The Return(92)

“Karen Anne-Marie Johnson,” he said. “From Decatur. Age sixteen. Ran off at age fifteen last May, which means she’s been missing a little more than a year. That sounds like your girl, doesn’t it? I wanted you to check it out before I keep going.”

I opened the thin file and my eyes settled on a copied photograph of Callie. For a moment, I didn’t believe it. Though I’d been hopeful, the sense of relief I felt was overwhelming.

“It’s her.”

“Are you sure?”

“No question,” I said. Natalie leaned toward me, her eyes examining the photograph as well. I had to remind myself that—other than the hectic night of the trailer fire, and maybe not even then—Natalie had never seen her.

“I can’t believe how quickly you found her,” I said.

“It wasn’t that difficult. She was on the GBI missing persons list, which was the first one I checked. It took me less than ten minutes. It’s on their website, photos and all, so you really didn’t need my help. You could have stayed in North Carolina and done your own search.”

Except I hadn’t known the GBI had a website. Until that morning, I’d never heard of the GBI at all.

“I appreciate your help.”

“It’s what we do. I’m hoping there will be a happy ending to all this.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us?”

Robertson nodded. “I spoke to the people in Decatur and they pulled the file. You have the copy in the folder there, but it’s a typical story. She’d told her parents she was going to spend the night at a friend’s house. When they hadn’t heard from her by the following evening, the parents contacted the friend and learned that Karen had never gone there in the first place. As far as the parents knew, she didn’t have a boyfriend, so it wasn’t about that. You’ll note in there, too, that she has two younger sisters.”

Which meant possible bone marrow matches.

“If she’s from Decatur, how did Helen come into the equation?” Natalie asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “But I have a hunch that I’m going to find out.”

“As for me,” Robertson said, “I’m going to have to contact the GBI and let them know Karen’s whereabouts. Decatur police, too. I’m sure the parents will be relieved.”

I thought about that. “Would it be possible to hold off on that until tomorrow?”

“Why would I do that?” Robertson frowned.

“Because I want to talk to her first.”

“That’s not the way we do things in Georgia.”

“I know. But I’d like to know why she ran off in the first place. If it was because she was being abused, I want her to be prepared.”

“My gut is telling me that her running off had nothing to do with abuse.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Take a peek at the last page,” he said. “After talking to the Decatur folks, I printed out a news article that I was able to find. You might want to peruse that.”

*



Originally printed in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, the news article was short, only a couple of paragraphs long, and as I read it, I found myself agreeing with Robertson’s hunch.

To me, it explained just about everything.

With a bit of pleading from both Natalie and me, Robertson agreed to give me twenty-four hours before he contacted the GBI and the Decatur police. He also swore to hold me personally responsible if any aspect of my plan went sideways.

My first call was to Dr. Nobles. After a long hold, she let me know that Callie was still in the hospital, and that her condition had deteriorated slightly overnight. I told her that I’d found her family and planned to speak with Callie that afternoon. After that, I rebooked our flight so I could be at the hospital by midafternoon. Natalie and I discussed the best way to handle the situation as we made the drive back to Atlanta. We dropped off the rental car, checked in, and eventually made our way to the gate.

Once aboard, Natalie grew quiet, as did I. Both of us knew our time together was almost over, but neither of us wanted to talk about it. I noticed Natalie had been surreptitiously studying the other passengers as they arrived at the gate, no doubt concerned again that someone might recognize her. I understood her rationale, but it still left me feeling empty inside.

In the terminal back in New Bern, as we were walking through we both heard someone call out her name. Another woman, roughly her age, was approaching and clearly wanted to chat. I was torn between waiting for her or simply walking on, but I could see the plea in Natalie’s eyes, begging me to go.

I continued toward the parking area alone, fighting the urge to glance over my shoulder, and wondering if that was the final memory I would have of her.

*



Fifteen minutes later, I was at the hospital, walking toward Callie’s room.

Her door was open and I entered, noticing that the bandage around her head had been removed, leaving her hair a tangled mess. As usual, the television was on and after Callie noted my presence, she turned her attention back to it. I scooted the chair closer to the bed and took a seat.

“How are you feeling?”

“I want to go home.”

“I spoke with Dr. Nobles earlier.”

“She was here this morning,” Callie said. “She said they’re still trying to find donors.”