Untethered (20 page)

C
har was backing out of the garage to head for the Crews' house when her phone rang. She answered without looking at the screen, hoping it was Allie again.

“Hello, Charlotte.”

Lindy. Char winced, and realized how Kate must have felt accidentally answering her call. She considered hanging up. She could claim “dropped call” later, when she had thought of a way to tell Lindy where her daughter was.

“Oh, Lindy,” she said, before she could work up the nerve to press the “end call” button. “How's everything in California?”

“As busy as ever,” Lindy said. “Listen, I've been trying to reach Allie. She's not answering, and I'm starting to lose patience.”

“Um . . .” Char struggled to think of an answer. “She doesn't have her phone with her. It's . . . in her locker. She's at school. For soccer. Practices have been going late these days. Until after six.”

“Well, could you have her call me when she gets home?”

“Uh . . .”

“I hate to ask you to be her secretary,” Lindy said. “The truth
is, I've called her several times since she left California and she hasn't called back. Unless I happen to catch her off guard, I don't get to speak with her. She seems to be upset with me.”

“Um . . .”

“Kids,” Lindy said. “They think they're the center of the universe, don't they? It doesn't occur to them that parents have to work, and can't sit home entertaining them all day.”

“Uh-huh . . .”

“Anyway, if you could ask her. Practice goes until—what time, did you say? A little after six?”

“Well . . .”

“So, she should be home and ready to talk to her dear mother around six thirty. That's three thirty here. I'll make sure I'm available. Tell her I'm looking forward to hearing from her then. Thanks, Charlotte. Oh, there's my other line . . .”

•   •   •

D
ave Crew answered the door. When he saw Char, he frowned. “I was hoping you would take my words to heart and not make things more difficult for—”

“I've just heard from Allie,” Char said. “She's with Morgan. Evidently, the girls were in contact by text, and Allie drove to Toledo today to pick Morgan up.”

“To pick her up?” he asked. He swiveled his head to look over his shoulder, into the house, then turned back to Char. “Are they driving back here?”

“Is Sarah here?” Char asked, as she craned her neck to look past him. “Because I think she'll want to hear . . .” The scene behind Dave rendered her unable to continue.

In fact, if Dave Crew hadn't been standing in front of her in the doorway, she would have thought she was at the wrong house. The hall table was littered with leaning stacks of unopened mail and dirty dishes. Beneath the table, the rubber tray that used to house the family's neatly paired shoes was filled with dirt and broken pottery, the leaves of some kind of house plant peeking through the rubble. Beside the mat, a woman's purse lay open on its side. A lipstick had rolled out and now lay in the soil.

Beyond the table, someone had upended a laundry basket and a trail of Stevie-sized underwear, jeans, and socks led from the basket to the bottom of the staircase. The stairs themselves were so covered in action figures and plastic vehicles that Char wondered if the boy had dumped his entire toy box at the top and watched everything tumble down.

“No, she's not,” Dave said. He stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind him. “She's out getting groceries. She left about five minutes ago, so she'll be a while. Otherwise, I'd invite you to wait.”

It looked like Sarah had been gone for five weeks, not five minutes. The Sarah Crew she knew wouldn't stand for such a mess.

“It's fine,” she said. “I need to get home and make some calls anyway. I'm trying to convince Allie to come back. I'm not sure it'll work.”

“So, they're not headed here, then?”

“No. They're headed for Florida. Morgan claims her mother lives there. She told us that months ago, actually. But now she's added the fact that her mom's been in jail down there all this time, and she might be out now, and she might want Morgan to live with her.”

“You've got to be kidding,” he said.

“From your reaction, I can guess it's not true.”

“Not remotely.”

“Then I guess it's safe to assume the rest of her story isn't true, either,” Char said. “She told Allie that you drove her to Ohio and gave her away to complete strangers, because you and Sarah don't want her anymore.”

Dave leaned against the door and ran a hand through his hair. “My God,” he said.

“She was going to run away,” Char continued. “She texted Allie to let her know, and evidently, Allie talked her into waiting until today. I teach all day on Thursdays, so Allie knew she had a big window of time to take the convertible and get some significant miles behind her before I got home and discovered she was gone. She drove to Toledo, picked up Morgan, and now they're headed down to Florida in search of Morgan's mother.”

Dave was quiet for some time, and then he said, “I'm so sorry about this. Morgan has an imagination like no one I've ever met. And she's dragged Allie along for the ride this time. Literally.”

“Allie's convinced it's true.”

“Morgan can be extremely convincing,” he said.

“So, the people in Toledo . . . ?” Char said.

“Sarah's aunt and uncle, like I told you and Allie. They were giving Sarah and me a little . . . respite.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked over Char's shoulder, across the street. He seemed to be considering whether he should say more.

“Look,” he finally said. “We're both embarrassed to admit it, but we need breaks from Morgan from time to time. We don't feel that way about Stevie, which maybe sounds horrible. But the truth is, sometimes we need a few days away from her.”

“So, you pulled her out of school?” Char asked. “For two weeks?”

“We didn't think it would make that much of a difference to her, honestly. She's this close to being held back as it is. We weighed our sanity against her missing a bit of school, and we decided our well-being was more important. Maybe you think that makes us terrible parents. But we have another child to consider. And our marriage. We did what we thought we had to do.”

“This aunt and uncle,” Char said, “do they have other kids? Someone from Russia, maybe, or Africa? Morgan told Allie there were two other girls there. She called them her new sisters. She told Allie she had been put into school in Ohio. That she was told to call this couple Mom and Dad. That—”

“Wow,” Dave said, “this really is one of her better tales. Or worst, I guess. Her most colorful, certainly. I'm afraid Allie's been hoodwinked.”

“Well, that's a relief,” Char said. “Although only partly. Allie seems pretty convinced. I reminded her about Morgan's history of, you know, tall tales, but she wasn't having it. I'll call her back now and tell her we've spoken, and that it's all made up. Hopefully, that will make her turn the car around immediately. If it doesn't, I'll have to consider what to do next.” She extended an arm toward him. “
We'll
have to consider it, I mean. Your daughter's involved, too.”

“I feel entirely responsible for this,” Dave said. “If Allie doesn't change her mind after you tell her we've talked, I'll get in the car and go after them. You can keep working on her by phone, and when you finally convince her, she can just pull over and wait for me to get to her. I can take a neighbor with me, to drive your car
back. They've got a head start, obviously, but I'm guessing they'll stop for the night. I'll fill a couple of thermoses with coffee and the two of us can take turns driving.”

“I don't know,” Char said. “I think I might just head out myself. I can talk to her while I'm driving.”

She wasn't sure about Dave Crew. He had already lied to her once, and he seemed more upset with Morgan's tall tale than he was about his own role in the situation. Shipping a former foster child off for two weeks? In what universe could that be okay? Plus, Allie barely knew the man, and the fact that Morgan was telling such lies about him meant she couldn't be happy with him right now. If he did find the girls, what would the drive home be like?

Dave moved his hand to the doorknob. “We don't need to decide now,” he said. “See if you can get her to turn back. If she will, have her come straight here. I don't want you to have to deal with Morgan. I'm sure she'll be quite fired up over this little . . . adventure she's sucked Allie into.

“And if she won't turn around, then we can debate who should go after them.” He turned to the door, pushed it open, and took a step inside before turning back to her. “Oh, when you speak with her again, see if you can get her to confirm they're on I-75. That's the easiest way—straight shot to Florida—so I would think that's the one they'd pick. But she might be staying off the interstate.”

“I hadn't even considered she might take a different route,” Char said, and cold tendrils wound through her chest at the thought of Allie and Morgan breaking down on some dirt road in rural Kentucky. “I need to go,” she said. “Home, I mean. To call Allie again.”
And to pack up some things to take with me for a long drive, in case she
still refuses to turn around
, she thought. “Let me go do that, and I'll be in touch.”

Dave nodded. “Sounds good,” he said, and closed the door. Char smiled. Let him sit at home waiting for her to call him back to discuss who should go after the girls. By the time he heard from her again, she'd be fifty miles down the highway.

I
t's a lie,” Allie said, when Char finally reached her by phone again, close to seven o'clock.

“Allie, come on. Do you really think that the person lying in this situation is the father we know to be responsible, law-abiding, and God-fearing? Or is it the child we know to be a wild storyteller?”

“I really can't get into it right now,” Allie said.

“Is Morgan with you?”

“That's right.”

“Well, can you pull over someplace and get out of the car so we can discuss this?”

“I can't just pull over, Char. People are going, like, eighty on I-75 and I'm in the middle lane. You want me veering over two lanes to the exit?”

“No. Of course not. But get off the highway as soon as you can and call me back.”

“For what? So you can try to convince me? It's not going to work. I don't believe it. I won't. I believe . . . the other.”

“Allie, please. Be reasonable. It's getting late. It's not safe, what you're doing. You can't drive all that way without a break.”

“I'm not planning to.”

“Good girl,” Char said, and then thought how ironic it was that she was praising the girl for her wisdom in making sure she got enough rest—before she drove the rest of the way to Florida, without permission, without a license, and with someone else's ten-year-old. “Promise me you'll stop soon. Before it gets too dark. I don't want you two out on the highway in the dark—”

“I know how to drive in the dark,” Allie said. But she changed her tone from argumentative to pleasant and added, “But I won't. I promise. I'll find a hotel.”

“Near the highway,” Char said. “Not way down the road, miles away from the exit. Find a busy place with lots of people around. A chain, not some mom-and-pop place that might have sketchy security.”

“Okay.”

“Ask for a room high up, not on the ground floor. And make sure you lock the door twice. You know, with the deadbolt and the—”

“The other metal thingy. Yeah, I know.”

“Oh, wait,” Char said. “I just thought of this. You can't rent a hotel room if you're not eighteen.”

“I look eighteen,” Allie said. “Close enough, anyway.”

“I don't know.”

“Look. It might take a few tries, but somewhere there's going to be a desk attendant who doesn't really care if my ID checks out as long as I show him a handful of cash.”

“That's not comforting right now,” Char said. “Are you sure I can't convince you to pull over right now and just wait for me to come and get you?”

“And then what?” Allie said. “You drive us back, and we make a . . . return delivery . . . so the . . . package just ends up being sent someplace else? I told you, I'm not letting that happen. And that's how things will go if we do what you're asking. Unless you have another plan?”

“No,” Char said.

“Then we're done talking.”

“But—”

“I'm hanging up now,” Allie said. “And I'm not talking to you again if all you're going to do is tell me we should come home. That's not happening.”

“Allie—” Char tried.

Her answer was a dial tone.

“Shit.”

Char stared at the cell phone in her hand. She'd never be able to talk Allie into turning around and coming home. And the girl wasn't going to wait for Char to go get them and drag them back. Even if Char jumped in the car this minute to chase after them, how would she ever find them? She was out of her depth.

For the second time, she found the nine on her phone, and this time, she pressed it. She pressed the one next. But she moved her finger away from the one before she could push it again. Now, in addition to taking a car without permission and driving without a license, Allie could add transporting a minor without her parents' permission. They had surely crossed at least one state line already. Wasn't that a major offense? Allie was only trying to help, but would that matter? What if this was one of those statutory offenses for which there was no defense? Could Allie be sent to jail?

Char disconnected the call. She needed to figure out what the possible legal consequences could be to Allie before she sent the
police after the girls. She pressed Colleen's number, hit “speaker,” and left the phone on the kitchen counter as she dumped water into the coffee maker and scooped twice the normal amount of grounds into the filter. She would give Colleen the time it took to make and drink one pot of high-test coffee. If her friend hadn't gotten back to her by then, Char would head out on her own.

The call went to voice mail again. “Allie and Morgan took off, and I need you to come after them with me!” Char called across the kitchen. “Call me as soon as you get this! Or just come right over!” She was reaching to disconnect the call when the phone's screen lit up: Lindy.

“Shit!” She had already seen Lindy's name flash twice before. Both times, she had pressed “ignore.” She couldn't put the woman off any longer. She tapped “accept.”

“Charlotte,” Lindy said. “I'm beginning to wonder what's going on. I canceled a meeting so I could be available to take my daughter's call—a call you assured me you'd have her make—and it never came. I've now left her four voice mails. And I've left two for you. All unreturned. If I can find time in my hectic schedule to try to track the two of you down, I would think that you . . .”

Char held the phone at arm's length and let Lindy lecture the air. The gall. Char had spent the past two hours frantically trying to assure the safety of the woman's daughter, who was presently hurtling down I-75, and Lindy was bent out of shape about a few unreturned voice mails? What she would love to say to this woman.

This woman, she reminded herself, who was completely unaware of what her daughter was up to—because Char hadn't told her the truth. If anyone should be curling her lip in anger, it was Lindy. She had a right to know. Char cleared her throat and raised the phone back to her mouth.

On the other hand, what could Lindy possibly do from Los Angeles? She couldn't chase Allie down I-75. And if Char couldn't get through to Allie about Morgan, there was no way Lindy could. Char at least knew Morgan, and loved her. Lindy, with her “That young child . . . Mason? Meghan?” and her “Tutoring is a waste of time if you're not getting credit for it,” was hardly the right person to try to talk Allie down. Lindy would only make things worse.

Allie's mother had a right to know what was going on with her daughter, Char couldn't deny that. But didn't Char have rights, too? If not legal ones, then emotional ones? After all this time with Allie, after everything she had done for the child, didn't she have the right to make some decisions of her own?

Since January, she had been dutifully taking Lindy's calls, answering every question the woman asked, reporting on Allie's grades, her soccer training, her social life. And what had it gotten her, besides passive-aggressive reproaches from Lindy and harsh words from Allie?

“I'm so sorry, Lindy,” she said. “Allie had a last-minute team dinner tonight, and I guess in all the rush of getting her home and showered and dressed and out the door, I forgot to tell her to call you. My mistake. As for her not answering or returning voice mails, I noticed after I dropped her off that she left her phone in my car. I'd have driven it back to her, but I've been on a call with a client since I got home, and . . .”

She held her breath, hoping Lindy would take the bait.

“Oh,” Lindy said. “I completely understand. We've got to take those client calls, don't we! Just have her call when her dinner's over.”

“Uh . . .” Char said. “The thing is . . . it's a sleepover.” She couldn't believe how quickly and easily the lies were coming. It
wasn't so difficult, now, to imagine how Morgan could lead Allie down a long trail of untruths. Once you opened the gate, they marched right out. “They have the day off school tomorrow. Because of . . . professional development.

“So they decided to have a dinner and sleepover. They're evidently going to spend the entire night watching soccer movies. You know,
Bend It Like Beckham
, that kind of thing. I don't think I'll be seeing her until pretty late in the day tomorrow. You know teenagers and their late mornings.” Stereotypical teenagers and their stereotypical late mornings, that is.

“Oh, of course,” Lindy said, still oblivious to her own daughter's sleep-wake schedule. “Well, have her call me when she gets home tomorrow afternoon, then, please.”

“Will do,” Char said.

She clicked “end call,” and was about to try dialing Colleen again when the doorbell rang.

“Oh, thank God! Colleen!” She must have picked up her voice mail message and come right over. Char jogged to the door and flung it open.

There, standing on the front porch, her shirt only partly tucked into her too-loose pants, her unbrushed, unwashed hair hanging in her face, was Sarah Crew.