Janie Face to Face

CHAPTER SEVEN




On the plane, Janie worked on her to-do list.

Had anybody ever packed so much into a three-day weekend? Tonight, Sunday, she’d be in New Jersey. Tomorrow, Monday, she’d go up to Connecticut, tell those parents, and hurry back to the city for her last final on Tuesday.

She had not studied over the weekend. When the plane landed in Charlotte, she clung to Reeve for a few minutes, and then, as always, the two of them started laughing. For years, that had been the pattern. Janie would tell him the latest (upsetting) news of her history and her families. He would listen. He would lighten her load with a smile. They would kiss. It would recede.

But now her past really would be history.

She would live in a city about which she knew absolutely nothing except that Reeve was there. All difficulty would stay in Connecticut or New Jersey. What a lovely thought.

#2, she wrote. Tell Sarah-Charlotte.

Even in elementary school, they had had such fun planning their weddings, in which they would be each other’s maid of honor. Janie could hardly wait to tell Sarah-Charlotte that it was coming true. She was going to go walk down an aisle and say “I do” to Reeve Shields. Was there time to order bridesmaids’ dresses? Or did Sarah-Charlotte have to bring her own?

She knew what Sarah-Charlotte would think about getting married at twenty. Sarah-Charlotte was always pushing Janie to have ambition. “You could be a brilliant lawyer or a fine doctor or change the world in some significant way,” Sarah-Charlotte would argue. “You shouldn’t plan for some guy to have a life while you tag along.”

“I’ll have a life,” Janie would defend herself. “But I don’t want to be an attorney or a doctor. If I have a career, I want it second, not first. I want a family. One that isn’t broken and kidnapped and hurting. Where nobody is angry or separated or feuding.”

“There aren’t families like that,” Sarah-Charlotte would say.

“I’ll make one. And that’s how I’ll change the world.”

She knew that Sarah-Charlotte would be disappointed by Janie’s choice to marry young. Sarah-Charlotte would feel that Janie was throwing away something important, while Janie felt she was taking on something important.

Janie visualized the inside of a church and the bridesmaids lined up. Eve! Her roommate and best friend at college. Eve had to be in the wedding!

She thought of more details and wrote

#3 bridesmaid gowns

#4 money

Somebody has to pay for this. Of course, I have my inheritance from my grandmother, but it was meant for college. I don’t know what else I can use it for exactly.

She had never asked her real parents for money. She felt timid about asking now. Weddings cost a lot, even last-minute, thrown-together weddings.

A shivery panic rolled over her.

More important than money was how her parents would feel about Reeve. What if they said, “Reeve? The creep on the radio?”

She wanted her brothers and sister to be happy for her too. But she had made a lot of mistakes with her real family. She had not been a rewarding sister or daughter.

If I want my Spring family to love me, she thought, I have to put them first. It doesn’t matter what Sarah-Charlotte and I planned all those years.

The maid of honor has to be my sister, Jodie.


“Siddown,” said Reeve’s boss.

Reeve sat.

Bick leaned back in his chair, which he never did. He was all forward motion, a living projectile, hurling himself into the next project.

Reeve waited.

“ESPN headquarters is in Bristol, Connecticut, Reeve. You’re both from that area. With you getting married now, I was thinking. Would that be better for her? You know—given her situation? Stay near her family? You want me to look into a transfer for you?”

To work at ESPN headquarters. It was a staggering thought. He had not even dreamed of that, because working here was such fun he couldn’t imagine anything better.

But the moment Bick spoke, Reeve knew Janie was partly marrying him because he wasn’t in Connecticut. She could distance herself from both sets of parents and from all confrontations and sorrows of the last few years. Distance was what he had to offer.

“Sir, that’s a great offer. But I love it here. And Janie—maybe a thousand miles is a good thing.”

“It’s a thousand miles?” said his boss.

“It’s seven hundred. Janie calls it a thousand.”

“I guess we won’t hire her to handle stats. Congratulations, Reeve. I’m happy for you. I’ll fix the vacation.”

Reeve made it to his cubicle.

He looked at his watch.

Janie should have landed.

He tried to catch his breath. Maybe I shouldn’t turn the Bristol offer down without talking to Janie first, he thought. If we’re partners in life, we should be partners in decisions.

In his little cube, surrounded by all his stuff, amid a life led completely without Janie, he could not believe they had decided to get married.

With shaky fingers, he called her.

“Hi!” she said excitedly. “I’m off the plane. I’m looking for airport transportation. I’m so excited I don’t think I need a bus. I’ll just levitate home.”

“Janie, did we really decide we’re going to do it?”

“We really did. You panicking?”

“I’m something. I don’t think it’s panic. I think I’m realitying.”

“Oh, totally. Reality is always a shock. All our parents will scream, ‘You’re too young!’ ”

He always felt better when Janie was talking. There was something buoyant and unstoppable about her voice. Some of his younger colleagues rested their elbows on the rim of his cube and grinned at him. He grinned back. “I’m in the office, Janie, so it’s hard to talk. But vacation is arranged, so I hope the church is free on July eighth.”

“What church did you have in mind?” she asked.

“That and most others are your decisions, Janie.”

“Love when that happens. And I love you, too, Reeve. Practice saying Jennie.”

“Jennie,” he said.

They hung up.

He had not told her about the janies. Or the Bristol offer.

I’m like Frank, he thought. I’m planning to hide stuff from her.


Jodie never left her cell phone on because she didn’t want to drain the battery, in case she had no way to charge it again. She went into the little chapel, open to the sky since the earthquake had destroyed the roof. In a terrible way, it was still beautiful. She stood in the shade of a remaining wall so there would be no glare on the screen. She wanted to study the phone’s calendar again and confirm that she had only ten days to go.

She had messages waiting. There was even one from Janie. Janie preferred to text, because it was somewhat removed, a perfect way for a somewhat sister to stay somewhat in touch.

Jodie read that first.

Dear Jodie, Reeve asked me to marry him. Now. We will live in Charlotte. Wedding July 8. Jodie, will you be my maid of honor? Please? Will you be home in time to come shop for the gown? We’ll be shopping in New Jersey. Love love love Janie

Reeve? Jodie had thought that was over.

Jodie had never forgiven Reeve for betraying Janie on the radio. Even though her faith emphasized forgiveness, Jodie found forgiveness an annoyance and hardly ever wanted to participate.

Wow, thought Jodie. Now I have to forgive Reeve. He’s going to be my brother-in-law.

She found herself holding her hands up to the sun and dancing. A wedding! Her little sister in love! And Jodie would be the maid of honor.

Jodie was extra pleased because she knew that Sarah-Charlotte expected to be maid of honor. Jodie would rather hang out with a litter box than Sarah-Charlotte.

Shopping in New Jersey, Janie had written. It was code, the way everything involving Janie was code. It meant Janie was going with Mom—hers and Jodie’s mother—the real mother—to buy that gown. How thrilled Mom would be! Not just because of the fun of wedding gowns, but because she was the mother Janie had chosen.

Janie was always going back and forth between her two families, apparently never realizing that every departure was a slap in her real mother’s face.

Jodie admitted to herself, not for the first time, that she had fled the continental U.S. partly to distance herself from her ambivalence toward the kidnapette.

Kathleen’s word. Jodie had not warmed to Stephen’s girlfriend. But Kathleen had a way of seeing to the center of things. That little syllable “ette” included the spoiled-brat part of Janie Johnson.

Jodie took a break from the amazing text that Janie had sent and opened her other messages. Everybody wanted her to watch the attached video. The video was full of shadows and half faces as a cell phone swung its little eye over a crowd.

There was Reeve—looking as young as ever; definitely not old enough to get married—and there was Janie—as beautiful as ever.

Will you marry me?

Jodie saw Janie stumbling out of the crowd, people parting to let her through, a guard beaming, Janie burying her face against Reeve. It was what every girl on earth wanted—to be loved so much that the man could not bear to part.

It occurred to Jodie that Reeve was not the only one who had betrayed Janie. The minute Nicole told her cousin Vic about Frank sending money to Hannah, it wasn’t a cold case anymore. It would be red hot.

Nice betrayal of your own, Jodie congratulated herself. The FBI will interrogate Janie while she’s trying on wedding gowns. She might even be guilty of a crime for not telling them about the checks. It might be aiding and abetting a criminal. They might charge Janie with something!


How clearly Donna Spring remembered that day five years ago when she had answered the kitchen phone in the old house. It was a rectangular plastic box fastened to the wall and it had a long curly cord you could twirl as you paced the room.

The Springs didn’t even have landlines anymore.

A girlish voice had said to Donna, “Hi. It’s … your daughter. Me. Jennie.”

She remembered how cold and white the telephone had been. She remembered steadying herself on the kitchen counter, whispering, “Jennie?”

In those days, they ate in the kitchen. She remembered how all the faces turned toward her. Her big broad bear of a husband gasped. Petite pixie Jodie’s mouth opened in a silent cry of excitement. Stephen frowned and looked skeptical. Brendan and Brian weren’t listening.

If it happened today, she would have her iPhone, and the missing child would send a photograph of herself, and they would all know instantly that she was one of them. Donna would do the same, and Jennie would have proof that she had called the right number.

Donna still remembered every digit of that old telephone number, the one they had kept year in and year out, hoping for such a call. Knowing in her heart that little Jennie had not had the phone number by memory when she was three, so it was pointless to hope that Jennie at age four or six or eight or fourteen would remember it.

Little Jennie never really came home. Instead they had the difficult, sometimes delightful, infrequent presence of Janie Johnson.

Janie had gotten closer to them during her freshman year in college, and Donna and Jonathan Spring had taken advantage of New Jersey’s excellent access to Manhattan, going into the city to visit Janie a number of times.

The summer between her freshman and sophomore years at college, Janie spent most of each week with her real family. It had been friction-free. They attributed this in part to Janie and Jodie having bedrooms of their own. Neither girl shared well with anyone, but they really hated sharing with each other.

Donna and Jonathan had been busy getting the twins ready for college. Brian was accepted at his long-shot choice. Brendan’s hopes were dashed. Last August, Brendan had been dark, silent, and stomping while Brian was light, laughing, and eager. They took Brian to Harvard first, and Brian hardly noticed when his parents drove away, his excitement was so great. They took Brendan to his school the following week, and Brendan couldn’t wait for his parents to leave either, his humiliation was so great.

Stephen had not come home from Colorado at all last year, and Jodie had been busy planning for a mission year. The trip to Haiti had come through at the last minute, and there was a flurry of paperwork, purchases, and plans.

Janie had been the quiet member of the family.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Donna said one day. “It’s crazy around here. I haven’t spent the time with you I wanted to.”

“This is the best visit I’ve ever had. I feel as if I really know everybody, and I’m happy or sad for them. Proud and hopeful. I helped pack. I was at every send-off. I was just one of the crowd, instead of that annoying interloper.”

“You were never an annoying interloper,” said Donna, although Janie had been that and worse.

And that year, all five of Donna and Jonathan’s children were away from home. The Springs repainted rooms. They took carloads of stuff to Goodwill. They paid humongous tuition bills. Janie’s sophomore year began with a lot of family time, but visits dwindled as her college schedule swept her up. In the spring she began dating somebody, but they knew very little about him.

Donna was afraid that Janie would marry somebody from some distant place. An Australian boy with a ranch in the outback, say. Janie would vanish just when Donna was starting to know her, and they would visit by Skype and say only pleasant things. Her father said to Janie, “Your mother and I want to meet this young man you’re seeing.”

“His name is Michael,” said Janie.

“How about we come into the city and have lunch together? Nothing demanding.”

“Dad, Michael doesn’t know anything about me. It’s so peaceful and serene, to be with a person who doesn’t know anything. He thinks I’m just another pretty girl. I’m scared to have him meet you or Frank and Miranda, because he’ll want explanations. And then it won’t be the same. He’ll be interested in the kidnapping instead of me.”

“You have to tell him sometime,” Jonathan pointed out.

“I know, Dad, but sometime isn’t here yet.”

“Can we meet under false pretenses?” asked Donna.

They had passed a silly pizza dinner planning how to meet Michael without Michael knowing.

Donna was thinking about all these things when her cell phone rang with its Janie code. They had had the children record their own voices and trill their names, instead of having ringtones, so Donna’s phone sang, “It’s Janie-Janie-Janie-Janie-Janie-Janie!”

“Hello, darling. Did you have a nice weekend in Connecticut?”

“Mom, I didn’t spend the whole weekend there after all. I just stayed for lunch on Friday. You won’t believe what happened. Michael followed me onto Metro-North. All of a sudden, he was just there—sitting down next to me. And you won’t believe who Michael turned out to be.”

“A Hungarian prince?”

“That would have been nice. No, he turned out to be a researcher for that true crime writer. Calvin Vinesett. Michael was hired to get information from me.”

“Oh, sweetheart! How slimy!”

“But it turned out perfectly, Mom! I flew down to Charlotte instead. Reeve bought me a ticket. I spent the weekend with him. And guess what! We’re getting married. He proposed! Look on Facebook. You can see the video. He proposed in the airport. The other people in the security line filmed me when I was saying yes.”

Donna Spring was speechless.

“So I’m back from Charlotte. My plane just landed at Kennedy, and I’m taking the airport bus out to New Jersey. Can you pick me up? We can start sorting out wedding details. It’s going to be July eighth with Father John, although I haven’t talked to him yet and I don’t even know if the church is free. And then tomorrow, Monday, I’ll scoot up to Connecticut and tell them.”

Donna was reeling. “July eighth?” she said weakly. “This July eighth? You mean a year from now, don’t you?”

“No. Seven weeks. I think we can pull it off, Mom. And on the plane, I made a decision.”

Donna pulled herself together. I’m the mother, she reminded herself. Janie has to finish college. Reeve is a sweet boy, but they’re way too young. July 8! I can hardly do a load of laundry by July 8!

“My decision is,” said her daughter, “that I will get married as Jennie Spring. Because that’s who I am. I want to say in church, before God and in the presence of my family, that I, Jennie Spring, take thee, Reeve.”

Donna Spring wept. My daughter is home at last. She spoke over the lump in her throat. “I think we can pull it off too, darling. Let’s have the reception in our backyard, because it’s too late to book a hall now.”

“Mom, I can pay for it. I have money from Miranda’s mother.”

Donna’s tears were unstoppable. She was the mother. The Connecticut parent was “Miranda.” “We’ll pay for the first wedding in our family, Janie. You’ll save that money for college, because you are not to drop out. You are just going to enroll in a different school in Charlotte. Right?”

“Sure,” said Janie. “When does Jodie get back? It’s in a couple of weeks, isn’t it? Do you think she’ll be back in time to go wedding gown shopping with us, Mom?”


Stephen had a minute of peace while Kathleen borrowed clothes. Tamped down? he thought. Walled up? Protecting painful spaces?

You bet.

He opened the door to his very small closet while he checked his messages. He took out a shapeless dark linen jacket he had probably never worn, because it didn’t have a single wrinkle. He had a vague feeling this had been a birthday present from some relative. He draped it on his shoulder and thought he looked quite metrosexual with it hanging there, implying that any moment he would transform into a model.

From Haiti, Stephen received a text. Go to Reeve Shields’s Facebook page, Jodie had written.

Reeve had the most impressive Facebook action of anybody Stephen knew. Not only did Reeve have more friends (actual and virtual) than Stephen by a hundred to one, but he was always putting some photo or sports information there, and his friends, riveted by his fabulous job (or at least, his fabulous employer), checked his page constantly.

Reeve was a nice guy, but Stephen did not care what Reeve might post on Facebook.

On the other hand, he didn’t hear from Jodie much, and a person who texted from Haiti was serious.

He went to Facebook.

And there before him were photographs and a video in which Reeve Shields asked Stephen’s little sister to marry him. Their embrace was something out of a movie.

Was Reeve insane? He was twenty-three, with a world-class career ahead of him.

And he wanted to fill up his life with a wife?

They didn’t get more high-maintenance than Janie.

Reeve wouldn’t just be getting a princess.

He’d be getting a kidnap princess, which was the worst kind.

Stephen sure didn’t want Kathleen seeing this. She wasn’t going to get movie-level romance out of Stephen. She wasn’t going to get a proposal, either.

Stephen was watching the video for the third time when the ringtone on his cell announced his mother. She could only be calling about this video. He had a lot more thinking to do before he could talk about this development, but he could not let his mother down. He answered.

All these years, Donna Spring had waited, praying that her baby girl would come home. Even after Janie came home, Stephen’s mother had to go on waiting and praying. And now Stephen heard her voice as it should always have been; the voice Hannah Javensen’s crime had destroyed. “Stephen! Did you see the video? You did? You won’t believe this! Janie’s back from Reeve’s, and she’s staying overnight here! And not only is she going to marry Reeve, she wants to do it here. In our church! With Father John! And Dad will walk her down the aisle. And Jodie will be maid of honor. On July eighth! This very July! On the eighth!”

Stephen didn’t care about any of that. But he choked with joy for his mother.

“You’ll make it, won’t you, Stephen?” she said anxiously. “You’ll be here? I know it’s short notice, but you’ll come? You have to come!”

“I’ll be there,” he said, although the timing was terrible. But that had always been one of his sister’s most notable qualities: the ability to destroy everybody’s daily life.

“Only seven weeks to put a whole wedding together!” she cried happily. “And I have a hundred people to call!”

“I’ll let you get started,” said Stephen.

His mother had stepped out of the years of pain, which he was unfair to blame on Janie, because the blame rested solely and squarely with Hannah Javensen.

I will work with the researcher, he decided. Any chance to bring Hannah Javensen down is worth it. And if Kathleen or anybody else is giving material to the author, so what?

I want that book to exist. I want to capture Hannah Javensen. She’s going to pay for how she hurt my mother.


“Janie, you’re calling me before you called your parents?” shrieked Sarah-Charlotte.

“Well, I told my New Jersey parents. Frank and Miranda don’t go online much. They don’t use Facebook. They’re not going to check Reeve’s site. They don’t live next door to Reeve’s parents anymore either. So my New Jersey parents are meeting me here at the airport bus drop. I’ll spend the night with them, and then Mom’s loaning me her car to go to Connecticut so I can tell Frank and Miranda in person.”

“And you’ve really and truly set a date only seven weeks away? What’s the rush?”

“Reeve doesn’t want to be apart.”

“You could live together and have the wedding next year.”

“I don’t want to,” said Janie. “I want to make those promises. For better or for worse. For richer or for poorer. In sickness and in health. I want to be just like my real parents, and Reeve’s real parents, and my other parents.”

This isn’t pretend, thought Sarah-Charlotte. We’re not seventh graders, lying on the floor cutting pictures out of brides’ magazines.

“I want to say those vows in front of God and my family and I want to say them as the person I really am. No more pretending. I will really be Jennie Spring when I walk down the aisle and I will really be Jennie Shields when I walk back out.”

“I don’t know if I can call you Jennie,” said Sarah-Charlotte. “Let me try it on for size. Jennie? Nope. Doesn’t work for me. Jennie is somebody else.”

“You are absolutely right,” said Janie. “Jennie has always been somebody else. I never let Jennie come back. Today’s the day.”

Seven weeks, thought Sarah-Charlotte. How on earth are we going to choose, order, and receive my maid of honor gown that fast? With me in Boston and the action in New Jersey?

Janie’s voice changed, as if she were turning into Jennie Spring during this very conversation. “Sarah-Charlotte?” she said, in that asking voice; the one that comes before bad news. “You’re my best friend. No one will ever be as good a friend. But a wedding is a profound thing.”

I’m not in the wedding, thought Sarah-Charlotte.

It hurt so much she couldn’t breathe.

“Now that I’m Jennie Spring,” said Janie, “I have to have my sister, Jodie, as my maid of honor.”

This is what it is to grow up. In one minute, it all changes and you can’t use your childhood plans. “Of course,” said Sarah-Charlotte.

“And you’ll be one of my bridesmaids? Please? Will you accept being a bridesmaid?”

“Oh, Janie, you know there’s nothing I want more!”

“And I just thought of it this second, but it’s also Reeve’s wedding! I totally forgot. He has two sisters and a sister-in-law. Maybe they have to be in the wedding.”

The girls were giggling now.

Sarah-Charlotte said, “Have you ever even met the sister-in-law?”

“Yes. But I forgot her instantly. I’m sure she’s a fine person.”

“Do you think she’s a fine person who’s going to be free in seven weeks? Perhaps she’s a fine person with a commitment. That’s what happens when you jam a whole wedding into a minute.”

“Sarah-Charlotte, the bus is taking the exit. I can see my dad. He’s standing next to his car. He’s jumping up and down! He’s blowing me kisses! Oh, good! At least one person thinks my wedding is great.”

“Then quick, we have to plan the bridal shower. I’m giving it. It’ll be in Connecticut. I’m already thinking of the theme and the colors.”

“Everybody’s scattered all over the country,” said Janie doubtfully.

“Planes? Come across one lately? Got a marriage proposal while waiting for one lately? Think your high school friends are bright enough to board one?”

“But who would come to a shower? They have to fly to the wedding, which matters more.”

“Everybody will come. People will drive all night or hock their ten-speeds for plane tickets. I’ll call Katrina and Adair and you’ll bring Jodie and your New Jersey mother and you’ll send me a list right now of your girlfriends at college. I only know about Eve and Rachel and Mikayla. What kind of stuff do you want for your shower? What does Reeve already have?”

“Reeve has some plastic forks from Chick-fil-A.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Sarah-Charlotte. “That means you get to design his whole life while he just stands there. Don’t ask him for an opinion because it would just be clutter. Are you thinking modern, classic, frilly, French, stainless steel, silver …?”

“I haven’t thought yet.”

“Come on, girl. You and I spent middle school listing stuff like this. We even chose your kids and their names. Remember Denim and Lace?”

“Reeve wants to get me puppies and we’ll call them Denim and Lace.”

“Straighten him out. You’ll be living in two rooms in a mountain of gift boxes and ribbons. You do not have room for puppies. Be firm. This is an important precedent.”


Reeve’s sister Lizzie got through to him next.

Reeve had no choice. He answered the phone.

Lizzie was a piece of work. She was a lawyer for a corporation that did nothing in particular Reeve could figure out, but they sure had a lot of litigation. Lizzie loved it. She strode around in her stern, sober suits as if she were being filmed or else facing the Supreme Court. Lizzie said, “Reeve, what is this nonsense about getting married? You are too young.”

Reeve never argued with Lizzie. “I am young,” he agreed. “So is Janie. But we’ve set the date. July eighth.”

“That’s too soon,” said Lizzie. “That’s ridiculous! At least wait until she’s graduated from college. Give her two more years, Reeve.”

“It is too soon,” he agreed. “But can you come? We want you there, Lizzie.”

There was silence. Lizzie was never silent. Then there was an odd snuffling sound.

“Lizzie? Are you crying?”

“Oh, Reeve,” said his sister shakily. Lizzie was never shaky. “I want you to be happy, Reeve. But Janie Johnson? Reeve, Janie is high risk. Don’t do it.”





THE EIGHTH PIECE OF THE KIDNAPPER’S PUZZLE




Fourteen years after that day in New Jersey, Hannah was working in a coffee shop. The owners of the Mug were all chummy and gushy. Everybody pretended to be friends. They never pretended to be friends with Hannah.

She wasn’t a waitress. She didn’t pour coffee. She didn’t get tips. The waitresses were supposed to share but they didn’t.

The Mug had a promotion. After you had come ten times and gotten your Mug ticket stamped, the owner painted a coffee mug just for you. You chose your colors and spelled your name, and the owner had those plain fat mugs you could decorate at a paint-it-yourself pottery place, although Hannah never had, and the next time you came, your very own mug was hanging on a peg on the wall.

The customers simpered over their mugs. It was a pain to hang them back up on their stupid little pegs, because the pegs were just barely long enough. Once Hannah had dropped a mug and it broke and the customer actually cried. The owners said if Hannah broke another one, she’d have to leave.

It was hard to find jobs where they didn’t ask questions. Jobs where you didn’t need a car. It was time to demand more money from Frank. Thanks to the publicity and the Internet, she knew Frank’s address and phone number. Fear of the FBI had stopped her from calling. But so much time had passed! The FBI was too stupid to find her. And since Frank would be in plenty of trouble if Hannah got caught, because he could have turned her in, Frank would have no choice. He’d have to give her more money.

He still had a landline. She’d call until she got him. He was old and had to be retired by now, and he ought to be home in the evening.

Hannah did not recognize the voice that answered the phone. “This is Barnette Bank and Trust,” said Hannah firmly, using the name she generally chose for scoping out tricky situations. “May I speak to Frank Johnson?”

“I’m sorry, he isn’t home. May I give him a message?”

The female voice didn’t sound like her mother. But it was years since Hannah had heard her mother’s voice. “Is this Mrs. Johnson?” asked Hannah.

“No, I’m their daughter, Janie. How can I help?”

Even though Hannah had known that her parents loved the Jennie/Janie more than they loved her, she had not really understood that the Jennie/Janie thought it was her house, and that these people were her parents! She probably thought their money was her money.

Frank still had money, Hannah could tell. The girl’s voice was all soft and serene, the way people’s voices were when they had everything they needed and more.

Just because Frank hadn’t turned her in didn’t mean the girl wouldn’t! And even though the girl was so grasping she even snatched parents, she wouldn’t show any decency toward Hannah. She wouldn’t be grateful that Hannah had given her these parents. She would want Hannah locked up.

“I’ll email,” said Hannah, proud of her superb self-control. “Can you give me his email address?”

“Sure. Who is this, please?”

Wait. The girl would tell Frank that the bank had called. Hannah often used her grandmother’s name and had wrongly used it this time. There might be a Barnette Bank, or Frank or even the girl might be smart enough to make the connection. Hannah had no email address she could give the parent thief. Nor would it be safe to blackmail Frank by email.

Hannah had only one option now. She had to see Frank in person. Two thousand miles stood between them. When you did not have a car, could not afford a train, had no ID to get on a plane, and could not miss work or you would be replaced, how could you make such a journey?

It’s her fault! thought Hannah. She kept the rage out of her voice. “I’ll call again,” said Hannah smoothly. “Good afternoon.”

“Thank you for calling,” said the sweet little voice of the vicious little parent thief.





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