“It’s twelve-fifty when Jenna enters her apartment building. This I know for certain because I’m standing on the sidewalk looking at the time, trying to decide if Lynne, running late, would have gone to my dad’s place expecting to find me there, or if Lynne’s more likely at her parents’, thinking it’s too late to go out on her own, waiting for me to show up so she can tell me all about her big night. As her boyfriend, this is a serious problem, a real dilemma. If I text her, ask where she is, I’m saying I can’t even figure out her mind on such a matter.
“So I walk over to Lynne’s. But she’s not home—she turns on the desk lamp in her room to let me know she’s there. I reverse course and head home. Pop’s asleep. Lynne isn’t there either. She knows where the spare key is so she makes herself comfortable in the living room if I’m running late. Now I’m just plain worried. At one-fifteen I finally send a text and get one back saying I’m busy. In Lynne’s shorthand that means her hands are full, she’s doing something physical, and literally can’t type right now.”
Jim smiled at a memory. “Lynne’s never done passive-aggressive in her life. When she’s mad and doesn’t want to talk with you, the text says I don’t want to talk to you. I’m mad about . . . and you get the ‘why’ full barrel. So I plop down on my dad’s couch and wait for Lynne to tell me where she is. Two hours and ten minutes later, she sends a text that says It works! Maggie’s a Genius! But she still doesn’t tell me where she is. It’s becoming that kind of night. I text her back an all-caps WHERE ARE YOU? so I can get an actual call.
“Turns out she’s writing songs, trying out Maggie’s advice. She’s at the twenty-four-hour FitClub, using one of their stair climbers. She’d done the treadmill, but running and thinking music was too involved. Free weights did better, but she thought steps might be the best. I won’t tell you all the details she laid out in that call, but Lynne had turned Maggie’s advice for how to write songs into her own method, and she’s jazzed.” He stopped for a moment, gave Evie a quizzical look. “I can do an edited version if this is too boring.”
Evie chuckled. “No, no, Jim—having met Lynne, if you weren’t giving me these details, it wouldn’t be her and I’d wonder what you were fabricating. I appreciate the playback.”
“Okay, so we finally end up over at a friend’s house at four a.m. Lynne gives me the entire blow-by-blow of her night, shows me the lyrics she’s already written while we help stuff circulars into the Saturday newspaper and slip on the rubber bands. Laura Pip’s a teacher we’ve both known since grade school, she delivers Saturday and Sunday papers for extra money, and we help her prep when we can. Lynne talked nonstop from the time we met up until I walked her home for a seven a.m. breakfast with her folks.”
Jim shifted in the chair, and his voice took on a more matter-of-fact tone. “The crisis of the night averted, Lynne safely home and happy, I walked myself back, absolutely wiped, and hit the bed face-first. I worked two to midnight that Saturday, noon to midnight Sunday, and then I hear the news Jenna is missing Monday afternoon about three. It was my day off and I was painting a friend’s garage to pick up some extra money. I packed up my stuff, got over to the apartment building shortly after four, found Jenna’s friend Robin organizing a flyer distribution. Lynne’s already out with a stack in her hands, papering every business window on her way toward the Music Hall. I mostly just walked with her, since Lynne was panicked and sounding desperate—like her dad. Letting her do it herself was probably better for her, I figured. We were out until one a.m. and on it again the next morning at six. I hung around Lynne nearly twenty-four seven those first few days, so her mom didn’t have to worry about her.”
He went to light another cigarette, needing something in his hands, Evie decided, as he mostly ignored it once lit.
“Lynne told me she’d heard the last thing Jenna did was send a text to her mom saying she was back at the apartment. I assumed that text was sent after I saw her walk into the building. It was weeks before I heard the time on that text, realized it was sent before midnight, before Jenna came to the coffee shop. By then it had also become clear this wasn’t a casual mix-up or accident; someone had likely done her harm.” He gave a long sigh. “And with a swarm of cops looking in every corner, I took the coward’s way out, didn’t raise my hand.”
Jim stopped talking, but Evie knew the value of silence and simply waited.