As the Wicked Watch(13)

I pulled back the sliding glass door and slinked out onto the porch, collapsing gently onto the padded wicker chaise. Then it hit me. Pam. I had been so preoccupied that I hadn’t checked my cell phone or turned the ringer back up since I’d left the crime scene. I exhaled deeply and pivoted back inside to retrieve my phone from my coat pocket.

I had four messages: one from Ellen, from earlier today; one from Joey; and two from Pam. I dreaded listening to her voice-mail messages. But I couldn’t avoid her text.

POLICE SHOWED UP TO MY JOB AND ASKED ME TO COME DOWNTOWN FOR AN INTERVIEW.



Fifteen minutes later, another.

JORDAN WHAT ARE THEY SAYING? CALL ME.



The place where peace resides in my soul cried out, “Oh no!” I was no longer in control of my emotions. The first heave of my chest caught me by surprise. My muscles weakened and my phone fell from my right hand to the floor. I felt sick to my stomach. In a missing person case, hope is all you have. And now this was lost. Police wouldn’t involve Pam if they didn’t have some sense that they had found her daughter.

I reached down to pick up my phone and turned the ringer volume up to high. Had Pam seen the news? Had she heard the words the victim is an African American female, approximately five feet nine inches tall? If I call her back, until I know more, what would I say if she picked up?

I’d done it. I’d become too invested. Because I wanted to get the story and also because I genuinely sympathized, I’d allowed myself to become Pam’s crutch. I had to learn to set boundaries. This wasn’t a relationship; it was a job, after all. It was no longer simply a pattern in my dating life. It was becoming a pattern in my work life, too. In the competitive world of television broadcast journalism, especially in a popular market like Chicago, somebody’s always got their eye on your spot. And with a vulture like Keith Mulvaney lurking at Channel 8, I couldn’t afford to lose my edge.

Ellen and I nicknamed him Tonya after Tonya Harding, the disgraced Olympic figure skater who was banned from the sport in the early nineties after she allegedly orchestrated an attack carried out on her chief competitor, Nancy Kerrigan, by two goons wielding a collapsible baton. If a thwack to the kneecap was all it took to eliminate me, Keith would’ve tried it by now. But he was going to have to work a lot harder than that. Still, I told Ellen, half jokingly, “If I come up missing, check his basement.”

I gathered myself and my roiling stomach began to settle. The biting hunger I felt hours earlier had subsided, not because of anything I’d eaten but because my mind was onto bigger things. Jordan, I heard Mama say, have you eaten?

I grabbed a handful of cheese crackers from the cabinet and the bottle of pinot and headed back to the chaise on the deck. It was decorated with Southwest-style pillows and a heavy handwoven wrap I’d bought on an Indian reservation in New Mexico, just outside Albuquerque, during spring break back in college. The night air swirled around me as cooler temperatures settled in along with my nagging thoughts.

I have to call Pam back. What would I say? Why hadn’t I called before? I was at work. I don’t have any more information than I reported. I swear.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the time on the clock in the living room. It was 9:05. I hadn’t realized so much time had passed, and my phone hadn’t rung. Pam hadn’t tried to call me in more than four hours. Mom hadn’t called, either.

The sky grew cloudy and the air smelled of rain. I grabbed the empty wine bottle and headed back inside. I had a mind to call Mom, but my body went for the couch. I plopped down and covered myself with the soft yellow velour throw Mom gave me for Christmas. Sleep must’ve come quickly, because when my cell phone finally rang, it was 10:30.

If it’s Pam Alonzo, I’ll take the call.

It wasn’t. It was Joey.

“Jordan, it’s Joe.”

“Yes” was all I could manage. He had news or else he wouldn’t have called this late.

“Look,” he said, followed by a heavy, knowing sigh, “I wanted to give you a heads-up as a friend. But this is not to be shared, okay? Do we have an understanding?”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Jordan, do we have an understanding?” he repeated, which was unlike him. “I’ve gotta know. This is off the record until the news conference tomorrow at eleven o’clock. Okay? This is my job.”

“Yes, you have my word,” I said. “You can trust me.”

He hesitated.

“It’s her, isn’t it, Joey?” I asked. “Isn’t it?”

Joey expelled another heavy sigh. “Yeah, it’s her.”

My head shook from side to side, like Tanya McMillan’s, denying what I’d just heard.

“Jordan, are you there?” Joey asked.

“Yes. Thanks for letting me know,” I said.

“Mum’s the word,” he said. “Good night.”

I hung up without saying goodbye, sat straight up on the couch, held my face in my hands, and cried.





4




I awoke to rain coming down in buckets and remembered that I’d left my cushions and treasured handwoven wrap out on the deck overnight. They were soaked, no doubt. But I couldn’t worry about that now.

She’s gone.

Nothing pierces the heart more violently than the moment you learn of someone’s demise for all eternity—especially someone you love. I had come to care about Masey James, a girl I’d never met. And now I never would. She was taken from this world, taken from a mother who adored her and denied a future that looked so bright. When the news breaks, people all over this city will mourn her loss as if they knew her, as I did last night.