And when the ticket taker walked away, Nina turned toward me and smiled. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, El, this summer we are from France.”
And I just nodded and grinned right back, because this was turning out even better than I could have hoped. I remember leaning back with my knees against the back of the seat in front of me, looking out the window at the power lines and trees whizzing by, sucking the last bits of Sprite off the ice cubes in my plastic cup, giddy with anticipation of what was ahead. I felt like I’d won a fabulous prize in a contest I hadn’t even known I’d entered—without Nina’s friends around, I had been promoted to the number one spot. I wasn’t just her little sister anymore, I was half of Team Nina, which was just about the best thing a person could ever hope for.
The first four days were perfect. In the mornings we went to the beach, with a bag of books and Nina’s iPod, and lay out on our towels and talked in our accents and discussed the details of our made-up French lives: We were the daughters of French aristocrats and we lived in a French mansion and had a pet dog named Bijoux. Every so often, while we were walking on the beach Nina would just call out, “Bijoux? Come heeeere Bijoux? Where are you, mon cherie!?!” as though Bijoux was missing and we were out looking for her. At some point every day we’d go swimming and at some point after that we’d eat lunch and take a walk on the boardwalk and then maybe play Skee-Ball or something, then eat dinner. Our aunt let us do pretty much whatever we wanted, so long as we stayed together and were home by nine. Every day felt so magical and amazing and unreal in its preciousness. I must have somehow known it couldn’t really last.
On the fifth day Nina met Nick. I knew from the first moment he came up to us, tall and lanky in low-hanging surf shorts, bearing two “lemonade Popsicles,” that he was going to ruin the rest of my summer. I wanted him to go away. I wanted to tell him that really lemonade was our least favorite flavor of Popsicle. And if he knew anything, he would have known that most reasonable people like cherry the best and then grape and then orange, in that order. I also wanted to mention that, by the way, when lemonade is made into a Popsicle, you’re just supposed to call it a lemon Popsicle, you don’t need to say the “ade” part. But Nina just accepted the Popsicles with a flirty smirk and a coy merci. And in that moment something shifted. Up until then I’d thought the accents were about me and Nina having a joke together, but as it turned out, I was very wrong. I was welcome to participate in the joke, but it was her joke. Not mine. And watching Nina “ex-Q-zeh mwa see voo play” with Nick gave me that sudden sickening feeling that comes along with the dawning of some obvious but unfortunate realization—my sister was a person even when I wasn’t with her. And most of what she did in the world had nothing to do with me.
After that, Nina and I had a new routine: We’d get up, pack our bag, and go to the beach, and then I’d spend the rest of the day all by myself under the umbrella, with the books and her iPod, while she went off with Nick and his group of surfer friends. I was always invited along, but I never went. They were only asking because they felt obligated, which made sense since they were all sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen and I was only twelve.
At night Nina and I would lie in our beds in the room we were sharing, with the window opened and the warm salt air blowing in past the blue and white striped curtains. “Isn’t it wonderful here?” she’d say. “Don’t you just want to stay here forever?” But she was talking to herself then, not to me.
And that is how the summer passed.
The night before we were set to leave, we packed our stuff and went to bed. Sometime in the middle of the night I awoke to the sound of Nina sneaking out. I still remember what she looked like climbing through the bedroom window in a white sundress, running across the lawn, her sun-bleached hair flying behind her as she went. I got up then, stood there at the window waving, but she never looked back to see.
She returned sometime before dawn that morning, and cried quietly into her pillow. Somehow I knew I was supposed to pretend to be asleep.
Twelve
It’s an hour later, and we’re in the car, zooming west. I turn toward Sean, I still can’t quite believe we’re really doing this. “And you’re sure?” I say. “I mean, you’re sure you don’t mind doing all this driving and everything?”
Sean shakes his head. “Ellie, I once drove to Canada for pancakes in the middle of the night because I didn’t like the syrup they gave me at IHOP. I love driving. It’s like playing the world’s most realistic driving video game! Besides,” he turns toward me and grins. “After this you’ll owe me.” I blush and grin back.
I guess if there’s one thing I have learned about the world, it’s this: Things can always, always, always change, and those big changes often come a lot faster than you think. No matter how many times I learn this lesson, it feels like a new one. Less than three hours ago I was standing behind the counter at Mon Coeur, about to cry, and now I’m in a car on my way to Nebraska with a cute guy that I barely know.
There’s a chirping sound, like a bunch of birds singing at once. Sean reaches behind him on the seat where his phone has fallen out of his pocket. “What’s that say?” Sean asks. “I have a phone call?” He flips his phone open and holds it to his ear. Through the back of the phone I can hear a guy’s voice calling out, “Hello? Hello? Hello?” Sean doesn’t say anything, just takes the phone away from his ear and snaps it shut. “Wrong number.”
“How did you know it was a wrong number if you didn’t say hello?”
“I get them all the time. I’m pretty sure there’s some girl out there who gives my number out as her fake, like for when she’s getting hit on by a guy who wears too much gel or has sores on his face and she doesn’t want to hurt his feelings.”
I smile. But before I can even respond, my phone starts buzzing.
“I guess she gave out your number, too?”
I check the caller ID. “It’s my friend,” I say. “The one who thinks I should give up.”
“So pick it up and tell her to fuck off,” Sean shrugs.
I laugh, even though I would never, ever do that to Amanda. I hit Ignore. Truth is, I’m worried that even hearing her voice will somehow break the spell that has made this all possible. Amanda has a way of bringing me back to earth, whether I want her to or not. The phone starts buzzing again. “It’s Amanda again,” I say. I bet she’s just going to keep calling over and over until I pick up. I can’t avoid her forever.
I flip open my phone.
“Heeelleeeeeew,” Amanda says. I can already tell she’s drunk. It’s only seven-fifteen.
“Hey,” I say. There’s loud dance music pumping in the background.
“Ellieeeeeeee? Sorry, honey, I can’t hear you, hold on one second,” and then she yells to someone in the background, “Can you turn it down please. Adam…can you? TURN IT DOWN A LITTLE PUH-LEASE!” and then into the phone, “Hey, babe! What are you doing?!!” And then she turns away from the phone for a second, “I’M TALKING TO ELLIE, MY BESTEST BESTEST BESTEST!” And then into the phone again, “Adam wants to know why you’re not here.”
“Who’s Adam?” I hear a loud “woo-hoo” in the background.
“Adam is this total asshole.” Amanda’s laughing. “Eric never showed up but I DON’T EVEN CARE!”
And then I hear a shuffling noise and a guy says into the phone “Hey, Ellie,” and in the background I hear Amanda yelling, “GIVE THE PHONE BACK!!!” and then her hysterical laughter, like having her phone taken away is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to her.
“Hello,” I say.
“What are you up to, how come you’re not over here?” the guy says.
And then more shuffling. “Sorry.” Amanda’s back. “He is such an asshole.” More laughter. And then Amanda yells into the background, “YES! OF COURSE SHE’S HOT!” And then back to me, “How’d you get home from Mon Coeur?”
“Got a ride.”
“From Brad?” She sounds confused, like she can’t imagine anyone else
other than her being willing to drive me home. “Brad’s Thomas?” This is annoying.
“Sean drove me.” She’s waiting for me to explain. “No one you know,” I say.
“Oh,” she says. “Sorry, can you hold on a sec?” I hear more laughing in the background and a splash. There’s a shuffling sound and then I hear Amanda yell, “PUT ME DOWN, YOU BEHEEEEEEEEMOTH!!!” She’s laughing, and then she’s back. “Well, where are you now?”
“In a car,” I say.
“Where are you going? ”
“To Nebraska.” I glance at Sean. Our eyes meet and he grins and waggles his eyebrows.
The music in the background gets suddenly louder. “WHAT DID YOU SAY?”
“I SAID I’M GOING TO NEBRASKA,” I yell. “GUYS, TURN IT DOWN I’M ON THE PHO-WOAH-N,” Amanda yells. The noise in the background fades. “Hello? What did you say, Ellie?”
“I’m on my way to Nebraska,” I say.
“Ellie, what are you even talking about? ” Amanda sounds annoyed. “Nebraska isn’t even a real place.”
“I think it probably is, actually,” I say. “I saw it on a map once.”
“Well, not a real place anyone actually goes to,” Amanda says.
“I’m going there,” I say. “Right now.”
“Okay, fine,” Amanda says. “You’re on your way to Nebraska, yeah, sure. Whatever, Ellie. I would have thought you’d stopped being weird by now, but I guess I was wrong.”
“I’m not kidding,” I say flatly.
“You’re not kidding,” Amanda says. She suddenly sounds very serious, in a drunk sort of way. “Why?”
“Just because.”
“With who?”
“Sean.”
“Sean who?”
I turn toward Sean. “Sean, what’s your last name?”
“You’re going to Nebraska with a guy whose last name you don’t even know?”
“Lerner,” Sean says.
“Lerner,” I say.
“Where does he go to school?”
“My friend Amanda wants to know where you go to school, Sean.”
“Beacon Prep,” Sean says. “Boarding school in Lake Forest for preppie rich kids.”
I turn toward Sean and raise my eyebrows.
“Beacon Prep,” I say into the phone. “Boarding school in Lake Forest for preppie rich kids.”
“I know that place,” Amanda says. “Mom’s friend Helen’s nephew goes there. Where do you know him from?”
“Sean, where do I know you from?”
“The future,” Sean says.
“What?” says Amanda. “I couldn’t hear you.”
“I met him at the Mothership,” I say into the phone.
“You met a guy there? You didn’t even tell me.” I think I hear the tiniest hint of jealousy in her voice, but I might be imagining it.
“I guess I forgot,” I say. And then neither of us says anything for a while.
“Alright,” Amanda says. “Weeell…I guess I’ll let you go then.” I can tell she’s pissed.
That makes two of us.
“Okay,” I say.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Ellie,” Amanda says. “Bye.”
“Bye,” I say. I lean back against my seat and watch the trees zip by.
“Well, that sounded fun,” Sean says.
“She didn’t seem to understand the concept of Nebraska.”
The sun is going down now, and we are both quiet. I feel Sean looking at the side of my face. I glance over and he looks away quickly, back at the road. Then he turns toward me and grins this crazy grin. His eyes are sparkling. He rolls down the window and sticks his head out. “FUCK YEAH, NEBRASKA!” He looks at me, “Try it,” he says.
I roll down the window and the wind rushes in, whipping my hair in my face.
“HOORAY, NEBRASKA!”
“GO, GO, NEBRASKA!”
“YAHOO, NEBRASKA!”
“WORD TO YOUR MOTHER, NEBRASKA!”
The mood in the car has shifted, just like that.
Thirteen
The rumble of the road beneath us becomes the soundtrack for a very long movie about cars on a long flat highway under a giant sky. I am lulled into a trance watching it.
Except for the road sounds, the car is silent, no music, no talking, but it’s the kind of comfortable silence that only occurs between two people who are secure in the fact that they have plenty to say to each other. Which is funny because Sean and I have barely spent two hours in each other’s presence.
Time passes strangely in the car, marked mainly by the changing color of the sky, from blue to deep blue and finally to black. And there is nothing but tiny car lights up ahead, and giant stretches of flat land on either side of us. Each time a car or a truck passes, I feel a little poke in my chest, like we are all part of some special club of people who are up late doing secret things, and I can’t help but feel like somehow all of them must be looking for my sister, too.
Around one o’clock in the morning, I spot a sign on the side of the highway showing a big slice of cherry pie with Sweetie’s Diner, All-American Roadside Favorite Open Round The Clock Since 1953. World’s Best Pancakes. Next Exit written below. I look at Sean and he looks at me and we both break into huge, giant, ridiculous grins. I cannot quite believe that we’ve really just done this.
Sean gets off at the exit and circles around and then there, in the dark Nebraska night, is an enormous pink and silver diner with sweetie’s written in orange neon lights at the top, the brightest thing for miles around. Sean pulls into the large parking lot, there are two other cars, three eighteen-wheelers with Interstate Heavy Hauling printed on the back, and one large bus with MidAmerican Busline written on the side and a big white 257 sign behind glass up above the windshield.
Sean parks. We get out.
The air feels cool and clear out here, and when I look up at the star filled sky I remind myself that those tiny pinpoints of light are larger than I can ever even imagine, and that all that menacing blackness is actually nothing at all.
We walk toward the door, and push through.
Sweetie’s Diner feels instantly familiar the way all good diners do: It’s all big giant booths and scratched chrome stools up at the counter and whirring fake-wood ceiling fans blowing the smoky scent of bacon, slightly burnt coffee, and warm pie all around the room. We stand there blinking under the bright lights like two people who have just been born.
She was here once, I think. Nina. My sister was in this very room. I breathe in deep, as though some part of her is still here, and if I can catch it with my breath I’ll know all the answers I’ve been looking for. But all I get is the smell of food. My stomach grumbles and I am suddenly very aware of the fact that Sean and I drove straight through dinner.
A woman with gray hair pulled back into a bun walks by with two plates balanced on each arm. “Wherever you like, kids,” she says and motions toward the back of the diner with her chin, like a woman who is used to having her hands full.
Sean starts walking toward a booth in the back, slowly, looking around as he goes. Up at the wooden fans on the ceiling, down at the f lecked linoleum tile floor. We pass a woman in her late twenties with a toddler in a Chicago Bears T-shirt sleeping in her arms, an older couple sitting next to each other, sipping cups of tea, a man in his early thirties, slumped ever so slightly in his seat, his hand poised on his fork, his eyes closed, as though he’s taking a nap but doesn’t want anyone to know about it. Sean sits down in a booth and I slide in across from him. He opens his menu but stares out at nothing. “Sean?” I say.
Sean shakes his head and looks at me. “Sorry.” He smiles again.
A waitress approaches. She’s big and mushy-looking, in a friendly and comforting way, like she’d be nice to hug. Rosie is printed on her name tag. “Hi there, what can I get for you, honeys?” Rosie says.
And I want to answer, “My missing sister, please!” but instead I just reach in my pocket for her photograph. I am sudd
enly nervous. Sean is staring right at me with his beautiful slate-colored eyes, and when his eyes meet mine, I feel that same flash, now familiar, but still surprising in its intensity and the knot in my stomach loosens. Just a little.
I look up at Rosie. I hesitate for one more second, resting in this moment before I know what she is about to tell me, in this moment where anything is still possible, and then I open my mouth. “I was just wondering if you or anyone who works here might have ever seen this girl.” I put the photograph on the table. Rosie looks down. “I’m trying to find my sister,” I say. “And so I was wondering if you’d ever seen her before. She was here at least once, two years ago.”
As soon as I hear myself say the words, I feel a squeezing in my chest. I got caught up in the excitement of the moment, in the thrill of finding a piece of new information in the credit card statement, in finding someone willing to help me. Coming here, putting all that effort in, really made me feel like we were doing something and therefore were guaranteed to find the next clue. But just because you have sat in the car for hours and hours does not mean you’re going to find anything if there isn’t anything to find. We’re at a diner in the middle of Nebraska where Nina once came two entire years ago. What did I think we’d find? Before Rosie even opens her mouth, I know what the answer is going to be.
“I wish I could help you, hon.” She has taken her glasses from a chain around her neck and put them up on the tip of her nose. She stares down at Nina’s picture, then back up at me. And I feel something inside me sinking. “I can’t say that I remember her. We don’t attract much of a regular customer base out here on the highway. Back when this place first opened, the head waitress was dating one of the bus drivers, so he’d stop in to see her whenever he was passing through, and then it just became tradition for the bus company that does this route to use us as their rest stop. I dare say the only repeat customers we get are the bus drivers and the truckers.” Rosie looks at Nina’s picture one last time and hands it back to me, shaking her head. “It’s a shame. Real pretty girl. Your sister’s missing or something?” She asks this like someone who won’t be surprised at the answer.