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I tried not to look too relieved.
"That's a better idea. We could know more about Karen's whereabouts by then," my mother suggested.
"Yes, that could be. Right now, it's as if she disappeared off the face of the earth. According to Darlene, not a relative, not a family acquaintance, has heard from her. I did learn that she took some money, so she might just be holed up somewhere, some cheap motel or something. Her picture has been well circulated. She can't walk into any bus station or hail some taxi driver without being recognized," my father said.
To me, it seemed he was saying it all for my benefit.
"She's only making things worse by hiding like this," my mother added. "No one gets a chance to hear her side of things."
"If there is a side," my father said. Again, he focused on me.
"Okay, that's enough," my mother declared. I had the distinct feeling they had rehearsed the entire dialogue and agreed on what each would say. "You can go do your homework, Zipporah. I'll clean up."
I nodded and rose. Could they tell from the way I stood and ambled out of the dining room that I was on the verge of confessing everything and leading them up the stairs to the attic?
The moment I left, I heard them start talking about me.
"Actually, I would have thought she'd want to go over there on her own," my father said.
"She's very fragile at the moment, Michael. She's under so much pressure at school, from the police, the community, and now us. You shouldn't have agreed you'd bring her over to see Darlene yet."
My father didn't respond, and I didn't want to remain there eavesdropping. I hurried up the stairs to my room to construct a letter to Karen that I would leave in the book. My mother was on an early shift in preparation for our trip to New York the day after, so I wouldn't have much time to see Karen before we left, and here my father was suggesting our going over to see her mother as soon as we returned.
As I wrote the letter describing what was going to occur, I considered sneaking up the stairs to the attic after my parents had gone to bed. However, the risk now seemed even greater than it had been. If I did wait until they were asleep, I could try, but the way everything in the house creaked under our weight, especially the attic stairway, would surely sound an alarm. Nothing seemed worse than being caught now, and every passing day that I kept this great secret made it more and more impossible to confess it.
Falling asleep seemed an impossibility this particular night. Every time I closed my eyes, I was sure I heard something, some noise Karen had made above, and I held my breath, waiting to see if my father or mother had heard it, too. After a while, I felt I was imagining it, but that didn't make it any easier, and in fact, when I did finally fall asleep, I had a vivid dream about Karen being discovered. In my dream, my father was screaming, and my mother was crying so hard, her tears were tears of blood. I woke up in a sweat, my heart pounding, and sat up in bed, listening to see if it had indeed happened. There was just the usual heavy silence interrupted by a creak or a moan in the house, making it seem as though the house were still complaining.
I tossed and turned throughout the night and slept past the time to rise and get ready for school. I had forgotten to set my alarm clock. Maybe I subconsciously wanted to be late for school. My mother was suspicious of the silence coming from my room and actually had to come in and shake me to wake me.
"Are you all right?" she asked when I moaned and batted my eyelashes open.
"What? Oh. Yes," I said. "Thanks," I told her when I looked at my clock.
She remained there, looking at me with her face twisted in worry.
"I had a hard time falling asleep," I admitted. "And I forgot to set my alarm."
"Your father shouldn't have promised Darlene Pearson anything," she said. "Or at least told you before you were going to bed."
I was afraid they'd argue about it.
"No, that's okay. I should go see her. He's right. I will," I said.
"We'll see how you are on Sunday," she decided. "You need some oatmeal for breakfast, soothe your stomach."
I smiled at how she prescribed things, how she was always the nurse.
"Okay."
I rose quickly, showered, and dressed. My father was reading a brief at the breakfast table, but I could see and feel the tension in the air. They had obviously continued a sharp discussion about me and the prospective visit to Darlene Pearson. They barely spoke to each other before my father rose and said he, had to get going. He gave my mother a halfhearted kiss, as if he thought he'd burn his lips on her cheek, and then he left, grunting a "See you later."
"I have a nurses' meeting today," my mother told me, still looking in his direction. "I'll be home about five instead of three, but you call the hospital if you need anything."
"I'm fine, Mama. Really," I said.
"Sure you are," she told me. She smiled and brushed my hair. "What a terrible thing to have your best friend involved in something like this. No one can or should blame you for being upset."
Oh, God, I heard myself cry inside. My heart was shattering in my chest. My mother's love for me and her desire to protect me made what Karen and I were doing seem that much more terrible. My guilt, my nervousness and fear, was being misinterpreted, and I was letting it be. All the sympathy and affection my mother had for me at this moment was being accepted under false pretenses. It made me feel dirty.
