heart. Thetriplets each had their own special way of speaking, but their voices sounded so alike.
Both parents avoided Jackie’s question.
“Let’s go downstairs and get a snack, Jackie,” Katie suggested as she and Scott climbed out of bed.
Lucy turned up the volume of the television as the three of them came downstairs. “Here you are,” she said, “on TV. With all the commotion outside, I can hardly hear anything.” She pointed to the throngs of reporters staking out their ground, congesting access to the residential community. “I want to keep the door open for the spring air, but it’s so noisy out there.”
All the Jones and Monroe relatives gathered in the living room paused, silent, as Katie and Scott and Jackie joined them just in time to watch the televised appeal.
“Mommy, you did good on TV and, Daddy, your voice sounded so loud,” Jackie said after the reporter repeated the hotline phone number and Web site and the video cut to footage outside Lucy’s house. She walked over to the window. “Why don’t all those people just go away?”
Scott blinked away a tear. How long had it been since any of the girls had called Katie “mommy” and him “daddy”? For years it had been just “Mom” and “Dad.”
“They all want to find Alex and Sammie,” Lucy said, patting Jackie’s head. “They don’t seem to be stopping my neighbors from bringing over all that food. How are we ever going to eat all this?” Lucy drew Jackie over to a table laden with casseroles, cakes, pies, cookies, and pitchers of lemonade.
“Katie, I wish you’d let Jackie come home with us.” Sharon joined Jackie at the window, putting her arm around her niece. “She could practice piano, swim in the pool, play tennis, get her mind off —”
“Thanks,” Katie said. “but I think it’s best if we all stay here. We’re closer to the mall, should we get word —”
All the while the talking head on the TV kept going on and on about the Monroe triplets, Jackie, who was safe, Alex and Sammie who were missing.
“You want me to turn that off?” Lucy asked. “Or change channels?”
“It’s okay, Lucy,” Scott said, getting up to turn down the volume.
The story of the two missing triplets dominated the TV news, talk TV, sports TV, and the radio. At first Scott and Katie had tried to shield Jackie from the most dire of scenarios as channels out-hyped each other. Kidnapping “experts” filled the airwaves, titillated by the lack of a ransom note, the looming threat of racial prejudice, their Aunt Monica — an idol among music fans — Scott’s baseball notoriety, Katie’s work with the sleaze of society, the rarity of identical triplets, and the biology of such, and the fact that the three little girls were simply adorable. The fact that four-year-old Madeleine McCann had not yet been found. That the parents had been suspects, and that the mother’s name was Kate.
“All that talk mobilizes volunteers.” Scott nodded at the flickering screen.
“Lots of people are looking. Right, Dad?”
“Yes,” said Scott, taking Jackie’s hand as a collage of his daughters danced across the screen. He wondered where all those images had come from. The triplets as infants, the triplets in white First Communion dresses, the triplets in their parochial school uniform, the triplets playing baseball. Their little friends had been interviewed, playing into the reporters’ hands as they described the three distinct personalities. Alex: shy, sweet, always in the shadow of the other two. Sammie: aggressive, opinionated, outspoken. Jackie: friendly, helpful, energetic. And endless speculation as to how Jackie, the
safe
child would fare.
How could it be healthy for Jackie to see all this? Yet, how could they keep her away?
“Mom, could I go home with Aunt Sharon?” Jackie had turned her back to the TV and was munching on an oatmeal cookie. “Danielle and I could play Monopoly and do other stuff. We could take some of
Both parents avoided Jackie’s question.
“Let’s go downstairs and get a snack, Jackie,” Katie suggested as she and Scott climbed out of bed.
Lucy turned up the volume of the television as the three of them came downstairs. “Here you are,” she said, “on TV. With all the commotion outside, I can hardly hear anything.” She pointed to the throngs of reporters staking out their ground, congesting access to the residential community. “I want to keep the door open for the spring air, but it’s so noisy out there.”
All the Jones and Monroe relatives gathered in the living room paused, silent, as Katie and Scott and Jackie joined them just in time to watch the televised appeal.
“Mommy, you did good on TV and, Daddy, your voice sounded so loud,” Jackie said after the reporter repeated the hotline phone number and Web site and the video cut to footage outside Lucy’s house. She walked over to the window. “Why don’t all those people just go away?”
Scott blinked away a tear. How long had it been since any of the girls had called Katie “mommy” and him “daddy”? For years it had been just “Mom” and “Dad.”
“They all want to find Alex and Sammie,” Lucy said, patting Jackie’s head. “They don’t seem to be stopping my neighbors from bringing over all that food. How are we ever going to eat all this?” Lucy drew Jackie over to a table laden with casseroles, cakes, pies, cookies, and pitchers of lemonade.
“Katie, I wish you’d let Jackie come home with us.” Sharon joined Jackie at the window, putting her arm around her niece. “She could practice piano, swim in the pool, play tennis, get her mind off —”
“Thanks,” Katie said. “but I think it’s best if we all stay here. We’re closer to the mall, should we get word —”
All the while the talking head on the TV kept going on and on about the Monroe triplets, Jackie, who was safe, Alex and Sammie who were missing.
“You want me to turn that off?” Lucy asked. “Or change channels?”
“It’s okay, Lucy,” Scott said, getting up to turn down the volume.
The story of the two missing triplets dominated the TV news, talk TV, sports TV, and the radio. At first Scott and Katie had tried to shield Jackie from the most dire of scenarios as channels out-hyped each other. Kidnapping “experts” filled the airwaves, titillated by the lack of a ransom note, the looming threat of racial prejudice, their Aunt Monica — an idol among music fans — Scott’s baseball notoriety, Katie’s work with the sleaze of society, the rarity of identical triplets, and the biology of such, and the fact that the three little girls were simply adorable. The fact that four-year-old Madeleine McCann had not yet been found. That the parents had been suspects, and that the mother’s name was Kate.
“All that talk mobilizes volunteers.” Scott nodded at the flickering screen.
“Lots of people are looking. Right, Dad?”
“Yes,” said Scott, taking Jackie’s hand as a collage of his daughters danced across the screen. He wondered where all those images had come from. The triplets as infants, the triplets in white First Communion dresses, the triplets in their parochial school uniform, the triplets playing baseball. Their little friends had been interviewed, playing into the reporters’ hands as they described the three distinct personalities. Alex: shy, sweet, always in the shadow of the other two. Sammie: aggressive, opinionated, outspoken. Jackie: friendly, helpful, energetic. And endless speculation as to how Jackie, the
safe
child would fare.
How could it be healthy for Jackie to see all this? Yet, how could they keep her away?
“Mom, could I go home with Aunt Sharon?” Jackie had turned her back to the TV and was munching on an oatmeal cookie. “Danielle and I could play Monopoly and do other stuff. We could take some of
Similar Books
