Читать книгу Searching for Rose - Dana Becker - Страница 9

Chapter Three

Rose looked at the concrete wall. She dragged herself up to it and put her palm against it. It was ice-cold. But it offered relief. She was, she suddenly realized, drenched in sweat, her head swimming against riptides of fever. Now she found herself leaning her body against the wall; now she found herself pressing her cheek against it, absorbing the soothing coldness of it. Her movements didn’t seem like decisions. Her body was just reacting. But slowly. And her brain was moving even slower, registering these actions with a second or two delay. It must have been only a few seconds, but it was enough to deeply disorient her. Maybe it wasn’t a one-second delay? Maybe it was one minute? Maybe a day? A week. Maybe a month had passed.

Her feet were somehow moving now, shuffling. Were they shackled? It felt like they were. She turned to look, and a sharp pain gripped her neck. But there were no chains or ropes of any kind on her feet. She arrived at the edge of the wall. At a corner. She now realized she was running her hand over the corner, sticking her fingers into the nook where concrete met concrete, as though looking for something stuck inside it. Her fingers seemed to want to confirm that the world was still three-dimensional, and that the time was now, the present.

The cold reality of the concrete wall might have confirmed the existence of space and time, but it didn’t tell her who she was. The memories in her mind of a past life were not even images but sounds—a melody of a song, the tone of a woman’s voice. They were as vague and paper-thin as the suddenly re-called sounds of a long-forgotten dream. She now found her brain telling her that this wall was where she’d always been, always lived. This was all there was. Her eye caught the image of a tattoo, a rose snaking around her arm. She saw it. She looked at it. But it didn’t register in her brain, didn’t connect to anything, and it immediately slipped out of mind and was forgotten.

Rose slumped against the wall. She was sinking. She balled herself up on the ground, back against the wall, holding her knees to her chest. All of a sudden she was intensely cold. So, so cold. She could not move anything. There was nothing near her, or anywhere, that could give warmth. And even if there was, she couldn’t move any part of her body to get closer to it.

This was what it meant to freeze to death. It meant being a frozen planet in empty expanses of space. In a death that creeps as slow as ice, the brain and the organs are the last things to go. Rose felt it unmistakably. Because water expands as it freezes, the body, which is mostly water, expands internally, pushing slowly but with increasing firmness against its own veins and arteries. Pressing on the heart and lungs. Pressing against the brain. The brain starts to shock and malfunction. But slowly. The organs continue working, though with painful inefficiency, with occasional spasms that wake the victim up, just as they begin to drift off into the relief of unconsciousness, as though to prolong the agony of witnessing, utterly alone, from deep within a hardening body, living death. Rose was too exhausted to scream. But her head resounded with a long, hopeless, radiating shriek.

* * *

April arrived at Reading Market fifteen minutes early, rather than her customary fifteen-to-thirty minutes late.

“Hey there,” Carmen said, as April walked into the bakery, “you’re in early today.”

Carmen paused in the midst of entering yesterday’s cash register numbers into her iPad; she watched April make a beeline for an apron that hung on a rack near the counter, then pull up her sleeves, tie back her hair, wash her hands, and get immediately to work transferring fresh-made croissants from a baking rack to a display shelf.

“Look at you,” Carmen continued. Then Carmen took her own advice and took a closer look at April.

“Wait, there’s something different about you,” she said.

April just shrugged and continued stacking croissants.

“What is it?” Carmen said, squinting at April. “Hey . . . you’re wearing extra makeup!” Carmen noted.

“Are you gonna do this all day?”

“Okay, and now you’re blushing!” Carmen got up from her seat and walked toward April. “So let’s see here,” she said, and stood right in front of April, trying to look her directly in the eye. “You’re early. You’re wearing purple eye shadow. And now . . . you’re blushing? What is going on, girl?”

April told her about the bus ride. About Joseph. About listening to the song with him, just the two of them, in the dark bus, leaning in with their heads close together, listening to those two old-timey country people singing about how the Mississippi River couldn’t keep them apart. And she told Carmen about how strong Joseph’s hands were.

“His hands, huh?” Carmen said, narrowing her eyes. “Hmm.”

April just smiled.

“And this kid works here, at Reading?”

“Yeah! He was the guy who was posting the ‘Missing’ signs for Rose. He works at the Amish diner,” April said, pointing across the way. “But only half the week. And not on Sundays, because that’s the Lord’s Day.”

“Oh boy,” Carmen said. And then she added, “Well, you look really nice, sweetie.”

* * *

For the next few days, April arrived earlier than she ever had. And she showed up wearing her best outfits. During any lulls, she’d wander over to the Amish diner and wave to Joseph as he worked. She’d watch him closely. When he took breaks, she took breaks. They ate lunch together. She brought him cookies from the bakery. She even convinced him to join her on the other side of the market, far from prying eyes.

Since April was actually working harder than usual, Carmen couldn’t really complain but, still, something about this flirtation bothered her. When she saw April lingering near the diner, she’d call her over and make up a task for her to do. When she caught April messing up a customer’s change—because she was spying on the Amish diner—Carmen came up behind her and whispered, “Stay on point, hon.”

Once, she was even more direct. When April arrived at work looking particularly stylish, Carmen greeted her by saying, “It’s not like he’s gonna notice—and even if he does, those people don’t go for that.” But she immediately regretted saying it when she saw April’s face drop.

She tried to rein in her comments after that. But as they mopped up the bakery one evening, shortly before closing time, Carmen couldn’t help herself.

“Have you spoken to Sergeant Connors recently?” she said.

“About what?” April replied, distractedly, as she piled the chairs on top of the tables.

“Really, April?” Carmen said, folding her arms. “About what? About your sister, who’s been missing for more than a month now.”

April threw down the rag she was holding. She put her hand on her hip and glared. Carmen pretended not to be intimidated. Even though Carmen was playing the role of mentor, she was still terrified of April’s fury, her street toughness.

“What is your problem, Carmen?”

“I just want what’s best for you,” Carmen said, almost inaudibly.

“You’re not my mother.”

“Neither is your mother.”

April’s boldness drained away completely. She hadn’t expected the sharp retort—with its bite of betrayal, since she’d only recently, and with trepidation, shared certain facts about her family background with Carmen.

“Oh honey,” Carmen said, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to throw that back at you like that. Look, I’m just worried about you. Joseph seems like a good kid, probably. I just don’t want you to get hurt now, with everything that’s going on. And also, seriously, you need to talk to Sergeant Connors.”

April’s fury returned, spinning slightly out of her control. She stared at Carmen with eyes filling with tears, her lip trembling just a bit. April seemed to be holding her head up at Carmen, defiantly—but the quivering gave her away.

“Is that all?” April said. “We done here?”

Carmen nodded, and April was out the door.

* * *

But Carmen and April soon made up. This dynamic, of fighting and making up, and, in the process, creating an even tighter bond, made April miss her sister even more. She channeled her longing for Rose into her growing Joseph fixation. They were seeing much more of each other, and their gifts were becoming more personal. She would do research for him about the cheese and furniture industries and bring him large piles of carefully organized printouts on these subjects. He would make her little gifts out of wood.

Even though she was on good terms with Carmen, she still wasted no opportunity to get away from the bakery, to give herself some space. Her breaks from work were getting longer by the day. When a summer heatwave broke, and a mild spring-like spell cast itself over the city, April persuaded Joseph to go for longer and longer walks. In her mind, April believed that the farther she could take Joseph from Reading Terminal Market—the more distance she could put between the two of them and the disapproving glances of Joseph’s Amish cousins and Carmen, too—the more Joseph belonged to her alone. And the more time she spent with him, the more distance she could get from her anxieties about Rose.

She and Joseph were never truly alone, though. As they walked through the streets of downtown Philadelphia, people would stop and stare at them. From the faces of these strangers, their giggles, their secretive photos, it was obvious what everyone was thinking: what was this hip young woman doing walking around with an Amish guy? City people, used to seeing everything, hadn’t, however seen this.

On a walk down a picture-perfect stretch of Delancey Street, lined by magnolias, April took Joseph’s hand. They walked almost an entire block hand in hand. The feeling of his strong hand thrilled April. The attention of passersby didn’t bother her in the least. On the contrary, she liked it. A lot. People seemed not only amused by this unlikely couple but, in many cases, charmed. The sight of April and Joseph put a smile on people’s faces. April wasn’t used to pleasing people—it felt strange but not unpleasant.

But it was obvious, too, that Joseph was having the exact opposite experience. He was uncomfortable from the moment she’d taken his hand into hers. And she could tell that his discomfort was only growing with each smiling passerby. After a few minutes, she released his hand, with a sigh. She could tell that Joseph felt much more at ease. And this made her sigh again. She didn’t try to touch him again—and they didn’t speak of it.

* * *

Joseph was the youngest of seven children. Like many large families, the siblings of the Young family divided themselves into two or three separate groups. In his family, the division went like this: the four elder brothers were one unit; the second unit consisted of two sisters and little Joseph. The Young family took birth order very seriously. The oldest children, especially the boys, were given greater responsibility—and they were also given the lion’s share of the family’s resources.

Once Joseph’s older brothers were married off, according to their birth order, the family put all its energies into helping them, and their young brides, locate, purchase, and begin to cultivate farmland nearby. After all these exertions, and after working to secure marriages for their daughters, too, while also maintaining their own family farm, the Youngs had little remaining capital—and even less energy—to help Joseph find his way.

This situation left Joseph with fewer prospects than his siblings—but it also gave him an unusual degree of freedom. From a very early age, he was schooled in the Amish ways, but, at the same time, he was subtly encouraged to be more independent than his siblings. This small seed of independence was something that he grew to cherish. It became a part of who he was—perhaps too much so for his family’s comfort.

“Your boy’s got some serious rumspringa eyes,” Carmen said to April, one early afternoon at the bakery. The lunch crowd had passed through, and the two women had a moment to linger at the counter and catch their breath. Carmen, of late, had been trying to be more supportive of Joseph.

“What’s a rum stinger?” April said. “Sounds like a cocktail.”

Carmen laughed.

“Rumspringa,” she said. “In their language, it means ‘running around.’ It’s basically this period of time that could last from the late teens ’til the early twenties, when Amish kids are allowed to bend the rules a little. The idea is to let them have a bit more of an outlet to be teens—but at the same time to bring the boys and girls together to let them meet and match up for marriages. But some of them really break out. I think your boy Joseph is one of those.”

“Really?” April said brightly. “What makes you think so?”

Carmen grinned.

“What?” April said, blushing.

“Oh nothing. Just never seen you look so interested in anything I’ve ever said. Like, ever.”

“Just shut up and tell me more about rum stinkers!”

“Well, let’s start with that business idea he has . . . to make fancy furniture? That’s not a very Amish thing to do. These people don’t make or sell luxury items. It’s against everything they believe in. And when I heard him talking about it to you, I thought, ‘Oh boy, this kid is going to get himself in trouble.’ And then, of course, there’s how he talks to you. Well, first of all, that he talks to you. But mostly, how he talks to you. . . .”

“How does he talk to me?” April was almost nose to nose now with Carmen.

“Oh, come on, April. You know exactly how.”

* * *

The next day, when April was sitting next to Joseph on a bench in a park, gazing into his dark green eyes, she decided it was time to ask the big question.

“Are you allowed to date girls outside of your community? Asking for a friend.”

“No,” he said, turning away.

“That’s it,” April replied. “Just . . . no? And what happens if you do?”

“You don’t,” he said. “If you do, you are out. Sometimes someone from outside joins. But that is rare.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I understand it,” he said. “It’s how things need to be.”

“You’re okay with it?”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m okay with it,” Joseph said. “It’s just how it is.”

April couldn’t detect from his tone what Joseph really meant. At these moments, when some barrier came up, it always seemed Joseph became particularly difficult to read. Just when she needed clarity, he’d speak in riddles.

“Okay . . .” April said, trying to process Joseph’s words. “But what about rumspringers?”

Joseph smiled and seemed to loosen up a bit.

“Rumspringa,” he corrected her.

“Yeah, that. Rumspringa.”

“It doesn’t mean what you think it means.”

“How do you know what I think it means?”

“I live in the world,” Joseph said.

“Well, yeah, but like in a different world . . .”

“No,” Joseph said, turning to April. “Same world. Just a different way of living in it.”

They sat quietly for a moment.

“Does your family approve of your idea, the fancy furniture business thing?”

“They don’t understand it,” he replied. “And those that do, don’t like it. It’s not what we do.”

“Do they want you to do something else?”

“Well, no. There’s not as much farmland in Pennsylvania as there used to be. Even my brothers had to look for plots in Iowa and Wisconsin. A lot of people do nowadays. And anyway, my family doesn’t have money to buy anything right now. They need me to find something else.”

“So they don’t like the furniture idea but they’ll support it.”

“If it lets me get settled and get married, they won’t object.”

“Get married . . . to an Amish girl, you mean?”

“Of course,” Joseph said.

* * *

The next day, during the short break after lunchtime, April pulled off her apron, tossed it onto a hook, and, without thinking, began to walk toward the Amish diner, toward Joseph. It was their unofficial meeting time. Then she stopped in her tracks. What am I doing? she thought. He’s just going to disappear one day. He’s just slumming it with me.

April noticed Carmen looking at her from behind the counter. It was obvious that Carmen could tell exactly what she was thinking, and it only deepened April’s irritation. Determined not to give Carmen the pleasure of being right, April turned around and continued toward the Amish diner with renewed resolve—but she didn’t stop there. As she passed the diner, April made a special effort not to look for Joseph. No. Let him see her walk by, ignoring him.

So what if Joseph wasn’t serious about her? Was she serious about him? This farmer boy was looking to get married, literally the last thing on earth April wanted to do now. And yeah, seven babies? No, thanks. April wasn’t about to play farmer’s wife. She laughed to herself at the thought of walking around, demurely wearing a prairie dress and singing hymns.

As April walked out into the open air, into the warm spring day, she flung off her flannel shirt, tied it around her waist, and stretched in her tank top, enjoying the sun warming her bare arms and neck. If Joseph were around, she’d probably keep the flannel on, so as not to scandalize his Amish sensibilities too much.

Forget him, she thought. And walked through the streets, careful to avoid the spots she associated with Joseph.

April had plenty of other things to worry about it. Joseph, after all, wasn’t an actual problem—he was, in fact, the distraction from her problems. Joseph was the easy part of her life. That, at least, was the hope.

In the meantime, the hard parts of April’s life seemed to be getting harder by the day. She still owed money all over town. At war with at least two ex-boyfriends, she was constantly watching her back for dangerous interactions. There were entire neighborhoods in Philly that April wouldn’t set foot in, for fear of running into potentially hazardous encounters, people who triggered her, people who, if she even saw them, much less talked to them, would lead her down a road that would quickly land her in jail.

The reason she was penniless when she’d first arrived that day at Carmen’s bakery was that she’d just quit a job in Fishtown, in North Philly, for fear of running into her (most recent) abusive ex. And because of that fear, she’d lost a shot at work. There were just too many traps set for her around town.

And jobs didn’t come easy. She couldn’t seem to hold down work. Inevitably her boss would reveal himself—it was almost always some man—to be a jerk, or worse. Eventually April would tell him so and she’d be out of a job. Now that she was working at the bakery, she had some cash flow but, if history were any guide, it would be temporary.

And what kind of support system did she really have? If Joseph suffered from too much family, April had the opposite problem: barely any. April’s father died when she was twelve. Her mother was a broken-down alcoholic, who spent her days inserting coins into slot machines in Atlantic City. Her mother lived with an abusive boyfriend who, more than once, had aggressively tried to kiss April. The final straw had come when her mother had found Rose’s checkbook and forged a check to herself from it. Neither sister trusted their mother and they avoided contact with her. The sudden recent disappearance of her sister was not only a painful and unsettling development, but also a major blow to April’s social world. She simply didn’t have much else.

Well, she had Carmen now. And, it seemed, things were going well on that front. But she was just waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for Carmen to lose patience with her, get angry at her, ask her to leave the bakery. She was doing everything in her power to make it work, but she knew the patterns of her life; somehow everything got fouled up in the end. She would survive, yes, but she would lose everything in the process.

And then there was Joseph. He was supposed to be the easy part of her day. But the more she told herself that, the more it seemed like a line. Was he really a part of her life? What did he even know about her? And if he ever were to know, would he talk to her anymore? April’s constant thoughts about Joseph were beginning to become yet another problem. It seemed that the only way out of thinking about Joseph was to spend more time with him. But that, of course, just sounded like another trap.

The situation with Rose was so bad that April could barely even get her mind around it anymore. She’d been checking in with Sergeant Connors every few days. Then it became every week. Then even less frequently. She couldn’t take the constant bad news, the blank looks of the cops. She hated lying to them by withholding everything she knew about Ricky, and she feared that these lies would catch up with her.

Ricky had never contacted her after she’d barged into his shop that day. She contemplated going back—but had put it off. At first, it was a calculated move. She wanted to see how he’d respond to her note. Then, after his silence, she realized she’d lost her confidence. She began to suspect that a second visit would be, at best, unproductive. And at worse, dangerous. So she’d waited. And when nothing happened, when there was no news of any kind, she began to panic, to lose sleep.

Then something clicked in her. Her panic was replaced by something even more powerful: denial. Admitting that this was happening had simply become too dangerous. Of all the bad things that had beset April in her life, the disappearance of literally the only person she trusted and loved was something she lacked the language to describe. It was something beyond fear or anxiety or even extreme sadness. It was something that, if she looked at it honestly, would force her to question her own existence, her identity. What happened to a person when the one constant in their life, the thing that sustained them, was suddenly gone, vanished, as if it never existed? What happened, April believed, was that you also ceased to exist. For the sake of her sanity, out of some primal instinct for basic survival, she simply couldn’t think about it. Not anymore.

She found her brain telling her, She’ll probably call any minute, she’ll show up, she’s fine. It was just impossible to imagine that something had just impossible to imagine that something had really happened to Rose. This kind of thing didn’t really happen. This wasn’t some movie.

There were moments of hard clarity, when April realized that being passive, allowing denial to set in, was reckless. Her new sobriety gave her these moments of clarity, and so she grew to despise her sobriety. But as long as she was sober, her brain could do the math. Every day and week that passed, every minute really, meant worse odds of finding Rose. Time was not on her side. But just as quickly as April had these thoughts, she let them go. There were professional detectives on the case. What could she really do anyway? How did endlessly worrying really help?

When April returned from her walk, Reading Market was mostly quiet. She walked past the Amish diner and, in her peripheral vision, she noticed Joseph at the register. She saw that he was looking at her, but she ignored him and walked on. Without a word, she arrived back in the bakery, slipped into her apron and rubber gloves, grabbed her trusty dough scraper, and picked up where she’d left off: cutting sharp triangles out of a giant slab of raspberry-dotted dough, shaping and smoothing them with the side of the dough scraper, weighing the triangles to ensure uniformity of size (1.5 ounces each), and setting each on a tray, ready to be baked into tomorrow’s scones. When she got going, it felt like a comforting and increasingly familiar rhythm, and she could work placidly like that for hours.

* * *

Whitey sat at his desk, looking at his dead cell phone. He’d mostly stopped picking up the phone. He would give it some use every day, for a few minutes, so as not to raise any suspicions, not tip off anyone who might be listening. But in reality, he now kept the phone only for emergencies. Ever since he’d had that little scare: when he began to suspect that he might have an enemy inside the FBI, in addition to the well-placed friends he’d cultivated.