All Your Pretty Dreams (30 page)

“
Jonny? Jon!” Where was
he? It was only nine-thirty.

In the kitchen the coffee
pot was half full and still hot. She’d had trouble getting to sleep
again. Seeing Alec was bad enough, although in a way it was a
relief to be done with that. She wouldn’t have to worry about
seeing him on campus now. What a weird night. Having Jonny
downstairs made her miserable. She could feel him in the house,
breathing, sleeping. She felt fevered and itchy, like she had a
communicable disease. It would have been better, she decided around
three, if he’d stayed in a motel.

She poured herself a cup of
coffee and called his name again.

No sign of him. His
overnight bag was gone. She twirled in the front hall. “Where are
you?”

Outside? She opened the
front door. Just the morning paper on the stoop. Back in the living
room she looked closer at his pillow. Lying on top, a piece of
notebook paper, folded once, with her name written on it in
inch-high letters, underlined.

Iz – I took a shuttle to
the airport. You’ve done enough hauling me around. Sorry we didn’t
find Wendy. Thanks for your concern, and for last night. It was
fun. I’ll let you know when my hearing comes back. Jon.

She stared out the window
into the overgrown backyard, the tall grass yellow in the August
heat, then read the note again. He had interesting handwriting,
that blocky lettering that architects used. He called her ‘Iz’ like
her sister did.

He had gone home. He hadn’t
said goodbye. Again.

“
And that,” she said to
the dust motes, “is that.”

In the late afternoon
Isabel took the professor her mail. Sunday night was the time to
get organized, and she had every intention of doing so, to curb the
nerves that were creeping higher. Two days of advising remained,
then classes started. She shuddered, thinking about her first
lecture.

Lillian Mendel had a
private room, with dull blue drapes and a comfortable chair, even
though her leg was still in an elaborate cast and elevated,
dangling from pulleys. Her wavy gray hair lay in a halo against the
pillow. Her pink bed jacket was buttoned to her neck, half moon
glasses perched on her nose. She was propped up, reading a
scientific journal when Isabel knocked. She smiled, tossing the
magazine aside. “Come in, come in. So nice to see somebody not in
uniform.”

Isabel piled the mail on
the edge of the bed so she could reach it. “This is your office
mail. I opened it like you said and dealt with anything I could. I
made notes on the memos. This pile is your home mail. And here’s
today’s paper, if you haven’t read it already.”

“
I have.” The professor
tossed the paper on the floor as she glanced at the top of her
office stack. “And how are you? You look tired.”

“
Just busy. I had a
visitor yesterday.”

“
Ah.” Lillian smiled. “A
male visitor?”

“
A friend. From Minnesota.
He came to look for his sister. You talked to him on the phone.
Jonathan Knobel.”

Her face pinched. “Did he
find her?”

“
No.” Isabel hesitated
then decided to confess. “The sister was the valuable thing left in
the van. We thought she might have stowed away. But we couldn’t
find Curtis, the driver, or get into the bus barn.”

Dr. Mendel crossed her
arms, glaring at Isabel. “Best to stay out of this now. It’s done.
If Curtis had something to do with this girl running off, if he
helped her— my God, I don’t want to know about it. That’s Curtis’s
problem, not ours. Unless we make it our responsibility. And I
don’t think that is in our best interest. I know it
isn’t.”

This was exactly what she
expected the professor to say. The company line: Not Our
Responsibility. She’d had such a close relationship with Dr. Mendel
these three years that she’d forgotten how closely tied the
professor was to the university and its values, to her department,
its grants and procedures, to her tenured but still-not-full
professorship above all. There had been more rumors this week she
might be up for Department Chairman if she played her cards right.
She was ambitious, always reminding you of her grants and
publications, making sure she got her due mention.

“
Is that
understood?”

“
Yes.” Isabel tried to
smile. “Of course.”

“
If this girl is a
runaway, then so be it. She’s not connected to the department or
the University.” Lillian squinted at her, waiting for another sign
of acceptance. Isabel nodded. “Now. I have something to discuss
with you. They say they’re springing me on Wednesday. Obviously I
won’t be walking out, and I’ll be very limited in my
activities.”

“
But you’ll be teaching
again,” Isabel said, immensely relieved.

“
In time. Don’t worry,
you’ve got the reins for at least two more weeks. No, this is more
of a domestic proposition.” Lillian reached out and patted Isabel’s
shoulder. “Don’t feel any personal obligation though, my dear.
Honestly. I will have plenty of help coming in, for bathing and
therapy and all that. But here it is.”

She sighed dramatically.
“If I paid you a small wage in addition to your rent and meals of
course, would you stay on at the house to do errands for me, that’s
what I’m asking. Maybe run the dishwasher or the vacuum now, run
out for groceries, that sort of thing. Nothing taxing, obviously
you’re going to be teaching my classes and that has priority. Just
little things, and in the night when the nurses go home, if I need
something. That doesn’t happen now but you never know.”

Isabel’s mind was racing.
How long would this arrangement last? What sort of midnight duties
and how nasty might they be? How demanding would Lillian be? How
impatient? But the money. No rent, plus making a little extra,
beyond the teaching assistantship. She calculated her savings. That
would be nice.

“
I don’t see a problem,”
she said calmly. “How long do you think this would
last?”

“
Four weeks? Six? Not
forever.” Lillian squeezed her shoulder. For a scientist she was
getting a little touchy-feely. “I’m so glad, dear. Having strangers
in the house is really intolerable. I’ll try not to be a burden.
Living alone can be very tricky.”

I know.
I know
.

Isabel sat in the
Volkswagen, eating her McDonald’s salad. The rehab hospital was on
the outskirts of Champaign, one of those nondescript, low-slung
complexes whose very blandness suggested hidden atrocities. When
she left Dr. Mendel, Isabel had driven around the north edge of the
city, crossed under the interstate, and ran into the first fast
food restaurant she could find. Once again she’d hardly eaten all
day. Getting to be a bad habit. Maybe if she was making breakfast
for Dr. Mendel she’d start having something besides coffee in the
morning.

Already she was kicking
herself for telling the professor she’d be her live-in help. Her
concerns about Dr. Mendel’s nighttime ‘issues,’ her impatience and
irritability, her bossiness: all loomed large in Isabel’s mind.
Lillian was going to be a royal pain in the ass. What was a $100
per week when you were a slave? She should have told the professor
she’d think about it. But Lillian Mendel had done so much for her.
Brought her back from Europe, given her purpose when she thought
she couldn’t go on. Her thesis advisor to boot. A god-like figure.
God
dess
.

She set down the salad on
the seat with a splat. She should go back and work on her lectures.
Instead she picked up her chocolate shake and sucked on the straw.
Two girls came out of McDonald’s, holding their paper cups,
laughing. A blonde and a redhead, in cut-off shorts, flip-flops,
and tank tops, young and tanned. College girls, or maybe high
school. They looked happy, so carefree. They wouldn’t be emptying
bed pans or driving to all-night pharmacies in bedroom
slippers.

The blonde got behind the
wheel of a green BMW, talking to her friend. Something about that
profile, the tilt of the nose. Or maybe the short shorts. Isabel
thought of Wendy. Who she wasn’t supposed to care about any
more.

The green Lexus with Illini
and sorority stickers on the back window tore out of the lot.
College girls, enjoying the last few days of summer before classes
begin, squeezing out every last idea of fun before things got
semi-serious.

She had two days until she
was going to be slammed, both by classes and the domestic needs of
Lillian Mendel. She couldn’t forget Wendy just because Lillian said
so. Isabel knew what it was like to completely lose it with your
family, to say ‘enough’ and chuck them all. Sometimes you just had
to vanish.

Two days then, before
things really got serious. Two full days. She had one last idea.
She turned the key and pulled out of McDonald’s, heading
south.

Chapter 21

‘
The Family Guy’ was
blaring from the television. Not the cause of Jonny’s falling
asleep, fully clothed, beer in hand, but it didn’t help. The beer
bottle had slipped into his crotch. It was late Sunday night. He
didn’t want to think about the botched weekend. A hand on his
shoulder made him jump.

Artie said, “You aren’t
going to believe this.” He was holding the cordless
phone.

Jonny sat up, catching the
bottle in the nick of time. “What?”

“
It’s Wendy. She wants to
talk to you.” He pushed the phone toward him.

“
What? Wendy?!” Jonny
yelled into the receiver. “Where are you?” He listened for ten
seconds. “I’ll be right there. Don’t move.”

Artie took the phone.
“Where is she?”

“
Come on.” Jonny turned
back at the stairs. Artie seemed glued to the floor. “You coming or
not?”

Artie, the cool head,
insisted on driving. To the airport. The streets were quiet,
everyone home asleep or watching the Cartoon Network. He drove his
Pathfinder up the freeway ramp and put the pedal down hard, passing
a semi and a carload of teenagers.

“
Easy now. She said she’d
wait,” Jonny said.

“
And you believe her? She
didn’t sound too with it to me.” Artie glanced at him, knuckles
white on the steering wheel. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

“
Hell if I know. I spent
the summer there?”

Artie nodded, accepting
that. “We should call Mom.”

“
Wait until we see
her.”

“
What did she
say?”

“
To pick her up. That
she’d explain later because she was tired.”

The sprawling airport
complex sucked them in, spitting them out neatly at Baggage Claim.
Jonny jumped from the car, jogging to the doors. Inside the luggage
carousels sat idle. A man was gathering up carts, another swabbing
the floors. Jonny asked where the pay phones were. He began to run
down the hall. The Pathfinder, lights blazing, inched along the
curb even with him.

He reached the bank of pay
phones set into the center of the hallway. Where was she? He turned
around. There, curled up on a bank of plastic seats, was a thin
blond girl in baggy pants and flip flops, a backpack under her
head.

“
Wendy!”

Her eyes opened and she sat
up, rubbing her eyes. Jonny hugged her, sinking to his knees. She
smelled of diesel fuel and cigarettes, with an undertone of fried
chicken and perspiration. Her mascara had left black rings under
her eyes but she looked essentially unharmed after her
ordeal.

“
What the fuck did you
think you were doing?” he said, shaking her shoulders then holding
her tight against his chest. “Are you all right?” She muttered
‘yeah’ sleepily.

“
You little shit. Come on.
Artie is out of his mind with worry. We all have been, you
know.”

Sonya pushed her into a
shower first thing. Artie made more coffee and they sat around the
kitchen table waiting for the escapee to emerge for questioning. On
the drive home from the airport Wendy hadn’t been very forthcoming
about what she’d been doing for a week on the road. She spent most
of the time pouting with her eyes shut. Artie had called their
mother and father, cursing that it took two phone calls.