of the line. Longdistance static washed out the sound for a second. "Jack, this is Elouette. I'm callin' you from Louisiana."
He smiled in the darkness. "Figured you were." He snapped the lamp switch, but nothing happened. The filament must have broken when the lamp toppled.
"Never actually called this far before," said Elouette. "Robert always dialed." Robert was her husband.
"What time is it?" Jack said. He felt for his watch. "'Bout five in the morning," said his sister.
"What is it? Is it Ma?" He was waking up finally, pulling free from the fragments of the dream.
"No, Jack, Ma's fine. Nothin'll ever happen to her. She'll outlive us both."
"Then what?" He recognized the sharpness in his voice and tried to tone it down. It was just that Elouette's words were so slow, her thoughts so drawn-out.
The silence, punctuated by bursts of static, dilated on the line. Finally Elouette said, "Its my daughter."
"Cordelia? What about her? What's wrong?" Another silence. "She's run off."
Jack felt an odd reaction. After all, he'd run away too, all those years before. Run away when he was a hell of a lot younger than Cordelia. What would she be now, fifteen? Sixteen? "Tell me what happened," he said reassuringly.
Elouette did. Cordelia (she said) had given little warning. The girl had not come down for breakfast the morning before. Makeup, clothing, money, and an overnight bag were also gone. Her father had checked with Cordelia's friends. There weren't many. He called the parish sheriff. The patrols got the word. No one had seen her. The law's best guess was that Cordelia had hitched a ride out on the blacktop.
The sheriff had shaken his head sadly. "Gal looks like that," he'd said, "well, we got cause to worry." He'd done what he could, but it had all taken precious time. It had finally been Cordelia's father who'd come up with something. A girl with the same face ("Purtiest little thing I seen in a month," the ticket clerk had said) and long, luxuriant, black hair ("Black as a new-moon bayou sky," said a porter) had boarded a bus in Baton Rouge.
"It was Greyhound," Elouette said. "One-way fare to New York City. By the time we found out, the police said it wasn't none too practical to try and stop it in New Jersey." Her voice shook slightly, as though she wanted to cry.
"It'll be okay," said Jack. "When's she supposed to get here?"'
"About seven," Elouette said. "Seven vour time." "Merde." Jack swung his legs off the bed and sat up in the darkness.
"Can you get there, Jack? Can you find her?"
"Sure," he said. "But I gotta leave now for Port Authority, or I won't make it in time."
"Thanks be," Elouette said. "Call me after you've met her?"
"I will. Then well figure out what to do next. Now I go, okay?"
"Okay. I'll be right here. Maybe Robert will be back too." Trust filled her voice. "Thanks, Jack."
He put down the phone and stumbled across the room. He found the wall switch and finally was able to see in the windowless room. Yesterday's work clothes were strewn over the rough slab bench to one side. Jack pulled on the well-worn jeans and green cotton shirt. He grimaced at the fragrant work socks, but they were all he had. Today being his day off, he'd planned to spend it at a laundromat. He laced the steel-toed leather boots quickly, catching every other pair of eyelets.
When he opened the door leading into the rest of his home, Bagabond, the two huge cats, a passel of kittens, and a goggle-faced raccoon were all there in the doorway, silently staring at him. In the dimness of the lamp-lit living room beyond, Jack made out the gleam of Bagabond's dark brown hair and even darker eyes, her high, shadowed cheekbones, the lightness of her skin.
"Jesus, Mother Mary!" he said, stepping back. "Don' scare me like that." He took a deep breath and felt the tough, grainy hide on the back of his hands become soft again.
"Didn't mean to," said Bagabond. The black cat rubbed up against Jack's leg. His back nestled along the man's kneecap. His purr sounded like a contented coffee grinder. "Heard the phone. You okay?"
"I'll tell you on the way to the door." He gave Bagabond a precis as he stopped in the kitchen to decant the last of Yesterdays coffee sludge into a foam cup he could carry with him.
Bagabond touched his wrist. "Want us to come along? Day like this, a few