There wasn’t an answer, although my stomach did grumble. But it would have to wait a little longer. I placed the tuna melt on a dish, the cheesy smell making my stomach growl louder.
The cartoons were still on, and Mrs. Perfetti seemed mesmerized by Bart Simpson mouthing off to his sister Lisa. When I set her plate on the coffee table, she smiled up at me in a vague way, gesturing that I should sit beside her.
I shook my head. “I have other things to do.”
“Don’t leave me … please.” She pointed to the windows. “They’re out there, waiting to take you away.”
“No one is going to take me away.”
“They already did.” She looked at me with a strange expression. “Who are you?”
Ohmygod, how could I handle this? She was completely crazy!
“You know who I am,” I said softly. “I’m your daughter.”
“No, no! My baby girl is … is gone.”
“I’m right here.”
She put her hands over her face as if she hadn’t heard me. “Don’t lie to me … why does everyone lie to me? Doesn’t anyone understand that I just want her back … where is she? Why can’t I find her?”
With an anguished cry she jumped off the couch, jarring the coffee table so some soup spilled. Her feet pounded down the hall, then stopped. A door slammed. I guessed she’d gone into her bedroom. Now what was I supposed to do? If I left her alone, she might hurt herself. Nervously I went down the hall, pausing at her door. It was slightly ajar and, through the crack, I saw her lying with her face buried in a pillow, her shoulders quaking with sobs.
“Are you okay?” I called out.
No answer.
“Can I get you anything?”
I heard a muffled, “Go away!”
Shutting the door, I gave myself a big fat red F for Failure.
I was totally in over my head as a Temp Lifer — and as Alyce’s best friend. I should stop now before I messed up everything. I owed it to Alyce, her mother, my family and the entire Temp Life program to quit my assignment. Grammy could replace me with someone experienced. Before I lost my nerve, I went into Alyce’s bedroom to call my grandmother.
The phone flashed with messages. A missed call from Grammy and texts from Eli, Dustin, and Jessica Bradley. Jessica? What did Ms. Popularity-Plus want with Alyce, anyway? Curious, I read the text:
Re: basket club mtg. Mon-lunch. c ya!
Huh? I was President of the Halsey Hospitality Club and hadn’t scheduled a meeting on Monday. But knowing Jessica, a new member of what she fondly called the “Basket Club,” I wasn’t surprised to see her taking over. Jessica was a do-gooder with more fashion sense than common sense. It had been her idea to celebrate my (assumed) death by holding a canned food drive/memorial service. She clearly had a big future as a corporate pirate, stealing companies with a sweet smile and worthwhile goals.
I deleted Jessica’s message, then read Eli’s text:
My songs r 4 u. Luv E.
I read this over and over, loving him, missing him, wishing he were with me instead of singing duets with the Showmance Bitch. I nearly made the huge mistake of calling him back, until I realized he’d want to know everything and I couldn’t tell him about Gabe. So I sent a text (too private to repeat) and signed it Luv A.
Then I clicked on Dustin’s text:
How’d it go?
This question struck me as so ridiculous that I laughed out loud. As if my date was a normal evening that ended with a kiss, not with a crazy mom calling my date the devil. It would take hours to describe my disastrous night and I didn’t have the energy to go into that now. So I replied with a symbol of a frowning face.
Problems? he texted back.
I sent three frowning faces this time. Then I added TTYL, sure he’d understand that I wasn’t ready to talk yet. I’d fill in him tomorrow. He might not know it yet, but he was going to drive me downtown to collect Junkmobile.
Then I stared down at a missed call message from Grammy. No text or voicemail, so I didn’t know why she’d called. I wanted to call her, yet dreaded it, too. While she always knew the right things to say so I felt better, talking to her would be tricky because of my promise to Gabe. You’d think arranging a meeting between them would be easy. Far from it! Grammy would be angry that I’d broken serious Dark Lifer rules.
Instead of calling Grammy, I shut off the phone.
Why did everything have to be so complicated? I sank on the bed and hugged a pillow to my chest. Guilt and confusion swamped me like a tidal wave. And I missed Alyce sooo much. I could look at her face in the mirror but I couldn’t talk to my very best friend, and that made me feel more alone than ever.
She’ll come back sooner if you do your job, I reminded myself. So with a firm resolve to ditch the self-pity, I shifted into action mode. Planning is what I’d always done to keep myself focused and not dwell on sad emotions. I’d find a notebook and create a plan of action. Things always seemed clearer when I could strategize a solution on paper. Alyce, on the other hand, channeled her emotions into creative brilliance: amazing gift baskets, photographs, paintings. But even with those outlets, she’d spiraled into a crisis — a crisis about “love,” according to the GEM. Maybe I was going about this all wrong. What if her crisis wasn’t about romantic love but about her love for her mother — her unpredictable, unstable mother?
I dug into Monkey Bag and pulled out the GEM. Staring down at the tiny book, I flipped to a random blank page.
“Would a boyfriend for Alyce solve her crisis?”
No.
“No? But when I asked what her problem was before, you said it was love.”
There are many different loves.
“Does that mean I should go out with a different guy?”
Find the missing.
“What’s missing for me is a GEM that gives helpful answers. I went to all the trouble of going out with Zachary because of what you told me. And now there’s the drama with Alyce’s mother. What’s wrong with her, anyway?”
A broken heart begins a chain of sorrow.
“Am I supposed to help Alyce’s mother, too?”
Hope cannot be restored until the lost is found.
“The lost WHAT? You said that before and it still doesn’t make any sense. What am I supposed to find?”
Not what — who, the smart-ass book corrected.
“Okay then.” Grinding my teeth and reminding myself I was talking to a tiny book, not a real person, I tried another question. “Can you tell me who is lost?”
Yes.
“Then do it! Tell me who’s lost!” I cried, losing my temper. “No more confusing answers. I want a name and I want it now.”
SAM.
“And who the hell is Sam?”
Four-letter words are rude.
The book slammed shut.
Just great, I thought, tossing the worthless bundle of pages on the bedroom floor. Stupid book had too much attitude. Twice in one night, I’d heard the name Sam. It was puzzling enough to see it signed on a painting I knew Alyce had painted, but according to the snarky GEM, Sam was a person who was lost. Yeah, like that made sense.
What would happen if I marched into Mrs. Perfetti’s room and asked about Sam? Would she tell me the truth? Or would that only upset her?
Determined, I left Alyce’s room and went to her mother’s closed door. Leaning my head against the wood, I listened for sounds but heard nothing. Slowly I turned the knob and peeked inside. Mrs. Perfetti was sound asleep.