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"Where?" Daddy asked.
"Here," I said. "She came here, Daddy."
My throat was closing, and tears were burning at my eyelids. I tried to swallow. He was staring at me, the disappointment beginning to seep into his face, his eyes narrowing. He leaned forward, his hands on his knees.
"Here?"
"Yes, Daddy. I came home and found her here. She was in the attic."
He leaned back. "In the attic?"
"Yes. She had no place else to go."
"Where is she now, Zipporah?"
"She's in the attic," I said.
Daddy was quiet. He glanced at Jesse, who continued to look down at the floor.
"You're not telling me she's been upstairs in that attic all this time, are you, Zipporah?"
I nodded. "Except for one night or two."
He took a deep breath and gazed out the livingroom window for a moment. Then he turned to Jesse. "When did you know about this, Jesse?"
"The day after I came home," he said.
Daddy's face hardened. "What about the New York phone call, Zipporah?"
"I did it with my tape recorder. She recorded the message, and I played it over the phone. She didn't want the police looking for her around here anymore. I went to the pay phone while Mama was in her bath."
"My God," Daddy said. "You've been harboring a fugitive in our home. You assisted her in deceiving law enforcement. You caused your mother to tell a lie. Do you realize what you've done?"
"She was my best friend, Daddy," I cried through my tears. "You told me what E. M. Forster said about choosing between your friend and your country."
"That was something entirely different from this, Zipporah. I would have thought you understood. I've overestimated you, both of you," he said, looking at Jesse. "Okay. Go upstairs, and bring her down immediately. Go on!" he snapped. His lips were whitening in the corners with the flow of anger through his face.
I rose and walked out, glancing back at Jesse, who still hadn't raised his gaze from the floor. Tears were flowing freely down my cheeks now. I wasn't crying for myself or even for Jesse or Karen. I was crying for my father, who looked as if his heart had been torn into pieces.
Who knew how Karen would react to all this? I thought. I expected some hysterics. This was going to be a terrible scene. I took a deep breath and opened the attic door.
"Karen," I called.
I didn't see her anywhere.
"Karen, are you here?"
Silence was barely interrupted by the breeze whistling through the shutters. Not finding her waiting there stunned me. Daddy wouldn't believe me. He might want to come up to see for himself. I turned and hurried down the stairs. When I reentered the living room, I saw Jesse had his hands over his face. Daddy looked as if smoke could come flowing out of his ears any minute.
"Well?" Daddy asked.
Jesse took his hands away to look at me.
"Where's Karen?" he asked.
"Yes, where is she?" Daddy demanded.
I shook my head. "She's not there, Daddy. I'm not lying. She's not in the attic."
