My Last Innocent Year(62)

Joanna. As soon as Andy said her name, I realized I hadn’t thought about her, about any of them, in days. Tom and Igraine are missing. The thought would drift through my mind from time to time, then get pushed aside by something more pressing. I’d begun to think of them the way I thought about victims of accidents or crimes, as people for whom violence was part of their destiny in a way it was not, and would never be, part of mine. But now, Tom’s and Igraine’s faces floated before me and I wondered how it was I hadn’t been thinking about them the whole time.

“How is she?” I asked.

“How do you think?” he said sharply. “She’s terrible.”

“Of course. I’m sorry. Has there been any news?”

He shook his head. “No sign of them either. It’s been almost three weeks.”

“It’s so weird.”

“Weird. Sure.” He picked up a pebble. “The cops still don’t think they’ve left New Hampshire.”

“How do they know?”

“Tom didn’t have much cash, and there’s been no activity on his credit card. Besides, there are posters all over the place. I’m sure you’ve seen them.”

I nodded. I had seen them. MISSING posters with Tom’s and Igraine’s faces were everywhere, on the bulletin board at the supermarket, post office, bookstore. Every time I saw one, I did my best to avoid Tom’s lazy eye and Igraine’s shy grin.

Andy tossed the pebble into the water. It landed with a plop. “And no one’s called. No one’s seen them anywhere. It’s like they’re ghosts.”

“Do you think they’re—”

“Dead? They could be. But if they aren’t, they’ve found a pretty good place to hide.”

A light rain started falling. Up on the grass, someone with a guitar started playing “Layla.” I could hear Ginny’s voice loud above the others. The water was getting cold, and my legs were tired. I wondered how much longer I’d have to wait before I could get out and get dressed. I wanted to look for Kelsey and Jason and Bo, wanted to find them sitting together in Gamma Nu’s basement, could already hear Bo saying “Hey, cool girl,” when I walked in.

“I think someone knows where they are,” Andy said. “I think someone’s helping them, giving them money or a place to stay.”

“Who would do that?”

He picked up another pebble. “What about Connelly?”

“What about him?”

“They’re good friends, aren’t they? And Tom was always hanging around our classroom. And remember how Connelly didn’t come to class that week? That was right before Tom disappeared.”

“Oh, my God,” I said. “What are you, Scooby Doo?” Andy didn’t say anything, kept studying the pebble in his hand. “What does Joanna think of your theory?”

“I haven’t told her yet.”

“That’s because you know it’s nuts. Look, I know you like to gossip, but don’t you think you’re going a little far? Accusing a man of—I don’t even know what to call it. Aiding and abetting?”

Andy tossed the pebble in my direction. It cleared my head, but barely. “I’d say the guy has some secrets, wouldn’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The rain picked up.

“Come on, Isabel.” He held up my T-shirt, placed two fingers in the small pocket over the breast.

“Come on what?” I felt a chill run through me. More people were climbing out of the water. I could see Ginny up on the grass looking around, maybe for me. After a few seconds, she started up the hill back to campus.

“Everyone knows.” He said it so softly, it felt like a kindness, although of course it wasn’t. “Hey, I’m not judging you.”

“Andy, I don’t know what you think you know, but—”

“What if he hurts her?” He let the words hang for a moment, a strange expression on his face. Later, I would realize it was fear. “I understand not wanting to get involved, but this is pretty fucking serious. Maybe Connelly doesn’t know anything, but it doesn’t hurt to ask, does it?”

I didn’t say anything. A car moved slowly over the bridge, its headlights sweeping across the water like a searchlight. Andy put down my T-shirt and picked up my bra.

“Look,” he said, “I don’t know what Russian novel you think you’re in, but you’re just fucking a professor. And not even a tenured one.” Then he stood up and tossed my bra in the water. I grabbed it before it sank.





19





CONNELLY said it was only six miles to his house and that the road there was mostly flat. I’d hung on the words “only” and “flat” as I headed out on Saturday night on a bike I borrowed from Kelsey. (I’d told her I was having dinner at a professor’s house; I didn’t tell her I was the only guest.) I’d always envied the way people at Wilder rode bikes, the effortlessness with which they navigated the uneven country roads. I thought I was too old to learn what they instinctively seemed to know, but now, guiding Kelsey’s mountain bike over the smooth black road that led out of town, I felt invincible. I felt like I could ride for days.