What he was going to do, he decided, after the rest of them went to visit Janie’s father in the hospital tonight, was walk in here boldly and scope out that folder, as if it were his business.
Because he was pretty sure it was his business.
Mrs. Johnson was sitting at her own desk, which was at a right angle to her husband’s desk, where Janie was studying the bills, paid and unpaid. Mrs. Johnson had been using a small calculator to balance the checking account, and it was making her cry, because this was not her job, had never been her job. In the division of labor that every family requires, checking accounts belonged to her husband.
And now he was in the hospital.
A stroke and a heart attack.
She could not believe either of these things.
Frank was slim and strong and he worked out and ate well, and he was still, in her opinion, a young man. Well, not young. But he wasn’t old! He was not old enough to have a heart attack. He could not leave her now; he could not die. He could not end up speechless and drooling. She couldn’t go through that. She wouldn’t go through that.
She had to believe he would recover. Completely.
She mixed up numbers and skipped decimals and could not manage a simple subtraction.
And so she did not see her daughter blazing over the contents of a file folder in Paid Bills, and she did not see Janie’s former boyfriend staring in fascination, nor Janie’s real brother observing them all.
Mrs. Johnson said, “Yes. Beach Burger. I hope the rocks aren’t crowded. I want to sit on the rocks. Don’t you, Brian?” She was crazy about Brian. He was such a sweetheart. It was a ridiculous time to have a houseguest, but Brian was a treasure. In a weird way, Miranda Johnson was thrilled and honored to find that her family had extended from here in Connecticut down there into New Jersey, and that somehow, miraculously, she too had been adopted.
It will all work out, she said to herself, and she was actually almost happy. She turned and smiled at the three teenagers, but she did not see how quickly Janie’s smile came and went, nor did she attach any importance to Janie’s habit of lowering her face to let her heavy dark red hair cover her expression.
Janie got through the whole hamburger thing.
She was pleasant and even funny because she liked the three people with her. But she was aware of her terrible anger sitting next to her on the rock, waiting to come back in, and she could hardly wait to get home, and be by herself, and go back to that folder and let the fury take over.
She thought she could probably produce enough rage to power the house. She could plug the toaster into her hand and burn the bread with her anger.
But no. Once again, she must be controlled and careful and a total fake in front of everybody. Janie Johnson: Good Guy. She was so sick of being good.
“Janie darling,” said her mother. Her mother was affectionate with everybody: it was Janie darling and Reeve sweetheart and Brian love.
Did her mother know the truth? It seemed unlikely. Mom would never have let her open that drawer if she had known about the folder in there.
On the other hand, her parents had kept a massive secret for years, and Janie had never suspected a thing. So perhaps they were keeping two secrets, and had kept this second secret in front of everybody: the FBI; the police; her Spring family; Reeve; Reeve’s lawyer sister, Lizzie; and most of all, Janie herself.
She could not trust either parent now.
“I don’t think I’ll visit Dad tonight,” Janie told her mother, knowing she should tag on some friendly reason, some kindly excuse, like exhaustion. But she was so angry. What if she said, Because I’d rip out the tubes keeping him alive if I had to see him right now?
“I’ll drop you guys at home,” she said to the boys, “and then drive Mom to the hospital.” She checked her watch. Six P.M. Plenty of time to get rid of all three of them, examine that folder, finish screaming and go back to the hospital. “I’ll pick you up at nine, Mom.”
Janie did all the driving now.
For years, she had dreaded the moment in which she must stop being the passenger and turn into the driver. Had cringed at the thought of facing traffic, flinched at choosing left lane or right.
Janie Johnson had preferred leaning on her parents. But her mother and father had been weakened from finding out that Janie was theirs by theft. They’d so carefully kept a secret all these years—the secret of Janie’s birth—but they’d been wrong about what the secret was. They’d never known the real secret.
The media attention and the law, the neighbors and the necessity to face Janie’s birth family had quite literally put them both on heart medicine.
Janie had had to become strong for her mother and father, and she’d done it. She was proud of herself. But there had not been quite enough energy to be strong for herself, so she had leaned on Reeve. Probably the most painful mistake she would ever make. Once the possibility of leaning on Reeve was gone, the solution to her problems seemed to be in the driver’s seat.
Overnight, Janie wanted a driver’s license and a car.
Nothing low to the pavement. No dumb little four-cylinder engine. She wanted height and power. She wanted a cool name. Wrangler or Blazer. (Her best friend, Sarah-Charlotte, suggested a Tracker. “The better to find your kidnapper,” said Sarah-Charlotte, as if this were all rather comic. As if anybody at all ever wanted to find the kidnapper.)
The only good thing about the kidnapper was that she had vanished. Nobody in either family had a clue to the kidnapper’s whereabouts or even if she was still alive. Finding the kidnapper would destroy all that the Springs and the Johnsons had managed to save.
In the end, Janie chose an Explorer, which her father gladly bought. He was so pleased that Janie wanted to drive, and have power and freedom. It was a big step up for a girl who had spent the winter barely able to turn a page in a magazine.
Now she thought grimly, I don’t need a Tracker, do I? And Dad knew that when he bought my Explorer. The kidnapper has already been tracked.
She remembered to be calm. She smiled at her mother, her former boyfriend and her little brother. Then she realized that even when she dropped Mom at the hospital, she would not be alone when she got home.
Brian would be there.
Janie could see no way to unload Brian. No way to shut him up in a guest room while she stormed around screaming.
It was her careful smile.
Reeve knew it well.
Her real smiles—her laughing, exuberant, I-love-you smiles—he hadn’t gotten those since last fall, when he’d been such a massive jerk that he was amazed anybody spoke to him now.
He also knew what she was doing.
If they all went to drop Mrs. Johnson at the hospital, they’d drive home together. Reeve would drift on into the Johnsons’ house with Janie and Brian. But Janie didn’t want Reeve around, so she’d drop him off first and then go on to the hospital.
It was that folder. She was going back into it when she had no witnesses.
Of course, she’d still have Brian. There was no place to drop Brian.
I could give Janie a present, thought Reeve. I could invite Brian to go to a movie with me. I could say, “Brian, let’s give Janie a rest, let’s let her have a night on her own.” But I’m selfish. I don’t want to go to a movie with a fourteen-year-old. I want to go to a movie with Janie and sit in the back and make out. Or at least hold hands.
Not that Janie had allowed any of that since he’d been back from college.
Reeve Shields, he said to himself. Good Guy. “Janie,” he said, “you want a rest from us, too? Brian and I could go see a movie.”
Janie’s eyes filled. It annoyed her terribly. Was she never going to outgrow these sudden tears?
She knew that he knew something was up.
Reeve studied her all the time, trying to find a way back, trying to find the sentence or the gesture that would make them boyfriend and girlfriend again. “I’d like that,” she said. She did not look a
t Reeve but got up carefully, as if she were worried about falling into the sea. An unexpected swim in salt water would be a pleasure compared to examining that folder at length, and the reason for her care was very different: to show her mother nothing.
I will never show either of my parents anything again, she thought. They had no right to do this. None.
Her mother said, “Janie darling, I know how hard this is on you. Seeing Daddy so collapsed and incapable. It’s terrible for all of us. It’s so hard to imagine the future. I’ve asked too much of you, making you go with me and sit by his bedside every night. All three of you must go see a movie. See a fun one. Lots of laughs. You need to laugh, Janie darling.”
In the end, they all drove to the hospital, dropping Mrs. Johnson off with many kisses and assurances of love, and Janie promised a ten-thirty pickup instead of nine, leaving lots of time for the movie they would supposedly see.
Reeve shifted up to the front seat and Brian stayed in back.
Janie was wearing her hair loose. She had serious hair; more, said Sarah-Charlotte, than any three normal people.
Reeve laid claim to a single red curly strand, winding it around his finger. Her hair was long and his finger turned into a shining dark red cylinder.
Janie took the curl back without looking at him. Her hair sproinged out past her shoulders and it seemed to Reeve she could not possibly see the traffic; her view had to be blocked by a forest of autumn-red leaves: her own hair.
Janie did not get on the interstate, which was the only road that went to the twelve-screen theater. She drove home. Her house and Reeve’s were next door, which was convenient or maddening, however you felt at the moment.
Reeve did not have a car of his own this summer, but his family owned plenty of cars and one was always available; it was just a matter of begging and pleading and then promising to fill the gas tank.
Okay, fine, Reeve said to himself. Janie ignores me; I take her kid brother out instead.
He sighed but, not wanting to hurt Brian’s feelings, cut the sigh off. As cheerfully as he could, he said, “So, Bri, what do you want to see?”
And Brian Spring said, “I want to see what was in that folder, Janie.”
* * *
CHECK OUT MORE EDGE-OF-YOUR-SEAT THRILLERS!
FROM BESTSELLING AUTHOR
CAROLINE B. COONEY!
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* * *
ALSO BY CAROLINE B. COONEY
The Janie Books
The Face on the Milk Carton
Whatever Happened to Janie?
The Voice on the Radio
What Janie Found
The Time Travel Quartet
Both Sides of Time
Out of Time
Prisoner of Time
For All Time
The Time Travelers: Volumes I and II
OTHER NOVELS
Diamonds in the Shadow
A Friend at Midnight
Hit the Road
Code Orange
The Girl Who Invented Romance
Family Reunion
Goddess of Yesterday
The Ransom of Mercy Carter
Tune In Anytime
Burning Up
What Child Is This?
Driver’s Ed
Twenty Pageants Later
Among Friends
Published by Laurel-Leaf
an imprint of Random House Children’s Books
a division of Random House, Inc.
New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1996 by Caroline B. Cooney
All rights reserved.
Originally published in hardcover in the United States by Delacorte Press, New York, in 1996. This edition published by arrangement with Delacorte Press.
Laurel-Leaf and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on request.
RL: 5.3
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eISBN: 978-0-375-89207-3
v3.0
Caroline B. Cooney, The Voice on the Radio
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