The Voice on the Radio Read Free Page B

instinctively that Janie’s story must be told slowly, in a rhythm of confusing omissions, so that people wanted more. It had to be the same puzzling nightmare that it had been for Janie.
    “So it’s
you
on that milk carton.
You are a missing person
,” breathed Reeve.
    The mike ate his words, hungered for more.
    “Around you, everything is ordinary. People are still having Jell-O and sitting two to a chair. But your life just switched channels.”
    Now Reeve’s mind was crammed with a whole library of radio time. Janie Johnson was a story to tell forever.
    “What does
missing
mean?” asked Reeve. His eyes were fixed on the fat, gray mike. His fingers teased the adjustable arm, making friends with it, getting safe. “Does
missing
mean
lost
? Does it mean
run away
? Or does it mean…
kidnapped
?”
    Janie and her two families had never given interviews.
    Not once.
    Not to anybody.
    Reeve, and Reeve alone, knew both sides completely; knew more than Janie, really, because his parents had talked to Janie’s parents and to the police, back when Janie was still too horrified to hear or see or listen.
    “Of course,” said Reeve, dragging his voice like a net to catch listeners, “the question is—
now what
? Because you love your parents. If you tell anybody you think you were kidnapped, well—think about it. Think about the media. The police. Your family would be destroyed. If these grown-ups you call Mommy and Daddy are really your kidnappers, and if you turn them in, you’ll send your own parents to prison.”
    Two beats of silence. Then a lowering of the voice. “But if you don’t tell…
what about that other family
? Still out there? Still worrying, after all these years?”
    Derek was staring, a pencil dangling in his hand. Vinnie’s mouth was half open, like a little kid at story hour. Cal was tilting back apprehensively, to get away from the idea that the family you love must have kidnapped you.
    I have an audience, thought Reeve.
    It was a hot, winning feel: like hitting the ball out of the stadium when the bases were loaded.
    I can do this, thought Reeve. I’m good at it.
    To the audience he could not see—might not even have—he repeated, “
Now what
?”

CHAPTER
TWO
    Sarah-Charlotte needed to know exactly what wardrobe Janie was taking for her next visit back to New Jersey.
    “It doesn’t matter,” Janie pointed out. She didn’t feel like discussing the impending visit, especially because she wasn’t going down there; they were coming here. With Sarah-Charlotte, Janie would find herself creating and keeping secrets there was no point in having. “I’ve gone back before,” she told Sarah-Charlotte carelessly, “they’re used to me, and anyway, they know my whole wardrobe from when I lived there, so it’s no big deal.”
    “Clothing is always a big deal,” said Sarah-Charlotte crossly. “Don’t tell me you’re becoming one of these annoying people who pretends fashion doesn’t matter.”
    Janie giggled. It was an all-purpose, change-the-subject giggle. “You know what? I care so much about fashion I just bought a new Barbie I didn’t have.”
    Janie flung herself over the edge of the bed, and Sarah-Charlotte held her ankles while Janie groped around under the starched lace skirt. She yanked on the handle of her Barbie suitcase. They sprung the locks and took out the new purchase. Barbie on a High Stepper Horse. A palomino with even better hair than Barbie. Janie began to braid the horse’s hair.
    “When I was eight, I would have killed for this,” said Sarah-Charlotte. She picked out the flexible gymnastics Barbie and began to dress her as a Pizza Hut waitress. “Why don’t you go visit Reeve?” she said. “Wouldn’t it be fun to stay in his dorm?”
    Janie was feeling flimsy. She did not want to talk about Reeve. Boston seemed as distant as Tibet, and the college life that Reeve led as strange and unknown as the Himalayas. “
My
parents? Allow me to travel to Boston