But that didn't matter. Because Special Agent Smith had been right when she'd said I'd make a fine federal agent:
While she'd been throwing out the trash from my meal, I'd reached over and swiped her cell phone from her purse.
I held it up for Sean to see.
"Oh, yeah," I said. "I'm good. Real good."
C H A P T E R
18
It took us a while to figure out how Special Agent Smith's cell phone worked. Of course there was a password you had to use to get a dial tone. That's what took the longest, figuring out her password. But most passwords, I knew from Michael—who gets his thrills figuring out this kind of thing—are four to six digits or numbers long. Special Agent Smith's first name was Jill. I pressed 5455, and, voilà, as my mom would say: we were in.
Sean wanted me to call Channel 11 News.
"Seriously," he said. "They're right outside the gates. I saw them as we drove in. Tell them what's going on."
I said, "Calm down, squirt. I'm not calling Channel 11 News."
He quit bouncing and said, "You know, I'm getting sick of you calling me squirt and talking about how little I am. I'm almost as tall as you are. And I'll be thirteen in nine months."
"Quiet," I said as I dialed. "We don't have much time before she notices it's gone."
I called my house. My mom picked up. They were eating dinner, Douglas's first since he'd gotten out of the hospital. My mom went, "Honey, how are you? Are they treating you all right?"
I said, "Uh, not exactly. Can I talk to Dad?"
My mom said, "What do you mean, not exactly? Daddy said they had a lovely room for you, with a big TV and your own bathroom. You don't like it?"
"It's okay," I said. "Look, is Dad there?"
"Of course he's here. Where else would he be? And he's as proud of you as I am."
I had been gone only forty-eight hours, but apparently, during the interim, my mother had lost her mind.
"Proud of me?" I said. "What for?"
"The reward money!" my mom cried. "It came today! A check in the amount of ten thousand dollars, made out to you, honey. And that's just the beginning, sweetie."
Man, she had really gone round the bend. "Beginning of what?"
"The kind of income you'll be generating from all of this," my mom said. "Honey, Pepsi called. They want to know if you'd be willing to endorse a new brand of soda they've come up with. It has gingko biloba in it, you know, for brain power."
"You have got," I said, my throat suddenly dry, "to be kidding me."
"No. It's quite good; they left a case here. Jessie, they're offering you a hundred thousand dollars just to stand in front of a camera and say that there are easier ways to expand your brain power than getting struck by lightning—"
In the background I heard my dad say, "Toni." He sounded stern. "She's not doing it."
"Let her make up her own mind, Joe," my mother said. "She might like it. And I think she'll be good at it. Jess is certainly prettier than a lot of those girls I see on the TV—"
My throat was starting to hurt, but there was nothing I could do about it, because all the drugs in the infirmary, even the mouthwash, were locked up.
"Mom," I said. "Can I please talk to Dad?"
"In a minute, honey. I just want to tell you how well Dougie is doing. You're not the only hero in the family, you know. Dougie's doing great, just great. But, of course, he misses his Jess."
"That's great, Mom." I swallowed hard. "That's … So, he isn't hearing voices?"
"Not a one. Not since you left and took all those nasty reporters with you. We miss you, sweetie, but we sure don't miss all those news vans. The neighbors were starting to complain. Well, you know the Abramowitzes. They're so fussy about their yard."
I didn't say anything. I don't think I could have spoken if I'd wanted to.
"Do you want to say hi to Dougie, honey? He wants to say hi to you. We're having Dougie's favorite, on account of his being home. Manicotti.
I feel bad making it when you aren't here. I know it's your favorite, too. You want me to save you some? Are they feeding you all right up there? I mean, is it just army food?"
"Yeah," I said. "Mom, can I please talk to—"
But my mother had passed the phone to my brother. Douglas's voice, deep but shaky as ever, came on.
"Hey," he said. "How you doing?"
I turned so that I was sitting with my back to Sean, so he wouldn't see me wipe my eyes. "Fine," I said.
"Yeah? You sure? You don't sound fine."
I held the phone away from my face and cleared my throat. "I'm sure," I said, when I thought I could speak without sounding like I'd been crying. "How are you doing?"
"Okay," he said. "They upped my meds again.
"I've got dry mouth like you wouldn't believe."
"I'm sorry," I said. "Doug, I'm really sorry."
He sounded kind of surprised. "What are you sorry about? It's not your fault."
I said, "Well, yeah. It kind of is. I mean, all those people in our front yard were there on account of me. It stressed you out, having all those people there. And that was my fault."
"That's bull," Douglas said.
But it wasn't. I knew it wasn't. I liked to think that Douglas was a lot saner than my mom gave him credit for being, but the truth was, he was still pretty fragile. Accidentally dumping a tray of plates in a restaurant wasn't going to set off one of his episodes. But waking up to find a whole bunch of strangers with film equipment in his front yard definitely was.
And that's when I knew that, much as I wanted to, I couldn't go home. Not yet. Not if I wanted Douglas to be okay.
"So, are they treating you all right?" Douglas wanted to know.
I stared out between the bars across the windows. Outside, the sun was setting, the last rays of the day slanting across the neatly trimmed lawn. In the distance, I could see a small runway, with a helicopter sitting near it. No helicopters had taken off or landed since I'd been watching. There were no UFOs at Crane. There was no nothing at Crane.
"Sure," I said.
"Really? Because you sound kind of upset."
"No," I said. "I'm okay."
"So. How are you going to spend that reward money?"
"Oh, I don't know. How do you think I should spend it?"
Douglas thought about it. He said, "Well, Dad could use a new set of clubs. Not that he ever gets a chance to play."
"I don't want golf clubs," I heard my dad yelling. "We're putting that money away for Jess's college."
"I want a car!" I heard Michael yell.
I laughed a little. I said, "He just wants a car so he can drive Claire Lippman to the quarries."
Doug said, "You know that's true. And I think Mom would love a new sewing machine."
"So she can make us some more matching outfits." I smiled. "Of course. What about you?"
"Me?" Douglas was beginning to sound even farther away than ever. "I just want you home, and everything back to normal."
I coughed. I had to, in order to cover up the fact that I was crying again.
"Well," I said. "I'll be home soon. And then you'll wish I wasn't, since I'll be barging in on you all the time again."
"I miss you barging in on me," Douglas said.
This was more than I could take. I said, "I … I have to go."
Douglas said, "Wait a minute. Dad wants to say—"
But I had hung up. Suddenly, I knew. I couldn't talk to my dad. What was he going to do for me anyway? He couldn't get me out of this.
And even if he could, where was I going to go? I couldn't go home. Not with reporters and Pepsi representatives following me everywhere I went. Douglas would completely lose whatever fragile grip he had on sanity at the moment.
"Jess?"
I started. I had almost forgotten Sean was in the room with me. I threw him a startled glance.
"What?" I said.
"Are you …" He raised his eyebrows. "You are."
"I'm what?"
"Crying," he said. Then his eyebrows met in a rush over the bridge of his freckled nose. He scowled at me. "What are you crying for?"
"Nothing," I said. I reached up and wiped my eyes with the back of my wrist. "I'm not crying."
"You're a damned liar," he said.
"Hey. Don't swear." I began hitting buttons on the phone again.
"Why not? You do it. Who are you calling now?"
"Someone who's going to get us the hell out of here," I said.