“My parents will know I've been drinking if I go home.”
“You can come to my house,” Emily offered.
Emily's parents were the soundest sleepers.
They both turned to look at Allie, still hoping she'd invite them in.
“I'm sorry,” she said, and she looked so inebriated that Emily laughed and asked her, “Are you sure you can get upstairs?”
“I'm sure! It was great, guys. Thank you.”
They watched her go inside and close the door. As they turned to run the two blocks to Emily's house, Gretchen said, “You think she's mad 'cause of those guys? Because they paid attention to you and me and not to her?”
Emily didn't know about that, but they both felt bad about the way the evening had turned out.
In the morning, Emily and Gretchen felt worse, with ferocious hangovers. They waited a long time to call Allie at her new telephone number, in order to give her plenty of time to sleep in. When they finally agreed they couldn't wait one minute more—at 11:30 A.M.—Gretchen dialed the new number.
She let it ring six times before hanging up.
“She's already gone out, I guess.”
“Or she's in the shower.”
“Or she's mad and she's not speaking to us.”
“Allie wouldn't do that, would she?”
“I didn't even get her answering machine.”
“That's weird. Why didn't it pick up?”
Gretchen shrugged. “I don't know, but I'm starved. Can we fix some breakfast? Do you think your mom would mind?” When Emily indicated that would be okay, her friend suggested, “Bring the phone, Em.”
All through breakfast they called, and beyond that.
But they never did reach their friend.
In the little house on Thirty-seventh Street, where Allison's parents lived, Ben and Lucy weren't having any luck contacting their daughter, either. Over a period of ten hours, Lucy's feelings changed from hurt to annoyance, and then to fear, and finally to a sickening terror.
“Her very first whole day on her own and she doesn't call us,” Lucy complained on the night when Allie was out celebrating with her friends. After leaving the cake, Lucy waited and waited to hear from the daughter who had promised to call her mother every day. “This is a poor way to start a new life, I must say.”
“You want me to go over and check on her?” Ben asked.
“No, I'll call her myself.”
“She won't like it.”
“Well, she'd better get used to it, or remember to call me.”
But when Lucy called, she didn't get any answer, because Allison, Emily and Gretchen were down at the Marina, giggling, drinking beer, and working up the nerve to flirt with guys.
Finally, around midnight, Lucy insisted that Ben drive herby the Hibiscus address, so they could see if there were any lights on in Allie's room. From the street down below, they saw that their daughter's apartment was dark. Lucy jumped out of the car and left a note in a prominent place on the backdoor where the tenants let themselves in: “For A.Tobias,” it said on the front, because Lucy didn't want to give away any signal that a single woman lived there alone. Inside the little folded piece of paper was a note that said: “Call us when you get in, no matter how late it is! Love, Mom & Dad.”
The telephone in their home never rang that night.
And although Lucy called the new number every hour on the hour all night long, no one ever picked it up. She didn't know what to think, or what to do. This couldn't be right; it wasn't like Allie to be so irresponsible as to fail to call home when she was supposed to. But what if this was just a stupid way of trying to assert her independence; what if she was really there—or if she'd gone to stay at a friend's house—and was just stubbornly refusing to give her mother what she wanted. Or what if she'd brought a boy back to her room—
It would be awful, to walk in there and discover that.
But wouldn't it be worse not to discover that?
How could she help her daughter, and be a good mother, if she didn't know everything that was
“You can come to my house,” Emily offered.
Emily's parents were the soundest sleepers.
They both turned to look at Allie, still hoping she'd invite them in.
“I'm sorry,” she said, and she looked so inebriated that Emily laughed and asked her, “Are you sure you can get upstairs?”
“I'm sure! It was great, guys. Thank you.”
They watched her go inside and close the door. As they turned to run the two blocks to Emily's house, Gretchen said, “You think she's mad 'cause of those guys? Because they paid attention to you and me and not to her?”
Emily didn't know about that, but they both felt bad about the way the evening had turned out.
In the morning, Emily and Gretchen felt worse, with ferocious hangovers. They waited a long time to call Allie at her new telephone number, in order to give her plenty of time to sleep in. When they finally agreed they couldn't wait one minute more—at 11:30 A.M.—Gretchen dialed the new number.
She let it ring six times before hanging up.
“She's already gone out, I guess.”
“Or she's in the shower.”
“Or she's mad and she's not speaking to us.”
“Allie wouldn't do that, would she?”
“I didn't even get her answering machine.”
“That's weird. Why didn't it pick up?”
Gretchen shrugged. “I don't know, but I'm starved. Can we fix some breakfast? Do you think your mom would mind?” When Emily indicated that would be okay, her friend suggested, “Bring the phone, Em.”
All through breakfast they called, and beyond that.
But they never did reach their friend.
In the little house on Thirty-seventh Street, where Allison's parents lived, Ben and Lucy weren't having any luck contacting their daughter, either. Over a period of ten hours, Lucy's feelings changed from hurt to annoyance, and then to fear, and finally to a sickening terror.
“Her very first whole day on her own and she doesn't call us,” Lucy complained on the night when Allie was out celebrating with her friends. After leaving the cake, Lucy waited and waited to hear from the daughter who had promised to call her mother every day. “This is a poor way to start a new life, I must say.”
“You want me to go over and check on her?” Ben asked.
“No, I'll call her myself.”
“She won't like it.”
“Well, she'd better get used to it, or remember to call me.”
But when Lucy called, she didn't get any answer, because Allison, Emily and Gretchen were down at the Marina, giggling, drinking beer, and working up the nerve to flirt with guys.
Finally, around midnight, Lucy insisted that Ben drive herby the Hibiscus address, so they could see if there were any lights on in Allie's room. From the street down below, they saw that their daughter's apartment was dark. Lucy jumped out of the car and left a note in a prominent place on the backdoor where the tenants let themselves in: “For A.Tobias,” it said on the front, because Lucy didn't want to give away any signal that a single woman lived there alone. Inside the little folded piece of paper was a note that said: “Call us when you get in, no matter how late it is! Love, Mom & Dad.”
The telephone in their home never rang that night.
And although Lucy called the new number every hour on the hour all night long, no one ever picked it up. She didn't know what to think, or what to do. This couldn't be right; it wasn't like Allie to be so irresponsible as to fail to call home when she was supposed to. But what if this was just a stupid way of trying to assert her independence; what if she was really there—or if she'd gone to stay at a friend's house—and was just stubbornly refusing to give her mother what she wanted. Or what if she'd brought a boy back to her room—
It would be awful, to walk in there and discover that.
But wouldn't it be worse not to discover that?
How could she help her daughter, and be a good mother, if she didn't know everything that was
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