Then You Were Gone Part 4

I shrug. Lee pulls back. He has that glazed look guys get when they're super-s.e.xed-up. "Can I see you tonight?"

He's high off Range Rover Sunday. "Don't know," I say. "Maybe?" I stupidly thought s.e.x with Lee might obliterate that relentless tug in my gut, but- "Maybe?"

Didn't work.

"Do you know anyone who drives a yellow Bug?" I say, switching subjects.

"A Bug?"

"Yeah."

"What, like, a Volkswagen?"

"Uh-huh."

"No." He thinks about it. "I mean, maybe. Not sure. Why?"

"Sam saw Dakota last Sunday in a Bug. Or, getting out of a Bug. She was fighting with someone."

"Sam saw her?"

I nod, speedy now. High, almost. "He talked to an officer this weekend. They're looking into it."

"Huh."

"They want to talk to me, too."

"The police? But you don't know anything."

"Her phone records. They saw the call." He doesn't say anything back, so I talk on. "The Bug, though. That's, like, a lead, right?"

"I guess."

"You guess?" I step backward and let go a small, irritated huff. "You don't think that's a little strange? Dakota gets into some huge blowout with some mystery guy, then, poof, she just disappears?"

"I dunno, Knox. Sure, maybe." He pauses, readjusts his backpack. "You know she brought mescaline to Teddy's barbecue last year? His parents were there. Who brings psychedelics to a family barbecue?"

"She was at Teddy's? Do they even know each other?"

"Knox." His cross-eyes say I'm missing his point. "She screwed Anna Clark's boyfriend. That guy who tours with Jason Sheer?"

"The guitar player? Isn't that guy old?"

"Ba.s.s. And he's twenty-four. She went home with him after a Dark Star show."

"How do you know that? You don't even know those people."

"Chris Clark, Anna's brother. He's on my soccer team." A beat. Lee makes a strained face. "I just . . ."

"What?" I say. "You what?"

"I don't know." He walks, mussing his hair with one hand. "I kinda think . . ." Laughs. "I kinda think it's a big pile of horses.h.i.+t. I think she's fine, I think she's f.u.c.king with everyone, I think you're falling for it. I'm watching you-you're getting all obsessive and invested and-"

"I'm not obsessive. Jesus, Lee. I'm flipping the f.u.c.k out because my friend might be-"

"Your friend?"

One of my cheeks-the left one?-is throbbing as if it's been hit. "f.u.c.k you." My eyes pool. I turn on one heel and walk toward the restroom.

"Adrienne."

I don't stop.

"Hey, Adrienne." Lee catches up with me, tugs on my arm, flips me around. "Stop, okay?" Wipes my wet cheeks. "Stop crying, I'm sorry." He kisses me. Our mouths are hot and soggy. "I just-" He pulls back, head shaking, chin wrinkling. "I don't like her."

I want to scratch, smack, set something on fire.

"I wish-I want you to forget her."

"Forget her?" More irate tears. He curls an arm around me. I try wriggling free.

"Stop squirming."

"You don't get it."

"I do, I get it, you're worried." His face goes lax. "Adrienne, I just-I want you to feel better."

"Well, I can't."

We just stand there, kids staring, school bells blaring. I keep crying. Lee takes my hand and I'm too tired to stop him. "Can I see you later?"

"No."

"Why not?"

My chest heaves. "Dinner with my mother." Lies.

He pulls me forward. "Tell me you love me."

"No."

"Knox . . ."

"Tell me you're sorry," I say.

"I am. Already said it."

"Say it again."

"Look at me."

I look at him. Baby skin, spa.r.s.e stubble, a tiny pimple on his upper lip. "I love you," he whispers. And it's true, he means it. "I'm sorry," he says. "You believe me?"

I relax slightly. "I guess."

"You're sure?"

"Yes," I say, pressing my nose against his cold cotton jersey. "I'm sure."

Brit lit. Suspender Sub still here. We're doing absolutely nothing in cla.s.s-reading chapters aloud out of Jane Eyre-so I watch Julian watch the floor while wondering what he knows. Who he is. Does he look guilty? Grief-stricken? He's so stupidly pretty. Dirty red hair that droops at the sides and sticks up on top. Freckles like Kate. Dakota used to back him into lockers and suck his lower lip in front of everyone. Now he's here with his Bronte book and all I see is s.e.x.

Bell.

He bolts. I grab my bag and tailgate him. Kate's waiting outside and blocks me as Julian slips past.

"Murphy had the baby. It's a girl."

"Oh." He's gone now, out of sight.

"They named her Adeline."

"Huh."

She slaps my upper arm.

"Ow. What the h.e.l.l, why'd you do that?"

"You okay?"

"I was fine, f.u.c.k. Now I hurt."

"Sorry, I just-" Her cheeks go pink. "You weren't looking at me."

My eyes flick to her face.

"You going tonight?"

"Where?" I ask, rubbing the throb out of my arm.

"Candlelight vigil."

"For?"

Her brow bounces up. Duh, D. Webb.

"Oh," I say, smarting. "Seems a little premature."

"Right? Bury the girl first." Kate laughs a little too quickly, then stares for a bit before changing the subject. "Come on, you're free this period. Help me stalk Wyatt Earp."

I glance out the window. There's a fat camera guy hovering in front of a navy van with a satellite. A suited woman waves a mic in the faces of two tiny freshman.

Kate smooshes her nose against the gla.s.s. "f.u.c.k, Channel Five?" Then, softly: "Dakota gets a camera crew. Of course."

I toss my keys on the bureau, switch on my yellow bedside lamp, and hit play on a mix I made earlier this week: Keren Ann, Olivia Ruiz, Yael Naim, Carla Bruni. Girlie French music. Folk and pop. I can't understand a word of it, but it makes me feel dreamy and sentimental and tints everything really rosy.

For a while, I don't do anything but listen. I get down on the floor on my back and just lie there. I watch the ceiling. I flip to my side and watch the wall. Then, feeling restless, I get up. Drink half a gla.s.s of water. Change into sleep stuff. Creep downstairs to Sam's office and switch on his computer.

Ping.

Sam has video footage of Dakota, I'm sure of it. The first five years of his relations.h.i.+p with my mother are taped, digitized, and double-saved to his hard drive. I click the folder t.i.tled Home Movies and run a search for "Dakota." Nothing. I try "Adrienne." A zillion files flash in my face: "Adrienne Seven," "Adrienne Swing Set," "Adrienne & Rach" (Mom). I try searching "Adrienne Nine", then "Adrienne Ten" (prime DW years)-more nothing. I type "Adrienne Twelve," and there, finally, a file. I open it.

Me, Mom-getting ready for Ally Rothbaum's bat mitzvah.

Wrong. Moving on.

"Adrienne Eleven."

Dakota.

We're kids. She's braiding my hair. We're in a tent with three billion throw pillows, a bottle of bubbly water, and a cordless phone.

"Face me, come on, guys, say something cute."

"Something cute!" Dakota screams, smiling huge, then frowning dramatically. I laugh and I laugh, so Sam laughs too. The picture cuts out.

Two more clips: "D&A" and "Adrienne B-Day Fifteen." In the first, I'm fourteen, maybe? My hair chin-length and tinged red. I'm leaning against the kitchen counter eating a fat slice of pepperoni.

"Dakota honey?" Mom says this. She's fixing one of her weird-looking sprouted salads. D wanders into frame. She looks young. No b.o.o.bs. Her face still soft.

"Yeah?"

Mom picks an eyelash off her cheek then hands her the salad bowl. "Stick this on the table, will you?"