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“He’s–he’s with me,” she said, fighting a new wash of tears, this time of relief as she glanced at the baby, who was staring up at her. “We’re at a funky motel off the Interstate. Star Vista—about, I don’t know, fifty or sixty miles out of Las Vegas, on the way to San Francisco.”
“I’ve seen it.”
“Oh, thank God. Mom never came back, and I freaked out and, and . . .” She was talking faster and faster, anxious to explain everything, grateful to finally connect with someone, anyone. Seneca would know what to do. “And then the car broke down—not really, but it was overheating, and I was scared to death and Adam was screaming his bloody head off, and—”
“Hey, hey, hey, hey. Hold on. Just slow down, okay? Take a breath, and then tell me,” Seneca said in that slightly accented, patiently calm voice.
Remmi did. She explained about waiting and finally deciding to leave and said that she feared Social Services would take the baby away, if they found that Didi had abandoned them, and dump her into foster care. She told Seneca about getting the call from Didi’s boss, then packing everything up and heading west, not knowing what to do and landing at this dump of a motel when the Toyota started to overheat.
But she never admitted to knowing what went down in the desert the night before Didi took off, and she left out the part about taking her mother’s things, money, and credit cards. Seneca, as it turned out, didn’t ask about any of those things and told her to “sit tight. I’m on my way. We’ll deal with the car.”
Three hours later, she showed up at the Star Vista in her Ford Escort. In a gauzy white dress, clipped tight at the waist, with a wide braided belt and oversized sunglasses, she looked as exotic as ever. Her hair was braided and wrapped into a tight bun, and she was nothing but efficient as she ordered a tow truck to haul the ailing Toyota back to Las Vegas, then drove Remmi and her brother home. Remmi, though, now that she’d been “saved,” as she saw it, was fit to be tied. Where the hell had Seneca been? With her back wedged against the passenger door and seat, Remmi eyed the taller woman and demanded to know why she couldn’t reach her earlier.
“I didn’t know what to do. Who to call. I couldn’t get hold of you, and I had Adam, and the manager almost didn’t rent a room to us, was nasty and awful, and . . . and . . .”
“Shhh.” Seneca put one finger to her lips while she drove with the other hand. “I know, sweetie, and I’m so sorry about that,” Seneca said, shaking her head as she drove her hatchback eastward. She flipped down the visor, as the sun was already harsh, heat rising in waves on the asphalt ahead. “Really sorry. My mistake. The phone was off the hook, and I didn’t know. Then when I discovered it, I replaced it, and then this morning you called. Thank God!” She sent Remmi a sad smile. “I would’ve come sooner. You know that.”
“Yeah,” Remmi said without enthusiasm. She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure of anything right now.
“Oh, Remmi,” Seneca reproved softly. “I called the house over and over. Left messages on the answering machine. You’ll see. When we get back. You can check.”
“Oh, no.” Remmi flashed her an uneasy smile. “I believe you.” She had no reason to mistrust Seneca, but everything was topsy-turvy right now, and she didn’t know who or what to trust. So she lied. “It’s okay,” she said, forcing a brightness into her voice that she didn’t feel. “We’re together now. You and me and Adam.”
“Yes. And we’ll find your mum.”
“You’ll call the police?”
A beat, just a second’s hesitation, before Seneca stretched her fingers over the wheel. “Yes, if we need to. But first, I think, considering everything . . .”
Like the exchange of money for a child.
“We’ll try to find her ourselves. I know a private investigator. He’s very good and very . . . discreet. I, um, I think your mum would want that, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess. But if he can’t find her . . .”
“Then we’ll definitely go to the authorities,” she said. “We’ll have to.”
“And . . . and what about Ariel and the money?”
“Maybe we’ll find your sister, too. As for the money and how your mum came to get it, well, we’ll just have to tell everything we know and let the chips fall where they may.”
Remmi thought of the night in the cargo hold of Didi’s huge car and what she’d seen. Could she tell the police? Would they believe her? Would they think she was just some weird teenager telling tales?
“Okay,” she said, thinking she would feel better with this new plan, but she didn’t.
“We’ll find her,” Seneca said, though she didn’t look at Remmi again.
Oh, please, God. Remmi stared out the dusty windshield to the blue, blue sky and the fading line of a jet trail slowly dissipating as a plane soared out of sight. She wondered if she’d ever see Didi again, then closed her mind to that traitorous thought and felt her heart surge a little at the sight of the small house in the cul-de-sac that she’d called home for all of her remembered life.
She threw open the car door the second Seneca had parked in the drive and raced into the house, which, of course, was still and lifeless. Not completely convinced that Didi hadn’t returned, she ran through all the rooms and ended up in the garage, which was empty, the cement floor stained where the Cadillac had once leaked oil. Her heart shattered. She hadn’t realized that she’d held out hope that her mother had returned.
How dumb are you? Didi bailed. It’s obvious.
But she wouldn’t believe it.
While Seneca tended to Adam and unpacked the belongings, Remmi holed up in her room and flung herself over her bed; she buried her head in her pillow and let loose the tears she’d fought since the night before. She knew it was crazy, that crying wouldn’t help anything, but she couldn’t stop. Where was Mom? What had happened and why, God, oh, why, couldn’t she have a normal mother, one who had married her father and had a couple more kids? One who was content to stay at home or be a t
eacher or a waitress or anything other than some dumb impersonator, a damned showgirl? How come her mother couldn’t stick around and care for her kids?
