It was a good night for making music, but as the first set came to an end, I realized that Mama Maggie wasn't too happy. By the end of the second set, my mama instincts were going haywire, and I could no longer deny that Sheila might be in trouble. I'd tried to believe that she'd gone off when Keith came by, and probably she had done just that. He'd probably come to the front door and carried her out to dinner and then driven her back home to Vernell's. But what if she hadn't?
I tried to call her just before the last set started up, but there was no answer at the Spivey castle, only the answering machine with Jolene's tinny little TV voice instructing me to leave a message and "have a nice day." I hung up and ran up the steps to the stage. Where was that girl?
"She's probably asleep, Maggie," was Jack's theory. "It's almost one o'clock in the morning. The whole house is sleeping, if you ask me."
"But she just took off."
"All teenagers just take off," he said, turning back to his harmonica for a brief moment. "It's what teenagers do."
I didn't feel better. Instead, I felt more and more apprehensive. Deep inside my bones I could feel it. Something was not right with Sheila.
I kept scanning the door all through the last set, half expecting to see uniformed officers, or Weathers. It was the McCrarey gift of second sight, I could feel it, tingling my scalp and running down my arms. Even Jack sensed my unrest, sticking close by me as I sang the last few songs.
"All right," he said, when the last number drew to a close and the house lights came up. "It's last call. We can leave. I'll take you home, or wherever else it is you need to go."
"Home. I can feel it, I need to go home."
Jack looked at me, looked deep into my eyes, and locked onto my fear. "All right, Maggie. We're leaving now." He spun around, blew a kiss to a young girl with curly brown hair who'd been watching him from the dance floor, and started heading for the back door. "You coming?" he called over his shoulder.
"Yes," I yelled, running to catch up.
"It's a good thing that dress has slits up the side," he said. "But you're gonna be cold."
I didn't redly pay any attention to him, that is, not until he walked up to a small motorcycle and unfastened the two helmets that were tied to the seat.
"I always come prepared," he said, handing me a helmet.
"Jack, what happened to your car?" I asked. I knew the answer before he even said a word.
"Evelyn has it," he said softly. "I figured she needed it more than me."
I stared at the lonely little motorcycle and back at my kindhearted friend. When I finally met Evelyn, I was going to give her a piece of my mind. Who would leave this sweet man and take his car?
The early morning air had turned cold, and I knew it would cut through my flimsy dress like a million tiny knives. For a brief second, I thought of calling Weathers and taking him up on his offer of a ride, but I had my code of ethics and Weathers was not an option. Jack offered me his suede jacket, but I wouldn't take it.
"You'll be up front," I said, "I'll just hunch down behind you. Let's go." The anxiety I'd felt inside was reaching the panic stage now. It didn't matter how I got home, I just had to go.
As we pulled out of the Golden Stallion and onto High Point Road, it began to sprinkle. By the time we hit Holden, it was pouring. Water slid down my neck, running the length of my back and sliding down my legs. I leaned as close as I could into Jack, but it didn't help. We were both soaking wet. Jack was working to stay focused on his driving, slowing down to an almost-crawl and braking carefully as we came up to a red light.
"Sorry," he called back to me.
"Hey, it's not your fault it rained. I'm just thankful you're taking me home." I was shaking with the cold and wishing like anything for shelter. Why did I ever agree to let Weathers drive me to work? What kind of a deal had that turned out to be?
By the time we pulled up in my backyard, I was numb. I half fell off the back of the bike. My dress was ruined and water squished out of my shoes in noisy little gushes. I looked like a black-and-red drowned rat and I felt a hundred times worse.
"Thanks, Jack!" I called. "Do you want to come inside and dry off?"
He shook his head but all I could see was the tinted glass of his faceshield. "Might as well go on home. I'm soaked through anyway," he said. He backed the bike out into the yard and swung around. I was up the steps and inside as he gunned the engine and tore off down my back alley.
"Sheila?" I called into the darkened house.
No answer, but I hadn't really expected one. I checked the answering machine, water dripping down my legs and forming little puddles at my feet. No messages.
"All right, baby girl," I said to my empty bedroom, "Mama's coming after you. If you're not in trouble, you soon will be!" But my heart wasn't in it. I knew my girl was in trouble, the same way my mama always knew when I needed her. It was a gift and a curse, but it was certain knowledge. My daughter needed me and that fact was all I could think about.
Chapter Thirty
As I saw it, I had only one option. My daughter was missing, at least to me, and I needed to go over to Vernell's New Irving Park palace, wake everybody up, and assure myself of her safety. If that was an inconvenience to Vernell and the lovely Dish Girl, well, so be it and I hated it for them. Parenthood was not without its tribulations and rewards. Maybe old Vernell needed to be reminded of his parental responsibilities.
If Sheila wasn't home, he needed to be up and by my side until we found her. If she was home, then the lovely Jolene needed to answer the phone when I called looking for my daughter and not leave it to the answering machine. The way I saw it, people didn't call your house at one A.M. unless it was a total, life-threatening emergency. I always answered my phone when it rang in the middle of the night.
Armed with this justified way of thinking, and warmed by dry clothing, I set off across town. I hadn't gone two miles when I realized I had trouble. My car, always reliable, seemed to have caught cold. It was coughing and wheezing, and when I hit the light at Green Valley and Battleground, it died and almost didn't start up again.
"Don't do this," I pleaded. "Not now." But my little VW, Abigail, couldn't help herself. She was struggling to keep going north on Battleground, but we made the split onto Lawndale, with Abigail choking and dying out unless my foot was constantly tapping the accelerator. By the time we wound our way through to Vernell's street, I knew she wouldn't make it home again. Abigail waited until we were on the downhill slope of Vernell's little cul-de-sac to die. I lifted my foot off the accelerator, slipped her into neutral, and coasted to a halt just inside Vernell's cobblestoned driveway.
"Oh, well, that's that." I sighed. I was not a Triple A member, a fact I deeply regretted at that moment, and one I promised myself to rectify just as soon as I got back home.
"Well, girl, at least you got me here." My voice sounded loud in the stillness of Vernell's dignified street. There was not one light on inside any house in the circle, including Vernell's. We'd slid to a stop just behind Sheila's black Mustang convertible, but that meant nothing. She'd been driving Keith's truck that morning.
Vernell's Day-Glo orange panel truck stood next to Sheila's little car. Too large to fit in his garage, I was certain status-conscious Jolene had plenty to say about Vernell bringing the revolving Jesus home to rest in her driveway.