Twenty
There are many permutations of hunger. I was feeling most of them by the time I left Children’s after returning Merritt to the psychiatric unit. I couldn’t magically transport Lauren back from Washington. And I couldn’t do anything about the dual tragedies unfolding for Merritt and Chaney, but I took the opportunity of being in Denver to drive to the west side of town and treat myself to some Mexican food at Tacquería Patzcuaro. The carnitas were as good as I remembered. After dinner, I picked up some goodies at the Denver Bread Company before heading north on I-25 toward home.
Emily heard my car coming down the lane and was bouncing off the walls, and ceiling, of her dog run as I stepped out of the car. She wasn’t accustomed to being in doggie jail for long hours, but with Lauren out of town my daily absences in Denver to treat Merritt were causing Emily some unfortunate incarceration problems.
She wanted to pee, she wanted food, and she wanted to chase and kill tennis balls. Deciphering which of the activities was most important to her at that moment felt a little like trying to decide precisely what Merritt had been telling me with her limited communicative repertoire of half-smiles and narrowing eyes.
Emily peed before all else, her abundant urine pooling in the dust like a miniature Lake Gatorade.
I said, “You want some dinner?”
She jumped in the air, spinning 180 degrees to starboard. That meant an enthusiastic yes, as did the identical spin to port. She had forgotten, temporarily, about throttling the evil tennis balls.
I laid out a bowl of food and some fresh ice water for her and called Lauren at her parents’ house in Washington. No one answered and I left a message. I needed to talk with Lauren to try to work through some of the intensity that was buzzing in my head. I needed to feel her skin against mine. I needed to smell her hair and I needed to be seduced and to make love so slowly it lasted all night. But Lauren was a thousand miles away, and I had never believed in the asceticism of cold showers.
I stripped off my work clothes and pulled on some reflective Lycra and a windbreaker, checked the air pressure and the lights on my bike, and took off for an evening ride. I knew even thirty hard minutes would help clear my head of confusion.
My ride had taken me no more than two miles from my house when my pager went off. I had to stop the bike to read the screen on my beeper, which was flashing a number I didn’t recognize. Although I was tempted to ignore the page for now and complete my ride, I didn’t. There were too many crises nearing a boil in my vicinity. It didn’t feel prudent to ignore one of them at random.
Emily acted, again, like I’d been gone all day. I worried sometimes about her internal clock. Her stomach full, her bladder empty, the tennis balls were her only focus in life. I threw one for her, then another. She waited for me to throw yet another as I put my bicycle away. To my amazement, she heeded my low whistle, joined me at the front door, and followed me into the living room. Still wearing my bicycle cleats, I punched in the number from my pager.
A female said, “Hello.”
“This is Dr. Alan Gregory, I’m returning a page to this number.”
“Oh, thank you, Dr. Gregory. This is Marie Monroe. Miggy Monroe? We talked yesterday afternoon about my daughter, Madison. Remember me?”
“Yes,” I said, “of course.” I’d called Madison’s mother to get permission to meet with her daughter.
“Madison didn’t show up at school this afternoon. They called me at work, at the library, and told me. And she hasn’t come home yet, and she hasn’t called, and I’m really worried and I wonder if you would have any idea where she might have gone.” She was breathless but seemed to be making an effort to speak in a normal voice.
“Is this unusual for her, Ms. Monroe? Skipping classes, not coming home? Has she ever done it before?”
“No, not for this long, not that I know of. She always calls, well, most of the time, anyway. I’ve had trouble with her on weekends, sometimes, you know, staying out late. But not during the school week.” She exhaled loudly as she recognized that I wasn’t going to be of any help. “You don’t know where she is, do you?” Her voice was decompressing, gliding downhill toward despair.
“I met with her just before lunchtime at the Starbucks on the Hill. You know where it is? On Broadway? I bought her a cup of coffee. We talked for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, mostly about her friend Merritt. Afterwards, she met up with somebody and told me she had to get back to class. I watched them leave, they took off down University toward Boulder High School.”
“Which friend? Was it Merritt? I think she’s a good influence on Madison.” Madison apparently hadn’t told her mother about Merritt being in the hospital.
“No, a boy. I think he said his name was Brad.”
She sighed. “I don’t know anybody named Brad. Did he say his last name?”
“No, he didn’t. I’m sorry.”
“Is he a student?”
“I don’t know him. He looked older than your daughter, if that helps. He may be old enough to be a CU student, not a high school student. But it’s hard to tell with kids, you know?”
“She’s not allowed to go out with college boys. She knows that. And you haven’t heard from her since then? She didn’t call you back or anything?”
“No. But I didn’t expect her to.”
“She didn’t mention anything about going anywhere after school?”
“I wish I could tell you something helpful. You’ve checked her room, of course? Is there anything missing? Any sign she might have packed a few things to take with her?”
“Take with her where? Where was she going?”
“If she was planning on leaving-”
“Leaving, what do you mean, leaving? Where was she planning on going?”
“Running. Kids usually pack some things up when they run away.”
“Why was Madison running away?”
“I don’t know that she was, Ms. Monroe. I’m just trying to puzzle this out with you.”
“Like what would she take?”
What? “You know, underwear, a coat, extra clothes, money. Things like that.”
“I’m not sure I would know what’s gone from her room. She takes care of her own things, clothes and such. And sometimes she gets money I don’t know about, I guess from her father. I never know how much she has. You understand?”
She really wanted me to, I could tell. At once, I did understand, and I didn’t.
I thought about the conversation with Miggy Monroe while I showered, and decided I was going to tell Sam about it. Madison’s absence from her afternoon high school classes was probably meaningless, and I guessed that she would probably show up at her own home any minute. But I knew Sam well enough to know that giving him a dead-end lead was much more salutary behavior than keeping one to myself.
I paged him. My phone rang twenty seconds later.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Probably nothing, but I thought you should know about something. Merritt’s friend, that kid Madison? Her mom just called me. She skipped her classes this afternoon at Boulder High, hasn’t called and checked in or come home. Her mom says it’s not like her.”
“No history of running?”
“Mom says not.”
“Lucy ran her for me this afternoon after we talked. Two petty offenses. Shoplifting, something else, um, I don’t know, I don’t remember. Notes the last time she was picked up say she hangs with some scummy kids.”
“Sounds a little severe based on what I saw, Sam. She has boys on the brain, acts like a punk. What’s curious is that she apparently skipped right after I met with her.”
“And what? So what are you saying now? Is that important? Why are we having this conversation?”
“I’m wondering if I spooked her by meeting with her this morning. I pressed on her about her role in finding Merritt. Maybe it spooked her.”