"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.

"Glad that's not my problem," I muttered and headed up the drive to ring the front doorbell.

As I pressed the brass button, I noticed one little light on in the back of the house. Someone might be up. I pressed my face to the cut-glass oval that took up half of the heavy wooden door, and tried to see into the house. At the same time, I kept my finger continuously pressed on the doorbell. Someone was moving toward me, shuffling slowly, half bent over, and weaving from side to side. Vernell.

"Where's the fire?" he called. He swung open the door and a loud voice startled both of us.

"Intruder! Intruder! Front entrance. You have twenty seconds to disarm!"

Vernell looked momentarily confused and worried, then disgusted. "Dag-blamed security system!" He turned away from me and began stabbing a pudgy finger at the keypad by the front door. "If it ain't one thing it's another with this place," he grumbled. He was wearing his blue polyester leisure suit, rumpled and stained from what looked like continuous wear without benefit of washing.

"Come in! Come on in!" Vernell's dark hair stood up in tufts across the top of his head. "I was just talking to you, anyway," he said. Vernell's breath and body smelled of liquor and I could see a bottle of Wild Turkey sitting out on the kitchen table.

I followed him into the kitchen, tempted a few times to reach out and grab him as he threatened to do damage to a fancy doodad or knock into a framed picture with his drunken body.

"Vernell," I said, "do you know what time it is?"

"You come all this way to ask me the time?" Vernell looked genuinely puzzled. "Well, I reckon it's coming up on ten o'clock."

"Vernell, it is two-thirty in the morning."

"Well, if you knew, why'd you ask?" Vernell eyed me suspiciously. "This is some kind of test, isn't it? You just want to know how much I been drinking. Just like Jolene-hellfire, just like any woman. That's the trouble with you people, always asking questions. Wanting to talk about your feelings." Vernell was on the verge of a sermon.

"Vernell, hush! Where's Sheila?"

Vernell's eyes cleared for one second. "Why, ain't she with you?"

"Vernell!"

"Well, honey, she called hours ago. Told Jolene she was going to stay at your place tonight on account of you had a headache."

My heart jumped up into my throat. "Where's Jolene? Let me talk to her! Wake her up!" I jumped up from the table and stood staring down at Vernell.

"Can't do it," he said slowly. "Jolene ain't here either. She's over to her mama's on account of her mama being sick. She's helping out." Vernell looked morose. "Well, that and maybe she got a little hot because I was drinking."

"Come on," I said, grabbing the shot glass out of his hand.

I was off, heading for the stairs, looking for anything that might tell me where Sheila had gone. Vernell puffed along behind me.

"Up at the top of the stairs to the right," he said. "When's the last time you talked to her?" Vernell's voice had changed. He sounded almost sober and definitely worried.

"About four or five this afternoon. She lay down in her room to take a nap. Vernell, last time I checked on her, she was sleeping." It's my fault, I thought. I shouldn't have fallen asleep. I should've done something, everything, differently.

I ran down the hallway, knowing without being told which room was Sheila's. I'd been sitting across that street for so many nights, watching that little light over her desk, trying to catch a glimpse of my girl, hoping to know for sure that she was home where she belonged. Where was she now?

Vernell pounded right behind me, stopping at the entrance to Sheila's room as I ran inside. I stood still and looked around. It was every teenage girl's dream. A beautiful brass daybed, piled high with lacy pillows. White carpeting and pink walls, thick crown molding, and a walk-in closet crammed with all the latest fashions from Sheila's favorite stores. A lot of the clothing still had price tags hanging from the sleeves. Sheila couldn't possibly have worn all those things.