“I know what I’m doing.”
“I miss you,” I said.
“I know, believe me, I know. It’s like you’ve taken half of my self away with you.”
“Come and get it, then.”
“As soon as I possibly can. I will make this right first.” Her voice got hard.
“I love you.”
“Could you believe that, despite everything I’ve put you through, I love you, too?”
“Yes, I can.”
“I’ll come for you soon.”
“I’ll wait for you.”
The phone went dead, and a sudden wave of depression crashed over me. Jessamine looked up sharply, and the feeling dissipated.
Jessamine went back to watching Archie. He was on the couch, leaning over the table with the free hotel pen in his hand. I walked over to see what he was doing.
He was sketching on a piece of hotel stationery. I leaned on the back of the couch, looking over his shoulder.
He drew a room: long, rectangular, with a thinner, square section at the back. He drew lines to show how the wooden planks that made up the floor stretched lengthwise across the room. Down the walls were more lines denoting the breaks in the mirrors. I hadn’t been picturing them like that—covering the whole wall that way. And then, wrapping around the walls, waist high, a long band. The band Archie said was gold.
“It’s a ballet studio,” I said, suddenly recognizing the familiar shapes.
They both looked up at me, surprised.
“Do you know this room?” Jessamine’s voice sounded calm, but there was an undercurrent to it. Archie leaned closer to the paper, his hand flying across the page now. An emergency exit took shape against the back wall just where I knew it would be; the stereo and TV filled in the right corner foreground.
“It looks like a place where my mom used to teach dance lessons—she didn’t stick with it for very long. It was shaped just the same.” I touched the page where the square section jutted out, narrowing the back part of the room. “That’s where the bathrooms were—the doors were through the other dance floor. But the stereo was here”—I pointed to the left corner—“it was older, and there wasn’t a TV. There was a window in the waiting room—you could see the room from this perspective if you looked through it.”
Archie and Jessamine were staring at me.
“Are you sure it’s the same room?” Jessamine asked with the same unnatural calm.
“No, not at all. I mean, most dance studios would look the same—the mirrors, the bar.” I leaned over the couch and traced my finger along the ballet bar set against the mirrors. “It’s just the shape that looked familiar.”
“Would you have any reason to go there now?” Archie asked.
“No. I haven’t been back since my mom quit—it’s probably been ten years.”
“So there’s no way it could be connected with you?” Archie asked intently.
I shook my head. “I don’t even think the same person owns it. I’m sure it’s just another dance studio, somewhere else.”
“Where was the studio your mother went to?” Jessamine asked, her voice much more casual than Archie’s.
“Just around the corner from our house. It’s why she took the job—so I could meet her there when I walked home from school.…” My voice trailed off as I watched the look they exchanged.
“Here in Phoenix, then?” she asked, still casual.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Fifty-eighth and Cactus.”
We all stared in silence at the drawing.
“Archie, is that phone safe?” I asked.
“The number just traces back to Washington,” he told me.
“Then I can use it to call my mom.”
“She’s in Florida, right? She should be safe there.”
“She is—but she’s coming home soon, and she can’t come back to that house while…” A tremor ran through my voice. I was thinking about Victor searching Charlie’s house, the school in Forks where my records were.
“What’s her number?” Archie asked. He had the phone in his hand.
“They don’t have a permanent number except at the house. She’s supposed to check her messages regularly.”
“Jess?” Archie asked.
She thought about it. “I don’t think it could hurt—don’t say where you are, obviously.”
I nodded, reaching for the phone. I dialed the familiar number, then waited through four rings until my mother’s breezy voice came on, telling me to leave a message.
“Mom,” I said after the beep, “it’s me. Listen, I need you to do something. It’s important. As soon as you get this message, call me at this number.” Archie pointed to the number already written on the bottom of his picture. I read it carefully, twice. “Please don’t go anywhere until you talk to me. Don’t worry, I’m okay, but I have to talk to you right away, no matter how late you get this call, all right? I love you, Mom. Bye.” I closed my eyes and prayed that no unforeseen change of plans would bring her home before she got my message.
Then we were back to waiting.
I thought about calling Charlie, but I wasn’t sure what I could say. I watched the news, concentrating now, watching for stories about Florida, or about spring training—strikes or hurricanes or terrorist attacks—anything that might send them home early.