"She'll be fine," he said. "Everything will be fine," he assured us both.
My mother kissed me, too, and then I started up the stairs to my room.
I can't do this anymore, I thought, when I reached the landing and looked at the attic stairway. It's got to end. Besides, my father will help Karen now; he'll help us both. I walked to the stairway and up to the attic door, where I took a deep breath before opening it.
I entered. "Karen?" I called.
She wasn't sitting on the sofa or waiting by the window, nor was she hiding in any dark corner. Nothing was out, not an old dress or an old hat. The attic was just the way it was before she had come.
"Karen?"
I walked in farther and then started to move around the attic. She didn't appear, step out from behind any furniture now that she knew it was only me.
"Karen?"
I stood there, looking into the shadows and waiting, but I didn't see her or hear her.
For a moment, I thought I had imagined it all. She was never there. Then I remembered what she had told me about how she could hide herself in the armoire in the corner. I went to it, paused, and opened it abruptly.
It was empty.
I spun around, looking at everything again, and then I hurried out, down the stairs and to my room. I went quickly to my copy of The Diary of Anne Frank and rifled through the pages, but there were no notes, no letters, no explanations at all.
My mother came up and then to my doorway. She knocked on the open door to get my attention. I turned quickly, expecting to see Karen.
"Zipporah? Were you just up in the attic?"
"Yes."
She turned and looked at the stairway. "Why?"
"It was our place, our secret place, where we confided in each other, where we became close friends."
"Oh. Yes, of course. You poor dear. Are you all right, honey?" my mother asked.
I looked at her, at the book, then back at her, and nodded.
"Yes," I said. "I'm okay now," I told her, even though I had no idea if I was or wasn't and wondered if I ever would be again.
13 Too Late to Fix the Mess
At breakfast, neither of my parents said anything more about what I had told my father after we had returned from Darlene Pearson's house. He had gotten up quickly, spoke little to me, and then left earlier than he usually did. From the way he and my mother exchanged secret glances, I suspected it was because he was off to do something as a result of what I had told him. My mother was home and didn't have to go to work until three. She volunteered to take me to school, but I told her I would be fine on the bus. I didn't want her chasing around and thought she would need to rest for her hospital shift.
When I arrived at school, I put my things in my locker as usual and set out for homeroom. I was moving in a daze and didn't realize that as I was walking through the hall, Dana Martin had come up beside me.
"Wake up," he said, nudging me. I paused to look at him and then kept walking. "You and I definitely need to meet tonight," he said when we approached my homeroom door.
"Oh? And why is that?" I asked. I wasn't in the mood for him, despite his good looks and the way all the other girls were eyeing me jealously every time he took a step in my direction. The truth was, I felt like wrapping myself up in some cocoon and sleeping away the whole day.
He leaned so close his lips actually touched my ear.
"Because Karen called me last night," he whispered, and then he kept walking toward his own homeroom. I felt the blood drain from my face.
Did that mean he knew she was still in the area, or had she called him, pretending she was in New York City? Why would she risk calling him after all this, anyway? Where was she? I stood there in the doorway in such a dumbfounded state I didn't feel the other students nudging me aside to get into the room. In fact, I didn't move until the bell rang and our teacher clapped his hands sharply to get my attention.
"Zipporah, take your seat, please," he ordered, and I hurried to it.
Everyone was looking at me. Did they all know how deeply I was involved with Karen's situation? Had they heard about the police interrogations? My visit to her mother? One way or another, I was still the center of attention. When would that stop? I didn't want to look at anyone or do anything that would suggest I wanted anyone to talk to me. I dreaded all their questions, comments, and accusations. Moving through my school morning was like paint-bynumbers for me. I could have had my eyes closed the whole time, and it wouldn't have made any difference. However, every time I heard a noise in the hallway or a door was opened, my heart stopped and started. I anticipated one of the detectives looking for me or my father coming to take me out of school. I even imagined Karen returning, opening the door, and taking her seat with a smile on her face, as if nothing at all had ever happened. I actually dreaded going to lunch, not only because of how the other students would look at me and treat me but because I was afraid of talking to Dana now, afraid of hearing anything more. Didn't Karen realize the tight spot she had put me in? I had to be careful of every word I spoke, every look and gesture.
Impulsively, when the bell rang, I headed outside instead of toward the cafeteria.
From what everyone who had lived in Sandburg most of their lives had told my parents and me, we were having a warmer than usual spring. They all said it meant a hot, humid summer. The last weeks of school were uncomfortable, because the school had no air conditioning, and some of the rooms were stifling. By midafternoon, it put the students into a stupor. Even the teachers looked drained. As soon as they had a free period, they rushed to the faculty room to bathe in the electric fans. There were fans set up in the cafeteria, so it was the coolest place for the students.
I found a shady place under a sprawling oak tree just to the right of the building. I could look out at the ballfields. No one was there, and because of the heat, no one else had decided to spend lunch hour outside. There wasn't even a breeze. I leaned back against the tree and closed my eyes. How was all this going to end? What exactly would my father do with the information I had given him? Where was Karen? Had she really run off to New York? What did Dana Martin really know? How much trouble was I about to be in? My nerves were like stripped electric wires, sizzling.
Sensing him standing there before he spoke, I opened my eyes and looked up at Dana.
"I wondered where you had gone to hide," he said. "Alice Bucci saw you leave the building."
"Figures she would be the one to tell. She'll play Brutus in the school production of Julius Caesar."
He laughed and squatted beside me, pulling up a blade of grass and clenching it between his teeth.
"Karen told me last night that she wants us to get together," he said.
"Where is she?"
"You don't know?"
"Would I ask you if I did? Well?"
He shrugged. "I don't know for sure. She wouldn't tell me. I know she called from a pay phone somewhere, because she had to put more change in, and I heard the coins dropping."
"Why does she want us to get together?"
"She said we were her best friends, and we should talk about how we could help her."
"How can you be one of her best friends?"
He shrugged. "Beggars can't be choosers," he said. "Anyway, she suggested I tell you that I would come by the post office tonight. She said you could ride your bike there about seven-thirty, so your parents wouldn't know you were meeting me. Was she right?"
"It doesn't matter. I can't do that. I can't lie to my parents anymore."
"What do you mean, anymore?"
"I mean, I can't lie to them."
He shrugged. "You won't. You just won't tell them everything. That's not a lie."
I looked away, and he lay back on the grass beside me, his hands behind his head, gazing up at the pale blue sky, with its wispy clouds so still they looked dabbed on the celestial canvas. Even the birds around us were too hot to fly. They stared out angrily from where they perched on tree branches, as if they
thought Nature had betrayed them by imposing this blanket of humidity and heat.
"It wouldn't surprise me to learn that she's gone somewhere, probably somewhere far away. You know, of course, that Karen was always planning on running away from home," he said. "She was saving her money. She told me she wanted to go to California and become a movie star."
I didn't say anything. Karen and I had talked about many things, but she had never told me she was planning to run off without me, and I couldn't imagine her doing anything like that without telling me first.
"She said a lot of things. So what?" I muttered. "I'm sure you tell people you're going to be a sports star or something, don't you?"
He laughed. "I am."
"Yeah, right," I said.
He sat upright and leaned toward me. "Don't be so cynical," he said. "It's not attractive, and you can be very attractive."
I looked at him askance. "Yeah, right," I repeated, but not with the same enthusiasm. Whether he was being truthful or not, I liked hearing it.
"I noticed how you've changed, improved your looks. You have a good teacher."
"What's that's supposed to mean?"
"What is it Karen always says? Don't be thick? I know you've been talking to her all this time. Don't deny it," he added quickly, his hand up with the palm toward me. "You know a lot more than people think. You must have lied to the police."
"I didn't lie. I just . ."
"Didn't tell them everything? See? You can do it."
I looked at him, at his impish smile. His eyes were beautiful. He's the one who could be a movie star, I thought. Maybe he would be. Maybe he was one of those people who would become what he dreamed of becoming. Karen always talked about some people being touched by an angel.
"Just one touch will do it," she said. "The luckier ones, are kissed on the forehead while they sleep. They feel it, but they think it was a dream."
I didn't realize I was staring at him, but he did. He smiled and reached for my hand.
"Well?" he said, toying with my fingers. "Are you going to be there?"
"I don't know," I said weakly.
He pulled his hand from mine "I'll be there at seven-thirty. Be there, or be square," he said, standing.
I didn't answer. He started away. I watched him saunter back to the school door, pause, look back at me to flash a smile, and then go inside. I didn't move until the bell rang to return to class. It didn't matter that I had nothing for lunch, either. I didn't think I could hold down a piece of bread. My stomach was in just that much turmoil. I thought every organ in my body was twitching the remainder of the school day.
When the final bell rang, I sighed with relief and hurried out, anxious to get home.
I knew that by the time I arrived at my house, my mother would be at her shift in the hospital, and my father would still be at work, so I would have time alone to think. I practically leaped out of the bus when it pulled up to my driveway. Head down, I charged up the walkway and unlocked the front door. I was on my way to the kitchen to get myself a cold drink. I thought maybe some milk would settle my stomach.
"Hi," I heard as I started past the living room. I paused and looked in to see Karen sitting on the sofa, looking relaxed and casual. She had one of my mother's recent movie magazines in her lap and a glass of lemonade in her hand. Anyone looking at her would think there was absolutely nothing wrong, nothing different about her or me.
"Karen!"
"Herself," she said, smiling.
"Where have you been?"
"I understand you did a good job with the tape recorder," she replied, instead of answering.
I entered the living room. She was wearing one of her own skirts and one of her own blouses. She had neither when she had come here.
"Where were you last night?"
She set the glass of lemonade on the coffee table and picked up a key to show me.
"Harry's mother's apartment," she said. "I had to apologize to his mother," she said, smiling.
"What?"
I sat, or rather flopped, on my father's recliner and clutched my books against my body.
"Just kidding, but I did spend the night there, and I can report there was no ghost. So, you went up to the nest looking for me after you came home from New York City and discovered I was gone? Is that it?"
"Yes."
"You went up to the nest with your parents in the house? Weren't you concerned they'd ask why you went up there? Weren't you worried they'd hear you go up? Weren't you afraid your mother or father might follow you up and find me? Well?" she asked, running her questions together so quickly there was no time to answer one before the other.
"As soon as we returned from New York City, we stopped to see your mother," I began.
"What's that got to do with it? I knew that you were going to visit her. Remember?"
"Yes, but the police were there because of the phone call I had made."
"It worked. I know. I expected it would, and she would call them to tell them. Thanks, but why did you go up to the nest? Why did you take such a chance, Zipporah? Especially after doing such a good job with the tape recorder, huh?"
"I got angry at your mother," I said. "I defended you, and I guess I blurted out and suggested things "
"I told you how to act, how to behave. I told you she'd get you to slip up. I warned you. Why didn't you listen?"
"I tried, but when she apologized for you, when she said I was unfortunate to have you for a best friend, I couldn't stand it anymore. Everyone was feeling so sorry for her for having a daughter like you. I had to speak up and tell them it wasn't your fault. But that's all I said before running out crying."
"It was enough. Oh, she is clever," she said, smiling and shaking her head. "Turning the whole thing around so you and she would seem to be the ones who should be pitied. What happened then? What did the police do? Did they come after you?"
"No. We left before they could ask me another thing, but when we got home, my father pulled me aside. He suspected you had a good reason to do what you did to Harry. He made me tell him."
Her eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward. "I know. I watched you talk to him."
"You were still up there?"
"Uh-huh."
"Where were you when I went up to the attic looking for you?"
"I had already left, out the window and down the fire escape. You told him what, exactly?"
"That Harry had been coming into your room at night and doing things he shouldn't have been doing. My father was upset for you, and he said he would do something. He's going to help you, Karen. You'll see. It's good that he knows. We should have told him right from the start, just as I had wanted. He'll make things all right."
"Things can never be all right. Not like that. You're such a little idiot," she said.
"I am not!"
"Oh, please, Zipporah." She looked away. "So now I know for sure why you went up to the nest looking for me. You wanted them to know about us, know that I've been up there all this time. You were going to betray me after all, right? Wasn't that it?"
"No, not betray you. I was going up to tell you that you didn't have to hide anymore. I went up to tell you my father is going to help you."
"I thought I could trust you with my life. I thought we were birds of a feather."
"We are. I'm just trying to do what's best for you."
She shook her head, sat back, and looked as if she was going to cry. "Best for me? Why do you think I'm really not in New York City, Zipporah? Why do you think I'm still here? I could be long gone by now. I'm not afraid of being on my own. I've been on my own all my life, or at least since my father's death. But I'm here for you. Yes, that's right, you. You're right in the middle of this mess, and I couldn't just up and leave the nest and you behind to face the music alone. And besides, I know you've made sacrifices for me ever since we became friends and that you could have had many more friends, been more popular, had some boyfriends, but chose instead to be my best friend. I owe you for
being so loyal to me," she said. "And now you've gone and done this. I don't know." She shook her head. "It might be too late to fix the mess you've made. I don't know."
"Why? I don't understand why you call it a mess."
She sighed and stared at me a moment, as if I were the one to be pitied here and not her, as if I were the one in all this trouble.
"I guess I shouldn't be mad at you. You're just too naive, too trusting. After all, you've been protected all your life." She held her arms up. "You've grown up in a loving family and always had a mother and father who truly cared for you. How many nights when I was only eleven, twelve, did I spend alone? All night, in fact, terrified of every sound."
"Why were you alone?"
She laughed as if I had asked the silliest question.
"Why was I alone? You think my mother's some sort of angel because she puts on that pained or hurt face all the time? You think Harry's been her only male experience since my father died? Late at night, she would slip out of the house and go to bars on the other side of the county, pick up someone, and often not come home until the wee hours of the morning or the next day."
"You never told me that."
"Oh, Zipporah. Don't you get tired of saying that? You want me to tell you every little grisly detail about my miserable life? Should I tell you about the night I spent in a motel in another bed while my mother and a man she met were in the next bed making love like two monkeys? Should I tell you how I put the blanket and the pillow over my ears to block out the moaning and groaning?"
I shook my head. "When?"
"All this happened before we met, but I couldn't tell you about it or tell you other stuff. I was afraid you'd think poorly of me and not want to be my friend."
"I would have been your friend no matter what, Karen."
"I know that now, but not back then, and! wasn't eager to revive the nasty memories."
I nodded. It wasn't hard for me to understand that. I felt even sorrier for her. I understood why she was so nervous about getting anyone to take her side, to believe her. Her own mother betrayed her and put her through such nasty things just to please herself.