Those three dots at the end might as well have been written in flashing neon. The email was typical of Julia, focused as usual on what I could do for her, leaving out the most important details. Verena wouldn’t be happy to see her at Calliope House, but I was curious to know what she wanted. The last time she’d asked for a favor I’d given her 50,000 email addresses, and I still didn’t know what she’d done with them. I would resist agreeing to another favor unless she offered up more information about Leeta, which I thought she probably had. Julia owed me more. She was the one who’d dropped Leeta into my life.
I returned to writing in my red notebook, Leeta’s notebook. I had clipped a photo of her from the newspaper and pinned it to my wall. She was watching me as I wrote. Where did you go, Leeta? I scribbled in the margin. What have you done? I filled several pages with notes about my days of cooking and eating in Calliope House. When I was finished, I put the notebook in the bottom drawer of my dresser.
There was an oval mirror above the dresser. After I had been without mirrors underground, my reflection was still a novelty. I noticed the weight loss I’d experienced during the New Baptist Plan, but at the rate I was eating, the weight wouldn’t be lost for long. It would find me again, as it had always done. Despite everything I had been through, I looked about the same as I had before, but I was different in a way that couldn’t be seen. Made over.
? ? ?
. . . you can lick my nuts, bitch, and then get the fuck out . . .
Rise and shine.
In Calliope House, from Monday through Friday, no one slept in. At 7:30 a.m., misogynist music blasted throughout the house. The music played for exactly one minute. Verena said it was intended to remind us of our purpose at the beginning of each day.
My stomach rumbled, so I showered and dressed quickly, then went downstairs to the kitchen, intending to make French toast. I tied my apron around my waist and flicked on the television to keep me company while I worked. As I turned on the coffeepot and removed the eggs and milk from the refrigerator, I was only barely cognizant of the news report. I should have known this wasn’t an ordinary day, given that Cheryl Crane-Murphy was working the early shift.
“At least now we have a clear connection between Leeta Albridge and one of Jennifer’s crimes.”
I dropped the carton of eggs on the counter and hurried to the television. Cheryl was discussing the twelve-year-old girl, Luz, who’d been raped and then jumped in front of the train. I saw the familiar photos of the Dirty Dozen, including two of Luz’s rapists, and the crime scene in the desert. Then there was Luz’s mother, Soledad, and her subsequent press conference: “When will the violence end, Jennifer?” she asked before the world.
With all the drama her voice could muster, Cheryl announced the big news again: As a college student in Los Angeles, Leeta had known Soledad and Luz. She had traveled to L.A. at the time of Luz’s funeral and was there when two of the rapists, Lamar Wilson and Chris Martinez, were kidnapped.
I sat in a chair, deflated. I’d been holding on to hope that Leeta had been mixed up in this by mistake. Now that seemed unlikely.
Sana walked into the kitchen, her hair damp from the shower. “No breakfast?”
“There’s big news. Leeta knew Luz and her mother.” Sana joined me in front of the television. After all the violence and bloodshed linked to Jennifer, we had returned to one of the saddest stories: the little girl who’d been raped.
“I’m wondering if the answer to the Jennifer mystery lies here,” Cheryl said, “but maybe we’re just not seeing it yet.”
Cheryl turned to the Los Angeles correspondent, who explained further that while Leeta was a student at the University of Southern California, she’d volunteered at a local women’s clinic as a rape crisis counselor. Luz’s mother, Soledad, worked there part-time as a trainer.
“And this is just coming to light now?” said Cheryl.
“Apparently, the clinic didn’t keep records of volunteers from more than two years ago,” said the correspondent. “A witness now recalls that Leeta and Soledad not only worked there at the same time, but might have spent time together outside the clinic.”