“Ugh,” Jessa groans. “Can you not humor me and girl out for, like, one single second?”
“Maybe after the call,” I lie. Though a big part of me wants to squeal like a six-year-old girl at a birthday party, I’ve had a very successful run of not letting Jessa get too worked up. Dad has highs and lows, so I like to keep to an even-keeled middle. The same principle helps me to tether Jessa.
But it’s hard not to get excited when finally, something comes easy. Jessa has the White Pages app on her iPhone, and there’s only one Todd Malachai in eastern Connecticut, in a town called Windham. I write all of the info in his listing on my palm with Jessa’s gold glitter Sharpie so I can enter it in my phone when I finally get around to charging it. I’ll put in Lil’s as well, and maybe Tilly’s (though probably not Tilly’s), which will bring my contacts up to a whopping fifteen or so.
Chad joins us as I’m rehearsing my now-familiar script about the school project. Because Jessa’s texting—probably Jeremy—Chad generously donates his phone to the cause.
I tell myself not to get carried away. According to Hilda Malachai, my mom spun out pretty hard. Why Todd would keep in touch with the girl he drove to therapy and bought unmentionables for, only to have her leech his money and crash his truck, I don’t know. Especially if he’s married now. But maybe he can give me the clue that leads me to the clue that takes me to my parents. Anything is possible. And there’s still New Hope. If this turns out to be a dead end, I can try them afterward. They might have records left from when my mom was there, and since it was only a few years ago, I might not even have to go digging through some dusty basement to find them.
First things first: make the call.
I press the phone against my cheek and wait while it rings. Next to me, Jessa twists her long hair between her hands, strangling it into golden knots I know she’ll regret later. Chad plops down into the lips chair, digging his sister’s old Cabbage Patch doll out from underneath him. He holds the arms out and folds the cloth fingers down so it’s giving me a thumbs-up.
A woman answers on the fourth ring. “Hello?”
I stutter, unprepared for a female voice. “Um, hi. Um, is . . . is Todd there?”
“He’s not home right now,” she says. “Can I have him call you back?”
“Is this his wife?”
“It is,” she says brightly.
I sigh internally. “Oh, sure. Just, if he could give me a call at some point tonight.” I give my number, intending to plug my phone in as soon as I get home.
There’s silence on the other end, and then, “Would that be a Sugarbrook number?” The voice is smaller now, further away.
An uncomfortable numbness starts in the back of my neck and seeps outward, into my cheeks, toward my lips. I realize I’m breathing fast. “You’re Mrs. Malachai?”
“Who is this?”
The tingling is spreading down my arms. “Not . . . not Sidonie Malachai.”
The woman clears her throat. “Yes.”
“No, but—” My fingertips are numb now, bloodlessly white around the phone.
“And who are you?”
I jab at the screen until I hit something that ends the call, then stare at the phone.
“What—”
“Jessa,” Chad cuts her off quietly. The room is so quiet, in fact, that when his phone frog-croaks in my hand, we all jump. “It’s a text,” he says, blushing.
For one crazy, panicked moment I think it must be from my mother and I punch my finger into the text bubble. It reads: Hi, you. Long day at the slopes, and sooo tired after last night. It was worth it. ;) Can’t wait to see you again! My eyes flick to the name above the message.
“It’s Pari,” I say dully, tossing Chad his phone.
He catches it easily and reads her text, and though he very considerately wipes the smile from his face almost instantly, his eyes brighten. He likes Pari and her winky-face and he likes whatever they did last night, which was tiring but worth it.
How stupid am I to think he agreed to go to prom as anything but a pity date for his little sister’s friend? Of course that’s the truth. He’s a nice guy, and I am pitiful. This whole mission to find my dad by finding my mom was pitiful. Because my mother is not troubled waters. She is not lost. She is not holed up with Dad in some secretive place while he tries to save her for the both of us, which I believed since I discovered the heart in my nightstand.
My mother is married. My mother lives in Windham. My mother has a new last name, and my dad is nowhere.
“I’m gonna go,” I manage. “Gotta charge my phone.” Without another glance at Chad in the lips chair, I grab my stuff and hurry out of the room.
Jessa follows me into the hall. “Wait, Im, was that really your—”
“Uh-huh,” I mumble, slipping into my coat and zipping it to the neck. If I’m this cold already, I might just freeze to death before I reach home.
“Well, that’s awesome!”