Songs without Words (35 page)

“Can we talk about this later?” she asked him, annoyed that he had marred her perfect day.

He shrugged. “Okay, but I have to decide within the next couple of days whether or not to apply for the position.”

Harper wasn’t sure why she had reacted so negatively to the idea of marrying Eliot. It wasn’t like there was someone else. There had never been anyone else who mattered. Everyone who knew them, friends and family members, assumed they would marry someday, most likely when they managed to get closer together, geographically. That’s what Eliot assumed, obviously. Harper wasn’t so sure. She had tried, on occasion, to imagine life married to him, but she just couldn’t see it as something that could be labeled “family.” Even when they had lived together in college, they had lived like roommates, buddies in a way. Or maybe “friends with benefits.” It wasn’t Eliot’s fault. She knew full well what a traditional family consisted of, its mommy and daddy, couple of kids and their pets, but she had always known that there was something about that picture that didn’t suit her. She wasn’t sure why, and she didn’t know how to define a version that did suit her. She glanced over to where Eliot lay on his rock, looking dejected. Whenever she made a mental list of his attributes, his qualifications as a husband, he came out looking pretty good. He was a decent-looking man, kind and compassionate. He was smart and easygoing. And he loved her.

It was the way she felt about him that was the problem. There must be something wrong with her. Why couldn’t she fall in love with Eliot? Or somebody? She was thirty-one years old and had never felt the pain or joy of passionate desire for another person.

Looking at Eliot, his chin resting on his hands, Harper felt sorry for him and a little guilty. She reached into a pocket of her backpack and took out a package of miniature doughnuts, the kind with powdered sugar on them. Waving them in front of his face, she was rewarded with a little boy smile of delight. He sat up and took the doughnuts from her, happily unwrapping them.

Nothing came of the job in Hayward. Eliot never brought the subject up again. Harper decided that he had just been feeling her out and, after getting no encouragement, had let it drop. She was relieved. He had apparently just had a momentary attack of sentimentality.

Chapter 29

JULY 24

The special on Sophie Janssen was scheduled to air at eight o’clock on KQED. Harper had turned all of her material over to the San Francisco PBS station, then spent two days helping its film editors weave it into a cohesive production. She had been allowed into this process mainly as a courtesy, but it had enabled her to observe and learn. She did her best not to be a nuisance. The people she had dealt with were polite and respectful, and she had made a couple of good contacts. She had yet to view the final product, though. Like the rest of the Bay Area, she would see that for the first time this evening.

Deciding to prepare for her trip east with Sarah later in the week, she went into the guest room to get her suitcase from the closet. She discovered first that her suitcase was missing and then that Sarah’s clothes were gone. All of Sarah’s things were gone, she saw, inspecting the room more carefully. Sarah had left the house after breakfast, announcing that she was going to the public library. Nothing had seemed out of the ordinary at the time. Harper checked the time and, seeing that class was over for the day, called Chelsea at school. “What am I going to do?” she asked. “We’re supposed to be on a plane on our way to the Cape in two days.”

“Did she leave a note?” Chelsea asked.

“No.”

“Why do you suppose she’s done this?”

“The only reason I can think of is that she doesn’t want to go home.”

“I’ll come over as soon as I leave here. I’ve got some copying to get done before tomorrow, but it should just be a few more minutes.”

While waiting, Harper logged into her e-mail to see what Sarah had sent from her account. There were some short notes and photos sent to her sister and parents. Nothing to anyone else. If she was in contact with anyone, it was not through Harper’s e-mail account, which wasn’t much of a surprise.

By the time Chelsea arrived, Harper was distraught.

“Why didn’t I ask more questions?” she said. “I should have asked for names and addresses. I have no idea who these friends of hers are. Neil is going to kill me.”

“You were trying to give her some freedom,” Chelsea said gently.

“Obviously, I gave her too much.”

Chelsea pressed her lips together in an expression that indicated she agreed. “So we have nothing? No ideas at all?”

“I have only one idea. Maybe she went to Mary.”

“You could call her.”

“I think I should just go and check. If I call and she’s there, she’ll be alerted and might take off. I can’t afford to have her bolt on me.”

“You’ll have to do this on your own, Harper,” Chelsea said.

Harper nodded. She drove to Mary’s house and approached the door with apprehension. Since her last visit here, a lot had happened. She knew that Sarah had kept Mary informed to some extent. She certainly had to know that Chelsea was back in her life. She didn’t know what Mary’s attitude toward her was anymore, but she didn’t see how it could be friendly. A full minute after she rang the bell, the door opened. Mary stood in the doorway wearing a smock covered with paint smears and a scarf tied around her head, a short streak of lime green on her left cheek. Her expression was sour. “What is it now, Harper?” she asked, obviously irritated. She brushed the shock of silver hair from her forehead.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Mary, but I’m looking for Sarah.”

“She isn’t here.” Harper must have looked skeptical because Mary said, “Really, I haven’t seen her for a couple of days.”

“I think she’s run away.”

Mary raised one eyebrow. “From you, you mean?”

Harper nodded.

“Well, isn’t that a hoot! What’d you do to cause that?”

“I think she doesn’t want to go back home. Look, do you have any idea where she might have gone or with whom?”

Mary studied her for a moment, probably trying to decide whether or not to help. Then she sighed. “There’s a boy. Jake Starling. If she isn’t with him, he will know where she is. I’ve dropped her off there before. I can give you the address.”

“Oh, Mary, thank you so much.”

“Wait here. I’ll get it.”

Harper felt slightly frustrated that Mary knew about this boy and she didn’t. Was it because Sarah trusted Mary more? Was it because she viewed Mary as even less of a parent figure?

When Mary returned with a piece of paper and handed it to Harper, she said, “I understand you and Chelsea are back together.”

“Yes,” Harper said, avoiding Mary’s eyes as she took the paper.

“Well, enjoy yourself, Harper,” she said, with that curious smiling frown of hers, “while you can.”

She shut the door then, leaving Harper on the porch with her mouth open.
What did she mean by that?
Harper wondered. She left feeling a bit shaken. This situation had taken on mythic proportions for her long ago, filled as it was with associations with Orpheus and Eurydice. Now it seemed that Medea had entered the story. Medea, the bitter, spurned wife of Jason, who destroyed his new bride with a poisoned dress in a most gruesome murder. Medea, powerful and ruthless, who made sure Jason paid dearly for leaving her. Harper could still see the frightening illustration of her from her childhood book. Mary terrified her, Harper realized. Pure and simple, she was afraid of her and had been ever since Chelsea had returned to her two years ago. At the time, she had pictured Mary as some sort of enchantress who had a supernatural power over Chelsea. That was silly and Harper knew it. Mary was no witch, and Harper wasn’t afraid of a supernatural power. She was afraid of something entirely natural—the loyalty of a young woman whose first serious love wouldn’t release her.

An involuntary shiver ran through her, fluttering the paper in her hand and reminding her of a more immediate crisis. Returning to her car, she made her way to the address that Mary had given her. It was a two-story house in one of the newer subdivisions, and it looked much like all the other houses on the street, all pinkish stucco with rounded edges. Sarah and a boy her age were sitting on the front step kissing. Harper parked at the curb and had walked up the path to within six feet of them before her footsteps registered and they broke apart. Sarah, recognizing Harper, looked alarmed. The boy, Jake, she presumed, stood and faced her, assuming an air of authority.

“You looking for somebody?” he asked.

“Uh, that’s my aunt,” Sarah said. “Hi, Harper.” She stood, looking uncomfortable. “You should become a detective. You’re getting really good at finding people.”

Harper noticed that Sarah had dropped the “Aunt” from her greeting. Too childlike in front of her boyfriend, she guessed.

“Sarah,” she said without amusement, “please get your stuff and let’s go.”

“I’m going to stay here, if you don’t mind,” she said formally. Jake slipped an arm around her waist protectively.

“I do mind. I’m taking you home with me now.”

“You have no right to do that,” Sarah said, defiantly. “You’re not my mother. You’re not even my guardian.”

Jake grinned at Harper with a self-satisfied expression. A dozen retorts flitted through her head. None of them seemed likely to help, however.

“Can we talk privately for a moment?”

Sarah nodded at Jake, who kissed her briefly, then went into the house. Harper sat on the step, patting the spot beside her. Sarah sat next to her.

“Why did you do this?” Harper asked.

“Why do you think?” Sarah’s voice was no longer defiant.

“Don’t want to go home, I guess.”

“Right.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

Sarah said nothing, just wrapped her arms around her knees.

“Is it because of him?” Harper asked.

“Jake? Oh, maybe a little. Well, not really. He’s just a guy.”

“What is it then?”

Sarah frowned, staring down at the step. “They don’t want me to grow up. They don’t trust me. Everybody else my age has a car. I haven’t even got my license yet.”

“I don’t think it’s that they don’t trust you. They’re just afraid. They think they’re still supposed to direct everything you do, to make sure you don’t make a mistake. They don’t know how to let you make a few mistakes.”

“Whatever,” Sarah said dismissively, but she was listening.

“It’s natural, don’t you think, for them to clamp down harder the more you disobey?”

“If I didn’t disobey, I’d never get to leave the house. I’ve had so much fun here. I knew I would. I knew you wouldn’t treat me like a kid, like they do. You let me go wherever I want and do whatever I want. And here I am, still alive, not a drug addict and not even pregnant.” Harper smiled. “Still, I think I’ve been a little lax. I was afraid to put my foot down because I didn’t want you to see me as the bad guy. I didn’t want you to dislike me like you do them.”

Sarah turned suddenly, looking alarmed. “I don’t dislike them.”

“No?”

“No, of course not.”

“Lots of resentment, though. That’s what I’ve been hearing.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I can talk to them. Maybe we can all have an adult conversation about why you feel so oppressed. I think they would listen, maybe make some changes.”