaced by fear. What if something's really wrong?

And then anger.

I will never have a life as long as that woman is alive, she thinks.

Squeezes her eyes shut and takes it back, immediately.

Can't believe she would be such a horrible person, think such a horrible thing.

Charlie walks into the tiny cabin kitchen with a brown bag of groceries and stops short when he sees the look on Janie's face. "Are you okay?" he asks.

Janie blinks, unsure. "No, I don't think so," she says quietly. "I think . . . I think I have to go."

Charlie sets the groceries down hard on the counter. "Cabe!" he shouts through the screen door. "Come 'ere."

Janie sets her phone down and pulls her suitcase from the wardrobe. Starts throwing her clothes in her suitcase. She looks at her disheveled self in the mirror and rakes her fingers through her dark blond tangles. "Oh, my G.o.d," she says to herself. "What the h.e.l.l is wrong with my mother?"

And then it hits.

What if her mother really is dying? Or dead?

It's both fascinating and horrifying. Janie imagines the scene.

"What is it?" Cabel says, coming into the cabin. "What's going on?"

"Here," she says. She dials voice mail and hands the phone to Cabel. "Listen to all the messages."

As Cabel listens, Janie, in a daze, continues to pack.

After all her things are crammed inside, she realizes that she needs something to change intoa"she can't drive all the way to Fieldridge in her swimsuit.

She can't drive at all.

Cue major detail.

"f.u.c.k," Janie mutters. She watches as Cabel listens to the messages. Watches his expression intensify.

"Holy s.h.i.t," he says. He looks at Janie. Takes her hand. "Holy s.h.i.t, Janie. What can I do?"

Janie just buries her face in his neck. Trying not to think.

Endless.

7:03 p.m.

It's a three-hour drive home. Cabel's at the wheel of the Beemer that Captain Komisky lets him drive. A Grand Rapids radio station deejay cracks a lame joke and then plays Danny Reyes's "Bleecker Street" in his all-request hour, and Janie stares at her phone, willing Carrie to call. But it's silent.

Janie calls the hospital. They have no record of a Dorothea Hannagan being admitted.

"Maybe she's fine and they didn't have to admit her," Cabel says.

"Or maybe she's in the morgue."

"They'd have called you by now."

Janie's silent, trying to think of reasons why the hospital hasn't called, much less Carrie with an update.

"We can call Captain," Cabel says.

"What good will that do?"

"The police chief? She can get info from anybody she wants."

"True. But . . ." Janie sighs. "I don't . . . my mother . . . never mind. No. I don't want to call Captain."

"Why? It would put your mind at ease."

"Cabe . . ."

"Janie, seriously. You should call hera"get the scoop. She'd totally do it for you if you're worried about imposing."

"No thanks."

"You want me to call her?"

"No. Okay? I don't want her to know."

Cabel sighs, exasperated. "I don't get it."

Janie clenches her jaw. Looks out the window. Feels the heat in her cheeks, the tears stinging. The shame. Says softly, "It's embarra.s.sing, all right? My mom's a freaking drunk. Stumbling around in the front yard, yelling? My G.o.d. I just don't need Captain seeing that. Or knowing about thata"that part of my life. It's personal. There are things I talk about with Captain, and things that are private. Just drop it."

Cabel is silent. After a few minutes of radio deejay babble, he plugs his iPod into the car stereo. Josh Schicker's "Feels Like Rain" washes through the car. When the song ends and the first notes of the next song begin, he stiffens and then hastily flips it off. Knows what's next. Knows it's "Good Mothers, Don't Leave!"

An hour pa.s.ses as they travel eastward across Michigan, leaving the sun setting orange and bright in their wake. Traffic is light. Janie leans her head against the window, watching the blur of deep green trees and yellow fields pa.s.s by. There's a deer in a gra.s.sy area as darkness approachesa"or maybe it's just that burned-out tree stump that fools her every time.

She wonders how many more times she'll witness scenes like this. Trying to remember everything she sees now, for later. When all she has is darkness and dreams.

She tries the hospital again. Still no record of Dorothea Hannagan. It's a good sign, Janie thinks . . . except that Carrie still isn't calling. "Where is she?" Janie bounces her head against the headrest.

Cabel glances sidelong at Janie. "Carrie? Didn't she say her phone's dead?"

"She said her battery was low. But there are other phones. . . ."

Cabel taps his chin thoughtfully. "Does she actually know your cell number or are you on her speed dial?"

"Ahh. Good point. Speed dial."

"So that's why she hasn't called. She doesn't know your number, it's in her dead phone and she can't get to it."

Janie smiles. Lets go of a worried breath. "Yeah . . . you're probably right."

"Did you try calling your house to see if your mom is there?"

"Yeah, I did that, too. No answer."

"Do you have Stu's number? Or Carrie's home phone?"

"I tried her home. No answer. And I don't have Stu's. I should. I've always meant to. . . ."

"What about Melinda?"

"Yeah, right." Janie snorts. "Just what I needa"the k.n.o.bs from the Hill spreading this story around." She turns back to the window. "I'm sorry I was snippy. You knowa"earlier."

Cabel smiles in the darkness. "S'okay." He reaches for Janie's hand. Snakes his fingers between hers. "I wasn't thinking. My bad." He pauses. "You know n.o.body thinks badly of you for things you can't control, like what your mother does."

"n.o.body?" Janie scowls. "Right. They all have their opinion on the Durbin mess."

"n.o.body who matters."

Janie tilts her head. "Yanno, Cabe, maybe neighbors, the entire town of Fieldridge . . . maybe what they think actually does matter to me. I mean, G.o.d. Forget it. I'm just so tired of all of this. Sheesh, what next?"

After a pause, Cabel says, "Straight to the hospital, then, right?"

"Yeah, I figure that's the best thing we can do. She could just be sitting, waiting in the ER. We'll try that first . . . you think?"

"Yeah."

9:57 p.m.

Janie and Cabel stand in the ER, unsure of what to do. No sign of Carrie or Janie's mother anywhere among the a.s.sortment of ill and injured. No one at the desk has any record of her either.

Cabel taps his fingers against his lips, thinking. "Is Hannagan your mom's married name?"

Janie squinches her eyes shut and sighs. "No." She's never told Cabel much about her mother, and he's never asked. Which was just the way Janie liked it. Until now.

"Um . . . ?" Cabel prompts. "How do I put this PC. Let's see. Okay, has your mom ever gone by any other name besides Hannagan?"

"No. Her name's Dorothea Hannagan, and that's the only name she's ever had. I'm a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Okay?"

"Janie, seriously. n.o.body cares about that."

"Yeah, well, I care. At least you know who both your parents are."

Cabel stares at Janie. "Fat lot of good that did me."

"Oh, jeez, Cabe." Janie grimaces. "I'm sorry. Major verbal typo. I'm stresseda"I don't know what I'm saying."

Cabel looks like he's about to say something, but he holds back. Looks around again, futilely. "Come on," he says, grabbing Janie's hand. "Elevator. We'll walk around, check waiting rooms. Ten minutes, tops, and if we don't find Carrie, we head back to your house and wait. I don't know what else to do."

A shiver crawls over Janie's skin. Her mother, the drunk, is missing.

10:02 p.m.

There, in the third-floor waiting room.

ICU.

Elbows on her knees and face in her hands, fingers threaded through her long dark curls. Leaning forward. Like she's ready to jump to her feet at any second and run like h.e.l.l.

"Carrie!" Janie says.

Carrie pops up. "Oh, good, you got my note."

"Where's . . . Is my mother . . . ?"

"She's in the room with him."

"What? Who?"

"Didn't you get my note?"

"What note? All I know is what you left on my voice mail."

"I left a note on Ethela"in the parking lot. Figured you're a detective now, or whatever. You oughta think to look for my car. Anyways, how the h.e.l.l did you find me, then? Never mind. Your moma"she's fine. I mean, she's still drunk but I think she's coming down now . . . like way down. She's all weepy and shaky. Buta""

"Carrie," Janie says firmly. "Focus. Tell me what's wrong with my mother and where I can find her."

Carrie sighs. She looks tired. "Your mom is fine. Just drunk."

Janie glances nervously through the open door to the hallway as a nurse walks by. Her voice is low and urgent. "Okay, okay, I get that she's drunk. She's always drunk. Can we stop shouting that please? And if she's fine, why the f.u.c.k are we all in Intensive Care?"

"Oh, man," Carrie says. She shakes her head. "Where to start?"

Cabel nudges Janie and Carrie toward the chairs and sits down with them. "Who's *him', Carrie? Who is she with?" he says gently.

Janie nods, echoing the question.

But she already knows.

There's only one "him" it could possibly be. There is no one else in the world. No one else that would make Janie's mother react this way. No one else Janie's mother dreams about.

Carrie, whose normally dancing eyes are dulled from the weariness of the unusual day, looks at Janie. "Apparently, it's your father, Janers. He's, like, really sick."