House Rules Read online

  It is hard to see your eighteen-year-old son clutching a stuffed toy. But that's what autism is, a slippery slope. One minute, you convince yourself that you are so far up that hill you can't see the bottom anymore, and the next, it's covered with black ice, and you are falling fast.

  *

  Auntie Em's column, Thursday, January 14, Teen Edition: The best parenting advice I ever got was from a labor nurse who told me the following:

  1. After your baby gets here, the dog will just be a dog.

  2. The terrible twos last through age three.

  3. Never ask your child an open-ended question, such as --Do you want to go to bed now?||

  You won't want to hear the answer, believe me. --Do you want me to carry you upstairs, or do you want to walk upstairs to go to bed?|| That way, you get the outcome you want and they feel empowered.

  Now that my children are older, not much has changed.

  Except we do not have a dog.

  The terrible twos last through age eighteen.

  And questions still shouldn't be open-ended, because you won't get an answer to

  --Where were you last night till two A.M.?|| or --How did you get a D on your math test?||

  There are two deductions you can glean from this. That parenting isn't a noun but a verb--an ongoing process instead of an accomplishment. And that no matter how many years you put into the job, the learning curve is, well, fairly flat.

  I leave Jacob's room, intending to watch the evening news. But when I reach the living room, Theo is tuned to some god-awful MTV show about spoiled girls who are shipped off to third-world countries by their parents to learn humility. --Don't you have homework to do?|| I ask.

  --Done.||

  --I want to watch the news.||

  --I was here first.||

  I stare as a girl shovels elephant dung into a large plastic bag in Burma. --Eeew,|| she squeals, and I glance at Theo. --Please tell me you'd rather open your mind to current affairs than watch this.||

  --But I'm supposed to tell the truth,|| Theo says, grinning. --House rules.||

  --Okay, let's try this: if I watch this program with you, I might be suitably moved to send you to Burma to broaden your horizons by cleaning up elephant dung.||

  He tosses me the remote control. --That is such blackmail.||

  --And yet it worked,|| I say, flipping the channel to a local broadcast. A man is shouting into a microphone. --All I know,|| he cries, --is that it's a crime for a local police department to sit on the disappearance of a young girl, instead of actively pursuing an investigation.||

  A white banner flashes beneath the face: STATE SENATOR CLAUDE OGILVY.

  --Hey,|| Theo says. --Isn't that the name--||

  --Ssh ...||

  The reporter's face fills the screen. --Townsend Police Chief Fred Huckins says that the disappearance of Jess Ogilvy is a priority and urges anyone with information to contact the department at 802-555-4490.||

  Then a picture of Jacob's social skills tutor appears, with the phone number below it.

  Theo

  --Live from Townsend,|| the reporter wraps up, --I'm Lucy McNeil.||

  I look at my mother. --That's Jess,|| I say, the obvious.

  --Oh my God,|| she murmurs. --That poor girl.||

  I don't understand. I totally don't understand.

  My mother grabs my arm. --This information doesn't leave this room,|| she says.

  --You think Jacob isn't going to find out? He reads the papers. He's online.||

  She pinches the bridge of her nose. --He's so fragile right now, Theo. I can't throw this at him yet. Just give me a little while so I can figure out how.||

  I take the remote out of her hand and turn the TV off. Then, muttering some excuse about an essay, I run upstairs to my room and lock the door.

  I walk in circles, my arms braced behind my head, like I'm cooling off after running a marathon. I run through everything I heard that senator say, and the reporter. The police chief, for God's sake, who said the disappearance is a priority.

  Whatever the fuck that means.

  I wonder if it will turn out to be a big hoax, like that college girl who vanished and later said she was abducted and it turned out that she was making the whole story up to get attention. I kind of hope that's what happens, because the alternative is something I don't want to think about.

  Here's all I really need to know:

  Jess Ogilvy is missing, and I was one of the last people to see her.

  Rich

  On the answering machine at the Robertsons' house, there are six messages. One is from Mark Maguire, asking Jess to call him when she gets back. One is from a dry cleaner, letting her know that her skirt is ready. One is identified by caller ID as E. Hunt. The message says, --Hi, Jess, this is Jacob's mom. Can you give me a call?|| The other three messages are hang-ups, and all three came from the number registered to Jess Ogilvy's mobile phone.

  That tells me either she's a battered woman in hiding, trying to get the nerve to call her boyfriend and failing, or her boyfriend is covering his ass after accidentally killing her.

  I spend Friday crossing off the names in Jess Ogilvy's Day-Timer. My first call is to the two girls whose names pop up the most often in the history of months past. Alicia and Cara are grad students, like Jess. Alicia has cornrowed hair that hangs to her waist, and Cara is a tiny blonde wearing camouflage cargo pants and black work boots. Over coffee at the student center, they admit they haven't seen Jess since Tuesday.

  --She missed an exam with the Gorgon,|| Cara says. --Nobody misses an exam with the Gorgon.||

  --The Gorgon?||

  --Professor Gorgona,|| she explains. --It's a seminar course on special education.||

  GORGONA, I write in my notes. --Has Jess ever gone away for a few days before?||

  --Yeah--once,|| Alicia says. --She went to Cape Cod for a long weekend and didn't tell us beforehand.||

  --She went with Mark, though,|| Cara adds, and she wrinkles her nose.

  --I take it you aren't a fan of Mark Maguire?||

  --Is anyone?|| Alicia says. --He doesn't treat her right.||

  --What do you mean by that?||

  --If he says jump, she doesn't even ask How high?' She goes out and buys a pogo stick.||

  --We haven't seen a lot of her since they started hooking up,|| Cara says. --Mark likes to keep her all to himself.||

  So do most abusive partners, I think.

  --Detective Matson?|| Alicia asks. --She's going to be okay, right?||

  A week ago, Jess Ogilvy was probably sitting here where I am, drinking coffee with her friends and freaking out about the Gorgon's upcoming exam.

  --I hope so,|| I say.

  People don't just disappear. There's always a reason, or an enemy with a grudge. There's always a loose thread that starts to unravel.

  The problem is that Jess Ogilvy is, apparently, a saint.

  --I was surprised when she missed the exam,|| Professor Gorgona says. A slight woman with a white bun and a trace of a foreign accent, she doesn't seem nearly as threatening as Alicia and Cara made her out to be. --She's my star student, really. She's getting her master's and writing an honors thesis at the same time. Graduated with a 4.0

  from Bates and worked with Teach for America for two years before she decided to make a career out of it.||

  --Is there anyone who might be jealous of the fact that she does so well in class?|| I ask.

  --Not that I've noticed,|| the professor says.

  --Did she confide in you about any personal problems?||

  --I'm not exactly the warm and fuzzy type,|| the professor says wryly. --Our communication was strictly adviser-advisee in an academic sense. The only extracurricular activities I even know she participated in are education-related: she organizes the Special Olympics here in town, and she tutors an autistic boy.|| Suddenly the professor frowns.

  --Has anyone contacted him? He'll have a hard time coping if Jess doesn't show up for her scheduled appoint