Until then she had new ways to occupy her time.
“I’m not sure when I’ll be back, André.” Out the window, Lana could see the slough waking up for the evening, terns and harbor seals slipping into the water to hunt for dinner. “Something up here has piqued my interest.”
“A hundred acres of opportunity? A silver fox? Knowing you, it’s probably both.”
Lana smiled. “I’ll tell you all about it when I’m back, André. Omakase. My treat.”
“Darling, I can’t wait. And bring him with you.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
When Lana stumbled into the kitchen at nine thirty the next morning, the landline was ringing.
“Mrs. Rubicon?”
Lana was too tired to correct her.
“I’m calling from the office at North Monterey County High School.”
“Yes?” Lana yawned.
“Is Jacqueline out of school today for an illness? We don’t have a note on file that she would be absent.”
“What? Hold on.” Lana looked over at the sofa bed. Jack’s pillow was stacked on top of her folded comforter, like usual. Through the window she saw Beth’s car in the driveway. Lana tried to stretch the phone cord far enough to knock on Beth’s bedroom door but couldn’t reach. “We’ll have to call you back.”
“This will be marked down as unexcused.”
“I said we’ll call you back!” Lana snapped at the phone, which flipped to a dial tone before she could finish.
“Beth?” Lana gingerly opened the door to her daughter’s room.
“Uhn.” Beth’s face was squashed into her pillow, her body swallowed by a mound of blankets. “Day off. Lemme sleep.”
“Beth. The school just called.” Lana tried to keep the panic out of her voice. “Jack isn’t there. She isn’t here either.”
Beth shot up into a sitting position. “What? How long has she been gone?”
“I don’t know. The phone woke me up.”
“Is her backpack on the table?”
“What?” Lana turned and looked behind her. There were some books and papers on the table, but no backpack. She shook her head.
“Back door,” Beth ordered, pulling on a pair of jeans.
The two women went outside and surveyed the scene behind the kitchen. Jack’s bike was there, leaning up against the house, along with a jacket and her neon helmet. But no Jack.
Beth peered around the corner. “Her paddleboard. It isn’t here.”
Lana breathed out. “That’s good. She probably just lost track of time in the slough.”
“No. We have a deal. She sets her backpack on the table if she’s paddling out early. And she has to get to school on time. No excuses, no tardy slips. Otherwise she loses paddle privileges. She’d never risk that.”
Lana could hear the worry creeping into her daughter’s voice. She peered down at the slough, scanning the gray water. The slough was flat and glassy, crowded with boats and people. Two long hulls of women rowing crew. Three men, barrel-chested, piloting single kayaks upriver. The only paddleboard Lana saw held a paunchy older man, wet suit stripped to his waist, impervious to cold or macho or both. She stared hard at him, willing the stringy hair on his chest to somehow magically transform into a red life vest on a teenage girl.
Beth reappeared beside Lana. “She isn’t answering her phone.”
“Maybe she left a note?”
“That’s not how we do things. Where could she—” Beth reached down and extricated a stone from the edge of her rock labyrinth, squeezing it in her hand.
“Beth, she’s a teenager . . .”
“So?”
“She might not tell her mother everything.”
Lana braced herself for a tirade. But Beth’s face flushed with panic, not anger. Lana awkwardly patted her back, which turned into an even more awkward one-armed hug, Beth leaning her head onto her mother’s shoulder. When Beth pulled away, her eyes were pricked with tears.
*
When Jack was a toddler, Beth had spent hours memorizing her tiny face, pointed chin, the dark hair that floated around her like a cloud. Beth never slept in those days, rushing from day care to nursing school to work to the house, sitting up late in the patched armchair she’d found on the side of the road while Jack slept and wriggled in her arms. Something about those sleepless hours tattooed itself on Beth’s eyelids, keeping Jack always in her sight. She saw Jack peering up at her from patients’ deep brown eyes. She saw Jack in report cards and otter posters, bikes and paddleboards, a young Monterey pine holding its own against the wind.