She's Gone: A Novel (18 page)

At the end of the afternoon, they hiked back around the pond to the parking lot, completing the loop trail. Nick and Jolie trailed behind the others. “You should look into enrolling in college,” Nick said.

Jolie hesitated, her stomach tightening. “I will. When I’ve been here long enough to pay in-state tuition.” She hated lying to him. She liked him, and his friends.

“I can help you look at all of the colleges. There are grants and loans and I bet you could even get a scholarship.”

“Okay, when you get back from Chicago.”

On the way back to Cambridge, Jolie and Nick sat next to each other on the bench seat and exchanged addresses. In front of her apartment, Chase idled the engine.

“We’ll all get together in September,” Nick said. He hugged her good-bye, brief but tight.

“Ciao,” they all called.

“Ciao.” She stood and watched them drive off.

Nick rolled down the window and shouted, “Send me a photo…of you.” The horn bleated twice.

She couldn’t remember a better day. Smiling, she climbed the flight of stairs to the apartment. The house was empty. Good, everyone was out. She lay on the bed, and a dark mood descended upon her. It had been a great day, why was she down now? The group promised another trip to the pond in September before school started. She’d taken some good photos. She should be happy, but she couldn’t shake the deep loneliness in her core.

Tomorrow she was going to see Leah’s new apartment. At work, she and Leah had quickly become friends. They often talked in the locker room while on the lookout for rats. Leah would cheer her up.

Sam’s booming voice in the kitchen jarred her from her thoughts. She remembered the meeting that night and her mood shrank even more. She was on the hook to cook dinner. That was the last thing she felt like doing, but Will expected it. Lately, instead of holding meetings at the office or the bookstore’s back room, Will, Adam, and Martin had been holding them at their houses. She knew they were paranoid about the FBI. Still, she wondered why they were being so mysterious, like they were plotting something.

In the kitchen, Sam introduced Jolie to Ginger, his new girlfriend. Her face was framed with beautiful auburn hair and her brown eyes sparkled. Jolie warmed to her instantly.

“I’m going out to buy groceries for dinner,” Jolie announced. She grabbed her purse and walked down to the corner store. She’d make oatmeal raisin cookies for Leah as a housewarming gift. Leah hadn’t been to her house yet. She wanted to invite her over for dinner sometime when Daniel was around. They might hit it off. She smiled at the idea. She’d work on that.

When Jolie got back, Will, Adam, Martin, and a man she didn’t know were sitting in the living room talking with Sam and Ginger. Steve Miller’s “Quicksilver Girl” floated from the stereo. Someone had brought a twelve-pack of beer. Will came into the kitchen and put the beer into the refrigerator. The man followed him. Will introduced her to Leon, a friend in the Movement from New York.

“How was Walden Pond? All poetic and polluted?” Will asked.

“Beautiful. I can’t wait to get a VW bus and explore the entire countryside. There’s so much history here.”

“History? We don’t need to go back in time and revisit history. We need to focus on the future,” Will said.

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. She was relieved. She didn’t want to talk about the day. Her mood was still blue. Will answered the door. A tall man with short black hair stood with Marlena. He looked at Jolie. His beady eyes traveled all over her. Jolie shot Will a glance but he was oblivious, his attention fully on Marlena who was smiling at him with full plum lips, flicking her shiny dark hair. A jealous pang shot through her.

Will introduced her to Coulter. She said “hi” in a welcoming way, but an uneasy feeling flooded her. Something was not right about them. Maybe if she got to know them better she’d feel differently. Will invited them into the living room and put on the new Miles Davis album,
Bitches Brew
. They sat back and listened.

Jolie could partially see them from the kitchen where she made dinner. She didn’t mind being alone in the kitchen cooking. She liked to cook for others but not tonight, and not for Marlena and Coulter. Her mind wandered off to the day at the pond. The sweet sound of Miles Davis floated in from the living room.

When dinner was in the oven, she joined the others in the living room.

“The FBI is busting papers for swear words. We don’t need four letter words to make a point,” Adam said.

“We write the real story, not hyped jargon. That’s why
Central Underground
is so successful,” Will said.

“The beacon of truth,” Leon said.

“We don’t need harassment from the man. They can’t win in the high court but they sure can make our lives miserable with false arrests, bail, and legal battles. I don’t want anything to do with the law,” Adam said.

“What’s the word on Eldridge Cleaver?” Coulter asked.

Will looked at Adam and back to Coulter. “It’s no secret he’s in Algeria.”

“We’re working on a story with him,” Adam said.

“Isn’t he incognito?” Coulter asked.

Will smiled. “We have contacts.”

Jolie sat up straighter. “You’re not going to promote Cleaver are you? He’s a rapist and promotes violence. I thought we are trying to include women in the Movement. This will only alienate us more.”

“She’s a feisty little one,” Coulter said.

Will laughed and didn’t see the fire Jolie’s eyes shot to Coulter.

“What do you think?” Will asked the others.

Sam jumped in. “We should support Huey Newton’s nonviolent reform ideals over Cleaver’s.”

“But it would be good to hear from Cleaver, in exile and all,” Coulter said.

Jolie glanced at Will and then to Coulter and Marlena. She rose, marched into the kitchen, and got out the cookie ingredients. Ginger joined her.

“Tea?” Jolie asked. She poured her a cup and slid a spoon and the honey jar toward her. “I don’t like violence, and I don’t like rapists, and I’m not going to idolize Eldridge Cleaver because he’s an exiled Black Panther.”

“You are a feisty one!”

Jolie shot her a glance, but Ginger was smiling, her wavy auburn hair falling softly around her face. Jolie relaxed and laughed.

“We need you in the Women’s Liberation Movement. Come with me to a meeting Saturday. We meet at Boston University,” Ginger said.

Women’s Liberation. Jolie liked the sound of it. “Sure.”

“Good, I’ll pick you up Saturday at one thirty. I’m supposed to be getting beers,” Ginger said. She grabbed two bottles from the refrigerator and her cup of tea and went back into the living room.

Jolie’s mind swirled with the prospect of the Women’s Liberation Movement. She’d get to go on campus. She’d ask Leah to join them. Sisters working together. The Socialist Movement wouldn’t change women’s rights anytime soon. Coulter’s comment bothered her.
If a woman expressed an opinion, men think she’s feisty. Will had even laughed. There was no equality in the socialist movement, only hollow words. Women weren’t taken seriously even though they put in their time and had valid ideas.

Later, Jolie and Will lay in bed, talking with the lights out. Jolie turned to him. “What about Marlena and Coulter?”

“What about them?”

“I get a weird vibe from them. Did they meet at Central Underground or did they show up together?”

“Hmm, not sure. She’s in college, I forget where. I think she showed up first and then Coulter came around.”

“Well, don’t invite them to our house again. I get an uneasy feeling about them. Maybe they’re part of the FBI, you know, like informants.”

He burst out laughing and hugged her. “You’re crazy!”

“I don’t feel good about them.”

He couldn’t stop laughing. “I love you.”

“Don’t laugh. I’m not kidding.” Would he ever take her seriously?

A car engine roared and stopped in the field behind the house. Doors slammed and voices floated through the night air. The car began a high speed circle around the field. Jolie and Will got up, dressed in the dark, and sat on the back porch and watched. Occasionally the car stopped, and teenagers switched drivers. After about fifteen minutes of joyriding in circles with the headlights off, they stopped the car in the middle of the field and began stripping anything of value. Soon flames glowed inside the car. The car doors were closed and the windows were up. The teens crept to the edge of the field to watch.

“Should we call the cops?” Jolie whispered.

“Let the neighbors call. We don’t want anything to do with the law.”

One by one the windows exploded from the heat, flames leapt from inside the car. A siren wailed a few blocks away.

25

There is No Free Country
Without a Free Press

Sunday morning Jolie woke before Will, excited about going to see Leah and her new place. She eased out of bed and looked out the window. In the middle of the field sat the charred remains of the car.

Will joined Jolie at the kitchen table where she sat with Sam and Ginger. They drank black tea and ate English muffins smothered with thick strawberry jam.

“I’m going to Beacon Hill to hang out with Leah today,” Jolie said.

“I thought you were coming to the anti-war protest with me,” Will said.

“Don’t you remember? I’m going to see her new apartment. Come with me.”

“I’m not interested in bourgeois Beacon Hill.”

“I love Beacon Hill with its gas street lamps and quaint old houses,” Ginger said. “I wish I could live there.”

“We’re going to the Public Garden,” Jolie said, trying to lure him to the park. Couldn’t he take a break from politics for an afternoon?

He shook his head. “Yesterday a pond, today a garden. Is that what you’d rather do? Where is your duty to the cause?”

The room was quiet and she sensed his mood. Why didn’t he ever remember her plans? He was probably overwhelmed at the agency. When they first arrived in Boston he used to like walking through the Public Garden. Those days seem so distant now in more ways than one. “Leah’s expecting me.”

Will held her gaze. She had disappointed him again.

She left the house with her camera slung over her shoulder and the cookies for Leah. Will’s mood cast a pall on her day. She walked to the nearest T station and headed for Beacon Hill.

On Chestnut Street, she walked along old brick sidewalks and looked for Leah’s address. The row houses had tall white columns and black shutters. The small yards were fenced in black wrought iron. Pink and white flowers spilled from flower boxes that hung from wrought iron balconies. It was enchanting.

She found the address and walked up a flight of stairs. She tapped the brass lion door knocker. Leah opened the massive door, hugged Jolie, and pulled her inside. Jolie stood dwarfed by the tall windows dressed with curtains that flowed onto hardwood floors. Ornate layered crown moldings adorned the ceilings.

“It’s beautiful,” Jolie said. She handed Leah the package of cookies.

Jolie followed Leah into the kitchen. It was elegant with tall wood cabinets and built in storage. How could she afford this place?

Leah unwrapped the cookies and set them on the counter. “I love oatmeal cookies. I can’t cook a thing.”

“This place is amazing,” Jolie said.

A girl walked into the kitchen. Jolie looked from one to the other. Were they twins?

“This is my roommate, Sarah.”

“Are you sisters?”

They both laughed. “No,” they said in unison. “We know each other from New York. We live in the same neighborhood in Brooklyn and go to the same synagogue,” Leah said.

“And now we’re roommates going to the same university,” Sarah said as she took a bite of a cookie.

At one time that had been her dream. She and her best friend Zoe were going to be roommates in college. A wave of remorse swept through her. She shook it off. She had chosen Will and love and a different path.

“These are delicious,” Sarah said. “I wish I could learn to bake.”

“It’s easy, you just follow a recipe,” Jolie said, “or improvise.”

Leah and Sarah looked at each other and laughed. “We tried a recipe the other night. It didn’t quite turn out like the picture,” Leah said.

“We ended up eating Chinese take-out,” Sarah said.

Leah gave Jolie a tour of the rest of the apartment. Jolie marveled at the elegance of the interior architecture.

“In California, there isn’t anything this old.”

“We need some art on the walls,” Leah said.

“I can print you some black and white photos as a housewarming gift if you want.”

“Perfect,” Leah exclaimed. “Photos would look good on these bare walls. Can you make them before my parents visit next month? I want the house to look good.”

Jolie nodded, taking in the rooms. It already looked good.

Leah and Jolie said goodbye to Sarah and walked out into the May sunshine. Jolie snapped a dozen pictures as they walked through the neighborhood, experimenting with close ups of architectural details. They strolled down Beacon Street through the Common. It was already crowded with families and couples and a motley group of anti-war protesters. Jolie scanned the group and recognized some of the regulars. She’d forgotten to ask Will where his protest was today. A tinge of guilt flickered through her. She’d look for him on the way back. They crossed Charles Street and entered the Public Garden.

“Wow,” they exclaimed in unison. Flowers, laid out in patterns, bloomed in a riot of colors: blue, rose, apricot, pink, and white. The trees that had been bare in March were now in full leaf.

They meandered along the paths, looking at the flower displays and reading the names on the tree plaques. Burr oak, English oak, Norway maple, red maple, silver maple, American elm, Belgian elm, Scotch elm, and a Kentucky coffee tree. They passed a silk tree, a tulip tree, a weeping pagoda, and a tupelo tree.

“I love the tree names,” Jolie said.

They came to the lagoon. A tour boat with an oversized white metal swan paddled by. The passengers sat on wooden benches as the swan boat glided across the water.

“Do you want to go on a boat ride?” Leah asked. “I’ll treat.”

Jolie smiled at her and looked out at the swan boats. “Too corny, but they’re fun to watch.”

“You’re right,” Leah agreed, and they walked on. They stopped before a large wooden sign engraved with a map of the Emerald Necklace.

“The Emerald Necklace?” Leah said.

Jolie read: “‘A continuous chain of nine parks linked by parkways and waterways.’”

“Let’s do all nine parks this summer,” Leah said.

Jolie studied the map. “We could do it all in a day. It’s only seven miles.”

Leah glanced at her. “Seven miles?”

“I’ve hiked over ten miles a day backpacking with my brothers.”

“Backpacking?”

“Hiking and then you camp.”

“You mean you camped outside?”

“In a tent. You’ve never been camping?”

Leah shook her head.

“This is only seven miles, in a city. We’ll bring a picnic. We’ll get Will and maybe our roommate Daniel and some others to join us.”

They found a spot on the grass near a huge dawn redwood. Leah spread out a blanket, and they lay back in the warm sun and tried to guess the age of the tree.

Jolie propped up on her elbows and watched the swan boats glide by in a steady parade. “I went to Walden Pond yesterday with Nick and his friends.”

“Without Will?”

“He was busy.”

“He’s not jealous?”

“I said I was with friends from work.” She didn’t mention the skinny-dipping.

Leah raised her eyebrows and looked at Jolie. “Do you like Nick?”

“Yes, and his friends. He and Will are very different.” Laughter drifted across the water. She returned her gaze to the boats, her face somber.

“Are you okay?” Leah asked. “You look sad.”

“I am sort of sad. Maybe I dread going through the summer in my dead-end job.”

“I’m quitting when school starts,” Leah said.

Jolie looked over, surprised. “You are? How can you afford your apartment?”

“My parents are paying for it. I only took the job to show them I can work and be independent. I didn’t want to stay in New York all summer, waiting for school to start.” She twirled a yellow dandelion. “They don’t let me go anywhere without twenty questions and fifty warnings.”

“Sounds like my parents,” Jolie said. She had wondered how Leah could afford the expensive apartment but now it made sense. She lay back and closed her eyes pushing away a tinge of envy. She had chosen her path. But what about the future? She needed a plan or she’d end up waitressing forever like Millie.

They soaked up the sun and talked about why there weren’t more women doctors and politicians.

“I’m going to a Women’s Liberation Movement meeting at Boston University next Saturday with Ginger, my roommate’s girlfriend.” Jolie said. “You should join us.”

“It can’t be too radical if it’s held at my school, right?”

“I don’t know. We’ll see Saturday.”

“Hey, let’s drive to Cape Cod some weekend in my car. We can rent a cottage, swim all day, lie in the sand dunes, and eat saltwater taffy. At night we can dress up and go out for seafood.”

Jolie laughed. “That sounds idyllic.”

When the sun got too hot, they rolled up the blanket and walked back to Leah’s. Jolie stopped along the way to photograph flowers and people in the park. How would the flower displays look in black and white?

They passed a few anti-war protesters who lingered on the grass. The rest must be at the other end of the Common. She should walk over and see if Will was there. But she didn’t feel like a protest today. All she wanted to do was go home to the darkroom and develop the negatives from Walden Pond. They strolled back to Leah’s house and stood out front.

“Do you want to come over for dinner some night? I want you to meet our roommate, Daniel,” Jolie said.

“Is he Jewish?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“I can only date Jewish guys,” Leah said, “but Daniel sounds Jewish.”

Jolie looked at her friend. She was serious. “I’ll ask him tonight. I’m going to head back to Cambridge,” Jolie said.

“Do you want a ride home?” Leah asked.

“No, thanks, it’s so nice out. I’ll take more photos on the way and then take the subway. See you at work tomorrow.”

They both groaned at the thought and hugged good-bye.

Jolie walked along, taking an occasional photo. A warm breeze lifted her feather earrings against her checks. Leah had cheered her up somewhat. They were going go to Cape Cod some weekend and rent a cottage on the beach. She hadn’t seen the ocean forever, it seemed, and she’d never seen the Atlantic.

When Jolie arrived home she escaped to the darkroom with the roll of film from the pond. Re-reading the instructions Daniel had tacked to the wall, she turned out the light and worked slowly through the developing sequence. The darkroom was calming. After processing the film, she unfurled the roll and clipped it up to dry.

While the negatives dried, Jolie looked at the contact sheet from the previous roll she and Daniel had developed. There were a few good photos of protesters to print for
Central Underground
. One caught her eye. Staring back at her from the contact sheet was a young woman with long black hair parted in the middle. She wore bell bottoms and a tank top. The sign she held read: Sisters for Liberation. She set up to print and dipped the paper into the developer and watched the image slowly appear. She had learned to control the contrast of black and white. The print had emotion and mystery. Every time she stepped into the darkroom her senses heightened with expectation. The excitement of the unknown. The magic of the print.

She printed a few others and hung them up to dry. They were good. She couldn’t wait to show them to Will.

She scanned the negative strip from Walden Pond. The majority were of Nick and the others fooling around in the cemetery and at the pond. She quickly developed a contact sheet. Her favorite was the photo of Nick smiling at the camera, his hair tousled, reciting his poem. In the photo Nick took of her next to Emerson’s grave marker, she looked relaxed and happy smiling up at him. She’d print it and send it to him along with the shot of the five of them by the gravestone on Author’s Ridge.

She breathed in the quiet of the house. In the bedroom she lit myrrh incense and sat cross-legged on the Persian rug to meditate. Jasmine had taught her to meditate on the ocean to heal sad emotions. She envisioned small waves lapping on a white sand beach. When she couldn’t sleep she used the same image. Her mind wandered to Nick. He would have already landed in Chicago by now and was probably at his parents’ house, eating a welcome home dinner. Her family would be having their traditional Sunday barbeque. She had to get a message home soon. She would send a photo without any landmarks. Her thoughts slowed as she breathed. A blue hole like a tunnel emerged. The blue light was calming and drew her in. She tried to fall into the hole but remained on the edge. Tears flowed down her cheeks.

The bedroom door creaked and her eyes flew open. Will stood in the doorway.

“What’s the matter, Little Wing?”

“Nothing, I’m fine.”

He leaned over and put his hands on her shoulders. “You’re crying.”

She rose and hugged him.

“I feel sad.”

He hugged her tighter and kissed her on the forehead. “It’s probably just hormones.”

“I want to contact my folks and let them know I’m safe.”

His body stiffened. “It’s too risky for us to do that. I can’t let you contact them. I still wonder how they found us in Eugene.”

“You have acquaintances all over the country. Can’t one of them mail a letter for me?”

“I wouldn’t trust anyone with that letter.”

She closed her eyes. Another wave of tears spilled. Will wouldn’t help her but she would find a way without giving away their location. Somehow, she would find a way.