Blondie’s actually kind of handsome, if I’m being truthful, and almost innocent looking—like Billy Budd.
“I’m trying to find my mom,” I say, because it’s the truth, and I’m so very tired.
“Get in—I’ll help you look,” he says. “You’re very pretty, you know.”
When he calls me pretty, something in my stomach begins to churn, and the man begins to look more like Claggart than Billy Budd. “I think I’ll just walk, thanks for the offer, though.”
“Bad things happen to girls like you when they stray out of their neighborhoods in the middle of the night,” he says. “You should come with me.”
“Amber!” a voice yells, and when I look over my shoulder, Father Chee is running toward me in slippers through the cold night and wearing only his black pajamas, making him look sorta like some crazy martial arts ninja or something.
“Who are you supposed to be?” the blond man asks FC when he reaches us. “Jackie Chan?”
“Amber, come,” FC says, and then takes my hand.
“Is he your pimp or something?”
“He’s my priest,” I say.
“Well, maybe another time then,” the blond man says, smiling kind of funny, chuckling. He gets into his car and drives away.
“Come,” Father Chee says, and then we sorta jog back to The Korean Catholic Church.
“Please tell me what are you doing here in this neighborhood at night?” Father Chee asks when we are inside with the doors locked.
I’m scared for my mom, so I come clean.
As I tell him everything about Mom and our living on Hello Yellow and Mom’s not coming home tonight, the adrenaline rush wears off, and I start to get seriously nervous and upset and worried.
My voice becomes all tiny and whiny, which makes me feel like I’ll never be as brave and strong as Donna—like I’ll never get into Bryn Mawr College.
When I finish, I am crying again, so FC gives me a fatherly hug, patting my back very gently, which is cool of him. He’s a good man.
“We should call the police so they will start looking for your mother,” Father Chee says.
“Do you think I should consult my attorney first?” I ask.
“You have an attorney?”
So I tell him all about Donna, and then we wake her with a phone call, using the pay phone in Father’s Chee’s church, after which FC puts on his penguin suit.
We take a cab to Ricky’s house, where I tell Donna the whole story as Father Chee makes coffee.
I can tell that Donna is mad at me for not telling her how bad things were with my mom and my living on Hello Yellow for months, because, very loudly, she says, “Months?”
And when I nod, she asks me why I didn’t tell her earlier, and I start to cry again because I am so weak and stupid—even though I’m sorta mad at her for not figuring it all out earlier. Why else would I need to take a shower at her house every morning?
Father Chee serves us coffee, and then Donna makes a few phone calls.
I hear her talking to the police, and then to some sorta private detective.
At one point I hear her say, “Money is not an issue.”
Donna’s young assistant shows up without makeup and without her hair done, making her look less intimidating.
“You’re getting a raise,” Donna says to her assistant.
“Are you okay?” Jessica says to me, and I can tell that she is sincere. I remember thinking how much I hated Jessica in the past, so I start crying even harder now because I’m such a little girl.
“If we’re not back, don’t tell Ricky anything when he gets up in the morning,” Donna says to Jessica. “Tell him I had to go to trial early, let him eat whatever he wants for breakfast, and then take him to school. Oh, yeah. Feed the dog a can, and then let him out. Okay?”
Jessica nods, and then FC, me, and Donna are in her Mercedes driving back to Hello Yellow.
We call Mom’s name and search the parking lot with flashlights.
Mom’s not in the parking lot.
Mom’s not on Hello Yellow.
“Grab your things,” Donna tells me, so I get my trash bags from under Hello Yellow and Father Chee takes them to Donna’s car. “Where else might she have gone?”
“She might have met a man?” I say hopefully, because it’s better than any alternative of which I can think. “She was always trying to find a man with an apartment so we’d have a home.”
“Did she ever leave you alone for an entire night before?” Donna asks.
“No,” I say, but then feel like I shouldn’t be lying now. “Well, not very often. Sometimes. But tonight is different. I feel like something very bad might have happened. I sorta just know it somehow. You have to trust me on this. Seriously, Donna, I’m really scared.”
“Okay,” Donna says, and I can see in her eyes that she is worried—that this is bad. Very bad. So terribly messed up.
The three of us drive around aimlessly looking for Mom.