Janie Face to Face

CHAPTER FIVE




The most wonderful weekend of Janie Johnson’s life was coming to a close.

Janie prayed for something to delay the moment Reeve dropped her at the airport. Traffic jams! Snow! Although here in North Carolina, it was eighty-four degrees.

She wanted to cry, “Let’s change the ticket, Reeve! I don’t have to fly out Sunday afternoon! I can leave tomorrow morning!”

But she could feel Reeve turning toward work, thinking of Monday. All weekend, Reeve had talked about his job. In high school and college, Reeve had struggled. School didn’t delight him and sometimes defeated him. But he had landed this dream job with ESPNU, and in real life—as he called work—Reeve excelled.

Janie was here because she did not excel at real life. Reeve had rescued her, but he always had. No surprise there.

She felt as if she had met him all over again. The good, solid Reeve, whose love had been steady. She had met herself, too—a person who could revel in what she knew about Reeve. Everything, really.

Janie sat squarely in the front passenger seat of Reeve’s car, feet on the floor, shoulders restrained. On the other side of the cup holders and gears, Reeve’s seat belt kept him upright and distant.

This was how they would part: neatly and safely.

When he pulled up to the terminal, she would release her belt and lean sideways to deposit a good-bye kiss on his cheek. Reeve would not release his seat belt, but just kiss her back, his fingers still on the wheel. He would wait until she was inside the terminal before he sped off. In half an hour, he would be at the job he loved and Janie Johnson would become a person he texted now and then.

I will not cry, Janie told herself. Reeve bought my plane ticket. He gave me every minute of a perfect weekend. I will give him my best smile so we can separate easily and he can get on with his life.

She distracted herself by thinking about his tiny apartment. She had felt so domestic there, wanting to furnish it and buy better towels and stock the kitchen.

Unlike New York City airports, which you only reached after driving forever in ghastly traffic, crossing bridges, and paying tolls, the Charlotte airport was right here. In only a moment, Reeve was turning into the Departures lane.

She stole a glance at him. He was frowning slightly. She had a sense that Reeve was on the cusp of something important, something he had chosen not to share with her.

Janie swallowed hard. She was simply going back to an exam at college, but he was moving on. She wanted to fling her arms around him, tell him that she loved him madly, trusted him wholly, never wanted to leave.

No.

A simple smile was best.

At the door she would turn and blow him another kiss.

But what if she turned, fingers lifted, and he was already driving away?

No.

She would not turn back.


Reeve Shields did not think anybody on earth was as lucky as he was: production assistant in an ESPN office that concentrated on college sports. It didn’t get any better. Even when it was hard, Reeve’s job wasn’t work. It was joy.

Of course, they didn’t pay much for a job that everybody else in the world wanted too. Reeve didn’t care. Renting a tiny apartment in Charlotte, North Carolina, was not expensive. His at-home entertainment was just to watch more sports on TV, or else go to a sports bar and then talk about those games with everybody else in the office the next day. Every day he learned something. Reeve had never been all that fond of learning something, or even anything. It was a treat to find himself galloping into work every morning, eager to learn more.

It was no forty-hour week, either. It was usually sixty. Sometimes eighty.

He’d had Janie since Friday afternoon. Almost forty-eight hours. Perfect hours, but it felt as if he hadn’t been in the office in months.

They reached the airport in no time.

He wasn’t ready.

He had thought he would be eager to put her on the plane. He would forget her the minute she was out of sight, drive straight to the office in Ballantyne, spend Sunday evening catching up. But he was swamped by an emotion he had not expected. His mouth was dry. His heart was racing.

No wonder that smooth New York City graduate student had pretended to be dating Janie instead of admitting he was researching her. Who wouldn’t lie in order to stay in Janie’s life? Janie turned down all interviews from all people, up to and including the FBI, so Calvin Vinesett had probably told this guy Michael to weasel his way into Janie’s life.

Reeve was proud of himself. He hadn’t even demanded the guy’s last name or address so he could go kill him, which the guy deserved.

Reeve considered a bigger problem. Michael was history, but Janie had two more years of college, where she would be surrounded by guys more intelligent and more interesting than Reeve, and she’d pick one. How often were Janie and Reeve going to see each other? Not often enough.

“You can just drop me off,” said Janie, her eyes on the signs, looking for her airline.

Reeve shot into short-term parking instead. It was such a small airport that Reeve could park only steps from the terminal. “We’re early. We can spend another minute together.” He found a space and turned off the engine. He reached for Janie’s bag, which they had gotten at the mall when they were buying her clothing for the weekend. But she had already retrieved it, and was slinging the slim, dark red canvas tote over her shoulder.

I can’t even carry something for her, he thought.

He circled the car and could not even take her hand, because she was patting her stuff, the way travelers did, reassuring herself that she had her purse, her ID, her sunglasses, and her cell phone.

Heat slammed down on them when they left the shade of the parking garage. Moments later came the icy shock of the air-conditioned terminal.

Departures were on the upper level. Reeve knew that Janie would take the stairs, not the escalator. For her, the hard part of flying was sitting still. She liked to stretch her legs before the prison of the airplane.

Her perfect legs, he thought.

Charlotte to New York was only an hour and a half. She wouldn’t suffer much.

I’m the one who will suffer. I’ll be alone.

He had not previously noticed that he lived alone. Now he was grateful he could return to the office instead of his silent, partially furnished little apartment.


Since she had checked in online, and had no luggage, Janie had nothing to do upstairs except go through security. Reeve wanted to talk, but Janie had gotten through this weekend without a tear. In fact, they had done nothing but laugh and love. She refused to break down now.

They stared at each other for one helpless emotional moment, and then kissed lightly, as if they had recently met and were mildly fond of each other.

Reeve stayed where he was.

Janie got in line.

There were dozens of people, the line curving back and forth in divisions marked by stretched ropes. When she looked at Reeve, her heart clutched. What am I panicking about? she asked herself. Michael’s not going to bother me again. Yes, he’s still in the city. Yes, I’m going back where he slimes around, like a slug in a garden, smearing my life. But Michael is history. He isn’t worth panic.

She could not settle her lungs. They fluttered.

She could not still her heart. It banged.

The line moved. She was halfway to the TSA official who would check her ID.

I’m panicking because I’m not going to see Reeve again for ages. Because he’s perfect, and perfect guys don’t just sit quietly in front of their televisions watching ball games. They get snagged by perfect girls.

She set her jaw and blinked back the wetness in her eyes. She could not ruin this weekend by sobbing.

When she turned to wave, Reeve did not wave back. He just stood there. Oh, but he was the handsomest thing on earth. He was perfect.

Well, no, not perfect. Reeve had his flaws. Janie knew them well. He had worked past some of them, and others he had outgrown.

He seemed so much older. A good job and responsibility had made him grow up, as if adding inches. He was taller and leaner and straighter.

“I love you,” she said softly, and although he could not hear in the hubbub of the airport, he should have been able to read her lips.

But he barely nodded.


Reeve had spent a lot of time this weekend running his fingers through Janie’s beautiful red-gold hair. Her hair had darkened, no longer vivid auburn but a deeper color, and she too was deeper; little Janie was gone. He would see the old Janie now only in photographs. This was a woman, and in some ways, he knew her better than anybody, but in other ways, Janie was still a mystery.

I love you, she said soundlessly.

Around her, families and businesspeople, conventioneers and tourists, children and wheelchairs moved slowly forward, everybody holding their hand luggage and their identification. Reeve shifted position so he could still see her. All that was left to him was a few minutes before she walked past the guards and vanished from his sight. “Janie?” he said.

His voice was drowned out by loud airport announcements, the talk and phone calls around her, a sobbing baby, and a wildly laughing trio of travelers.

“Janie!” he repeated loudly.


Janie had heard him the first time. She steadied herself so that she didn’t leap over the carry-ons, shove the guards out of the way, and land on top of Reeve. When she could face him without excess emotion, she gave him a controlled smile.

“Janie?” he called, edging closer.

A guard frowned slightly.

Reeve was probably going to ask her to visit again one day soon and she was certainly going to say yes. She smiled for real, no holding back.

But Reeve Shields did not ask her to visit.

Across the bodies and the luggage of strangers, Reeve Shields yelled, “Janie! Will you marry me?”

The whole long line turned. Businessmen in suits turned. Businesswomen in pencil skirts, tired fathers and irritated mothers, a tour group of fat elderly women in sweat suits, Indians in saris, and salesmen with cases turned. Teenagers turned and ticket agents turned.

Travel tension vanished.

The crowd waited for Janie’s answer, and their smiles waited too. Even the guards waited.

Marry! thought Janie. Marry this boy? But he’s a man now. He’s three years older than I am, and I am twenty.

Marriage.

More than a thousand times she had thought about marrying Reeve Shields.

But people her age didn’t get married.

They lived together.

How incredible and wonderful that Reeve had asked her to marry him.

Reeve, who had stood beside her through so many episodes of the long sad kidnap drama. Reeve, who had betrayed her as much as anybody.

She thought of every reason to get married and every reason not to.

A hundred travelers held their breath.

Reeve held out his arms.

Janie held out hers.

Yes! thought Reeve, giddy with joy. She’s going to say yes!

“Yes,” said Janie Johnson softly. And then she yelled, “Yes, yes, and yes!”

A guard released the rope that kept the passengers winding toward the security X-rays. Janie ran to Reeve and he wrapped his arms around the girl he wanted forever. The entire line clapped and cheered and one man gave that splendid arena-filling whistle of appreciation.

Reeve never wanted to stop kissing her but he did, and he said, “Let’s get married now. Move here with me. Finish college here. I miss you already. I want to be together.”

Get married now?

Impossible.

Janie had two more years of college.

And she wanted a real wedding; the kind that takes months to plan. People couldn’t show up for a wedding now. If they got married now, her mother would kill her.

Which mother? thought Janie, her face buried against Reeve’s shoulder. Which mother will be my mother for a wedding? Which father will be my father?

“Wedding” was such a beautiful word, full of silk and white veils, flowers and long aisles, trumpets and church. Friends and family. But the wedding of Janie Johnson, aka Jennie Spring, might be a little too full.

If we marry now, thought Janie, I get to live far away from both sets of parents. I will not have to juggle both sets. I will not have to deal with my Johnson parents.

She loved the Johnsons. She understood. She forgave. But remembering what her Johnson father had done could still leave her trembling with anger and hurt. Was it right to get married just to solve family problems? Maybe it was an excellent reason. Maybe it was no reason.

If we marry now, I will be hundreds of miles from Calvin Vinesett and his hired stalkers, who can write nothing without me, because it’s my story. Is running away from a problem a reason to get married?

She thought of Reeve’s tiny rooms and his three pieces of furniture. The apartment would be hers, and she had always wanted to decorate her own place. Reeve would think anything she did was perfect. Was it right to get married just so she could paint a living room?

She was deafened by the clapping and calling and whistling of the crowd. Sort of a prewedding reception.

Reeve whispered, “I’ll get us two puppies. You can call them Denim and Lace.”

When she was in middle school, Janie had wanted to have twin daughters someday whom she would name Denim and Lace. Later on, of course, she knew that if she really did name her little girls that, they would sue her for bad parenting and call themselves Emily and Ashley instead.

Janie certainly wanted children. As many kids as her New Jersey family. But not now. She hadn’t figured out how to take care of herself yet, never mind babies. And puppies were babies. Perhaps Reeve wanted to marry her so that there would be somebody home to walk the dogs.

It made her laugh.

Laughter was good. It broke tears. “When exactly is ‘now’?” she asked.

“How about the Fourth of July? Because this deserves fireworks,” said Reeve.

“That’s six weeks. Do weddings come together in six weeks?”

“My sister’s wedding and my brother’s wedding each took a year of planning. Let’s not have that kind of wedding. Let’s just race down the aisle, say I do, and run off together.”

Janie and Sarah-Charlotte had passed many an hour planning their weddings, leafing through brides’ magazines and designing invitations. And now it was here, and Reeve just wanted to race down the aisle.

“That,” said Janie, “is the best wedding gift I will ever have. My guy just wants to race down the aisle and shout yes.”

They sealed it with a kiss.

“Ma’am?” said a guard courteously.

Janie had never been addressed as “ma’am.” Had she aged a couple of decades just because somebody proposed marriage?

“I don’t want to interrupt your whole future, ma’am,” he said, “but when does your plane leave? The other passengers are holding your place in line.”

Janie let go of Reeve. She backed into the line.

There were final cheers from the audience. Several people yelled, “Give me your cell phone number! I took pictures!”

“I took a video,” yelled somebody else. “Tell me where to send it.”

Janie never told anybody anything, but Reeve shouted out his cell phone number and everybody who had taken pictures on a cell phone got busy.

In a moment, Janie was holding out her driver’s license to be matched to her plane ticket. The license read Jane Johnson, which was not in fact her name. Had never been her name. It was just the name she used.

Who, exactly, will race down the aisle and say yes? Janie wondered. Somebody named Janie Johnson, who doesn’t exist? Or somebody named Jennie Spring, who was kidnapped, vanished, and has only partly emerged?

Now I never have to decide! I will be Mrs. Reeve Shields instead.

“Congratulations,” said another agent. “Take your shoes off, please.”


Janie was out of sight.

Reeve shook hands with total strangers and got hugs from women crying “That made my day!” and posed with tourists who wanted the picture for their scrapbooks.

He opened his iPhone. His witnesses vanished along with Janie, past the X-rays and into the airport, but their photos and videos were already his. Reeve opened the pictures of himself and Janie and watched the video.

It was good that he had these.

Without proof, Reeve would never believe that he had actually asked Janie Johnson to marry him, let alone that she had said yes.

He emailed the photographs and video to Janie. She was at the gate, she texted back, surrounded by well-wishers.

Reeve sat on a metal bench and emailed practically everybody whose number was stored on his phone. He didn’t write any messages. He attached the pictures and let them speak for themselves.

Then he uploaded everything to Facebook.

Then he watched his video again.

Janie was still saying yes.





THE SIXTH PIECE OF THE KIDNAPPER’S PUZZLE




In the trailer where she was living at the time, Hannah followed the milk carton story, glued to the news and talk shows on her little television. She even bought newspapers, especially ones with tall fat headlines, and scoured each article. They all referred to the Jennie/Janie as a “victim.” It was so annoying. The little girl had never protested! She had been perfectly happy to eat the ice cream Hannah had bought for her. Hannah was the victim! One afternoon taking a kid for a ride had led to a ruined life!

But the talk shows were stymied. Even though every professional and amateur psychologist out there had opinions, nobody in either family would give interviews. The New Jersey mother and father said things like “We’re confident everything will work out.” Hannah’s own mother and father were cowards; they turned their faces from the cameras and wore sunglasses.

Hannah could not get over that Frank and Miranda had believed her so completely. They knew she was a liar. They knew she never bothered with the truth. And yet when it came to this huge thing—an actual living kid—they went and believed her. What was up with pretending to be the Jennie/Janie’s mother and father instead of her grandmother and grandfather? Maybe they wanted another shot at raising a daughter. Maybe they just wanted to fit in at the PTA meetings.

But one thing was for sure: two families were fighting to the finish to keep the Jennie/Janie. Nobody but the police wanted Hannah. In fact, in all the coverage of this case and the custody of the Jennie/Janie, the most important person was hardly ever mentioned.

Just about the only people who mentioned Hannah were the Spring parents. “Stop focusing on us,” they would tell the media. “Find Hannah Javensen.”

It was not healthy to want revenge like that. It was better to understand and forgive than to nurse anger. The whole thing had happened years ago. Hannah had hardly thought about it when it did happen and hardly thought about it after it happened, and anyway, that Jennie/Janie girl was fine.

Hannah came close to calling up some of those reporters. She yearned to tell everything. She would put an end to that “victim” nonsense. She would laugh in her parents’ faces and smirk at those Springs. But satisfying as that might be, it would end in jail. Hannah had done short stretches. She didn’t want a long one.

At the library, she tortured herself by gathering more details. You had to be careful at libraries. Librarians were always leaning over your shoulder. Other patrons liked to gab about their projects, and the librarians followed everybody’s passion and scurried over with some new angle or book. You had to be especially careful when printing something out. They were bound to hover. Hannah had a fat folder with every photograph she had cut from a library newspaper and all the printouts from online sites. She didn’t want any snoopy librarian seeing it.

She liked to study those Spring people. There were so many of them, and they all had red hair. They looked like Easter rabbits dyed for the occasion. Some of them had curly red hair and some of them flat red hair and some of them redder red hair, but they were all healthy and freckled and proud of themselves.

Hannah had been too busy following the news to go to the post office. It had been fun, but now she had to get her money. She was not many blocks away from the branch when it occurred to her that her father would give her up. Now that the FBI knew that the Jennie/Janie wasn’t Frank and Miranda’s daughter and that their actual daughter had driven the Jennie/Janie up from New Jersey, Frank would tell! Frank would save himself, because he had always put himself first, and never Hannah.

Close to the post office, right this very minute, cops were probably hiding in parked cars, slumped behind steering wheels, sipping cold coffee, looking for a slim golden-haired young woman.

But she was smart and they were stupid. She swung away from the post office branch. She would have to go to Denver for a while. But wait! Denver was very close. The police would think of looking in Denver!

She had no choice. She left the state. She was forced to travel a long way. She was forced to steal. The one good thing about all the publicity was that Hannah did not need a library or a television. She could just read the headlines in tabloids.

Nothing happened to her parents. No arrests. No trials.

The weeks became months. She was desperate for money. Shortly before the annual rent on the box was due, Hannah made her way back to Boulder, walked quietly into the post office lobby, and put her key in the lock of the little box—and there lay her checks.

Her father had not turned her in. He was still sending money. It wasn’t because he loved her. It was to buy her off.

She cashed her checks at her old bank and at last managed a nice long visit to a library. She had missed an important episode in the life of the Jennie/Janie. Through the courts, the Spring family had finally gotten their kid—but the Jennie/Janie left them and went back to Hannah’s parents.

Frank and Miranda still wanted these other people’s little girl more than they wanted their own little girl.

If only Hannah could make them suffer the way she had to suffer.