Takeoffs and Landings(13)

Why was she in such a hurry to get to him?

But as soon as she got close, he understood.

“Where’s Lori?” she demanded.

Of course. It wasn’t Chuck she wanted. He should have known that.

Chuck glanced over his shoulder. Lori’s seat was still empty.

“I don’t know. Guess she had to go to the bathroom,” he said.

“But she disappeared a half hour ago,” Mom snapped. Chuck had never known Mom could sound so much like Lori. “Didn’t she tell you where she was going?”

Chuck shrugged.

“Come on!” Mom commanded.

She whirled around. It was all Chuck could do to keep up with her.

Outside the huge meeting room, Mom stopped only to ask someone where the nearest bathroom was. For a minute, Chuck was afraid she expected him to follow her in. But when they got to the door of the ladies’ rest room, she gave another command: “Wait here.”

Chuck stood on a rosette in the carpet. He could hear Mom calling through the wall, “Lori? Lori? Lori, are you in here?”

In seconds, Mom was out again.

They tried every bathroom on the main floor of the hotel. Then Mom raced to the front desk, dragging Chuck behind her.

“My daughter is missing,” she all but barked at the man behind the counter. “She’s fourteen. Light brown hair, greenish gray eyes, about five four. She was wearing a blue flowered dress. Ankle length. Have you seen her? Did you see her leave with anybody?”

The man blinked. Mom didn’t even wait for him to answer.

“You have security tapes, don’t you?” she asked. “Your security people will need to review them. Please.”

“Ma’am, calm down,” the man said. “Are you sure you haven’t just missed connections with her? That happens all the time—one person thinks everyone’s meeting back in the room, the other person thinks they’re meeting in the lobby. . . .”

Mom looked quickly at Chuck, then looked away. Chuck understood: Mom had just decided he couldn’t be trusted to go check the room by himself.

“My son and I will go look in our room,” Mom said. “But in the meantime, could you please contact security? Call me. I’ll be in room 1709.”

The elevator ride felt endless. Mom kept biting her lip and looking at Chuck nervously. Chuck didn’t know what to say. When the elevator reached the seventeenth floor, Mom was out the doors before they were completely open. By the time Chuck caught up with her, she’d already zipped in and out of the room.

“She’s not there,” Mom said. All the color was gone from her face. “I’m going back downstairs. Call me at the front desk if Lori shows up. And no matter what you do, don’t leave.”

Mom disappeared down the hall.

Chuck stood at the door, left behind.

He backed up until he was sitting on the bed. He watched the door glide toward the doorframe, and stop. And then, even though nothing moved, nothing changed, he kept watching that door, memorizing every shadow and groove, as if that could help find Lori.





Lori heard the elevator ding. She fought to regain her self-control—all she had to do was keep her sobs silent until whoever was getting on or off the elevator passed by and out of earshot. She’d found the perfect place for crying: a little alcove around the corner from the elevator on the seventeenth floor. She was thoroughly hidden by a huge, fake potted plant. And as long as Lori didn’t make any noise, nobody would turn this way, because all the rooms were in the other direction.

Lori had managed to keep quiet through three elevator arrivals and departures already. She was terrified that someone—a kindly bellhop, a curious maid—might discover her and try to comfort her. Lori didn’t want to be comforted. She wanted to cry and cry and cry, wail and scream, until she could face Mom and Chuck (and hundreds of bankers?) again.

All she had to do was wait a minute or two, and then she could go back to sobbing. . . .

Lori listened for the elevator to leave. She could feel the wails building inside her. Even though she had her lips clamped tightly together, a moan escaped.

Footsteps came toward her, muffled by the thick carpet.

“Lori? Oh, Lori!”

It was Mom. She held out her arms like she expected Lori to do some Prodigal Son routine, throwing herself at Mom and begging forgiveness.

Except Lori hadn’t done anything wrong. Everything was Mom’s fault.

Lori didn’t budge.

“Where have you been?” Mom asked.

“Here.” Lori sniffed. She would have said more, but her throat betrayed her, closing over and choking out all Lori’s words. Lori knew just how she looked: red eyed, runny nosed, tear streaked. It wasn’t fair. Mom still looked great.