The Voice on the Radio Read online

  His physics professor walked by.

  The science building was next door to the administration building, but still, this late—Reeve was a little surprised. “Hi, Dr. Brookner.”

  “Reeve,” said the professor with pleasure.

  Considering there were five hundred students in the lecture, the labs were run by assistants, and tests were corrected by grad students, it was remarkable that Dr. Brookner knew who Reeve was. “Doing a janie tonight?” asked the professor. “My wife and I have been fascinated by those.”

  Adult listeners? Professors? Reeve was stunned and pleased. “It doesn’t seem like your kind of station,” said Reeve.

  “We put up with so-called music from losers like Visionary Assassins so that we can hear the janies. I admit I’m confused. I hope one of these days you’ll clarify how the whole thing happened. My wife has a chart by the radio so we can keep track of the tidbits you dole out.”

  So his master plan was working. The delivery of overlapping stories, out of order, had hooked the audience.

  I’ll do just one more, he thought. I owe it to my audience to let them understand how the kidnapping happened. Then I’ll quit.

  The professor patted his shoulder. “Now if you’d work as hard at physics as you do at radio…,” he said, letting his voice drift off in a friendly fashion.

  Reeve was aware of the cold again. It felt wonderful. It cleansed his worries. It seemed enough that he had considered quitting.

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  Jodie had been counting days, hours and minutes till her first college search weekend. She could hardly wait to get into the car, get out on that interstate, and cross those state lines. O Freedom!

  She drove fast and silently, dreaming of college.

  The Johnsons lived about two-thirds of the way to Boston. Jodie and Brian arrived around five.

  Much to Jodie’s disgust, Janie’s friend Sarah-Charlotte was there. Jodie considered Sarah-Charlotte the most pretentious name she had ever come across, and Sarah-Charlotte the most pretentious person. Sarah-Charlotte couldn’t stand it if you abbreviated her name, so of course Jodie always wanted to call her Char.

  Brian sat in the deep-blue living room and talked about libraries with Mrs. Johnson, who worked in the high school library, while Janie, Sarah-Charlotte and Jodie went upstairs to Janie’s room.

  “You did the room over!” exclaimed Jodie. Last time she had been here, the room had been pastel, romantic and soft. Now it was icily white. It was urban, out of a slick magazine, as if some cold, successful woman lived here with two possessions and an empty refrigerator.

  You could have been in the mood to decorate a room at our house, Janie, thought Jodie resentfully. You could have let my mom pick out—

  Jodie calmed herself. She had been mad at her sister long enough. She had not come here to pick a fight, although that had appeal and was one of Jodie’s better skills.

  Jodie circled the bed which looked clean and starched enough to do surgery on. There on the floor was an array of dolls. “Barbie and Ken?” she said incredulously. “Janie, they sure don’t match this room.”

  “Come on,” said Sarah-Charlotte, “Barbie has outfits to match everything.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I never went through a doll stage.” Jodie made a decision. “Sarah-Charlotte, I’m going to be incredibly rude and ask if you could visit another time, because I have only tonight to be alone with my sister.” Jodie held her breath.

  But to her credit, Sarah-Charlotte said she should have realized that, and she’d see Janie in school tomorrow. She ran lightly down the stairs.

  In the snowiness of the white room, the sisters looked at each other edgily. They heard Brian call good-bye to Sarah-Charlotte, heard Brian and Janie’s parents laugh together.

  Janie flushed. “You guys are so nice when you come up here. You’re polite to my parents and you joke with my dad and compliment my mother on her color schemes. I never did any of that when I visited you.”

  “You could start,” said Jodie. She had not meant to touch the serious stuff, and here it was—too soon, too much of it. “You could start by calling our parents Mom and Dad. They’ve stopped calling you Jennie. They’ve given you back completely. We don’t even refer to Jennie Spring. We call you Janie Johnson. They need a present from you, Janie.”

  Janie felt ill and nervy. It was all this talk of futures. She didn’t like to look out there the way other kids did. Janie looked ahead for a week or a month at most. Anything else was scary. “Jodie, I still have to put the words New Jersey first. New Jersey Mom. New Jersey Dad.”

  “I’m not demanding,” said Jodie. She picked up a Barbie and stared at the doll as if she had never come across such an oddity. “It would just be a nice gift.”

  A gift, thought Janie. Barbies you wrapped for children at Christmas were just presents. But her New Jersey parents needed a gift.

  Janie felt light again, her thoughts spinning off, leaving her less to work with. “The visits to New Jersey,” she said finally, “were easier with Reeve.”

  “I know. I’m so jealous. There are no Reeves in my entire high school. Or if they’re there, they’re keeping a low profile.”

  “Saving themselves for college,” agreed Janie.

  I know so little about her! thought Jodie. It’s Sarah-Charlotte who shared her Barbies and sleepovers. I don’t want a fight. So here’s a safe topic, take it. “Speaking of college,” she said, “how does Reeve like it?”

  “He loves it. He’s not studying. His parents don’t know that yet. If he flunks out in his first semester they’re going to kill him.”

  “Reeve dead wouldn’t be half so fun,” said Jodie.

  “Every time he calls, I nag him to study.”

  “I hear that boys don’t like to be nagged.”

  “Me too, but it’s irresistible. You always want to take the boy and mold him into something better.”

  “Name one thing that could be better about Reeve. I not only don’t have a perfect boyfriend, I don’t have a boyfriend,” said Jodie gloomily. “Yours adores you and calls you up and e-mails you and faxes you and beeps you.”

  Janie giggled. “He did the first week. And a little bit the second week. But he’s got a hobby now and he doesn’t think of me as often. My father says it’s healthier that way.”

  Both girls rolled their eyes at the foolishness of fathers.

  “He’s on a radio show,” said Janie.

  “No way! Tell me about it.”

  “College station. Volunteer stuff. He says he’s just a gofer but he’s learning to be a deejay.”

  “And he has such a great voice. All deep and sensuous. Does he just introduce the songs or does he get to talk?”

  “I think he says things like the temperature outside.”

  “I bet it sounds wonderful when he says it. Romantic, appealing forty-four degrees. Still, if I were in Boston,” said Jodie, “I’m not sure I’d listen to a college station. Aren’t there better choices?” Oops! she thought, as Janie stiffened.

  No. Clearly there were no better choices than Reeve in Boston. Probably in the world.

  Jodie wanted to laugh at Janie and say something really barbed-wire, but they weren’t sisters enough to tease over important things. It’s too late, thought Jodie.

  The beautiful calendar of high school graduation and college was suddenly agony. They would never be sisters under the same roof now. They might one day be friends—but sisters? Bickering, sharing, shopping, just knowing each other? It was too late.

  “Boston sounds so wonderful,” Jodie said, trying not to let her voice break. “Equal parts city and suburb. Half college campus and half insurance-company towers. There has to be so much going on, and I’m tired of a small town, aren’t you? I want the big city—sidewalks, and a hundred thousand people my own age, and a dorm with all those different kinds of people, so I can learn how to get along.”

  “If you got along with me,” said Janie, “I�
��d say you have it licked already.”

  Jodie was touched by this remark. She wanted to hug her sister and say It’s all right, but it wasn’t yet all right, and they were stuck in this shiny white room with furniture in between them.

  “What are you going to study in college?” said Janie.

  “International banking. Doesn’t that sound fabulous? Wall Street and Tokyo and Zurich and London. Plus my Japanese is great after three years of studying. Might as well use it.”

  “Numbers,” pointed out Janie, who detested math.

  “I love numbers,” said Jodie. “I love that word crunch. I can crunch any numbers on any screen. Plus, I want to be famous for something other than having a kidnapped sister.” All her resolve couldn’t keep the next sentence from spilling out. “I still hate you for that, you know.”

  Judging by the flush that covered her face, Janie knew.

  “Oh, good,” said Jodie at the dinner table, “I love Boston Chicken.” Actually she was sick of it, but right now she was setting an example for Janie. This is how you behave to your parents. Or ex-parents, or semiparents, or whatever the Springs were to Janie.

  Mrs. Johnson said, “I was going to cook a meal, I’ve been meaning to cook a meal for weeks now, I’ve even looked in the direction of my cookbooks, but I just stopped at Boston Chicken and here we are.”

  “Fine with me,” said Brian. “We have this all the time. Mom can’t find the energy to cook Monday through Thursday. I love their mashed potatoes.”

  Mashed potatoes in their plastic bucket were passed first to Brian, followed by chicken, and stuffing, and corn bread.

  “Actually,” said Janie’s father, “I want you to eat fairly quickly, Jodie.”

  Her parents thought Mr. Johnson was distinguished looking, but to Jodie he was just old and tired.

  “You and Brian still have quite a drive ahead of you, Jodie, and you don’t want to be on the high-way too late. Like any other city,” he went on, checking his watch, “Boston can be dangerous.”

  On the one hand, Jodie appreciated the worry of grown-ups, but on the other hand, if one more person worried about her one more week, she’d go live in the Antarctic, instead of just Boston.

  Janie, wonderfully, defended her sister. “Daddy, Jodie is seventeen. Nearly eighteen. She speaks Japanese. She can parallel park.”

  Jodie loved it that of all the things she could do, those were the two that impressed her sister.

  “And I,” put in Brian proudly, “can change a tire.”

  “What a team,” said Mr. Johnson with a smile.

  Jodie didn’t feel like eating fast. She felt like spending more time here, getting to know them better. Janie on her own turf was so much easier than Janie bristling in New Jersey, afraid of being disloyal to the Johnsons. “Janie,” said Jodie suddenly, “why don’t you come with us to Boston? It’s only for two days. You could cut school tomorrow, you’re an A student, and nobody minds you cutting school if it’s for college visits.”

  “Come with you?” Janie found this such an amazing idea, she had trouble finding a place to set her glass down. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson froze in place and tried to reactivate themselves with swallows and blinks.

  Janie’s not free yet, thought Jodie. We’re building our new lives, but Janie hasn’t built hers. Maybe her parents need her too much.

  “We’re staying at the Marriott,” said Jodie. “The room has two king beds. You and I’ll share one, Janie, and Bri will have the other. It’ll be so much fun. Come on. Come with us.”

  “Oh, Mom!” said Janie, glowing. “Say yes!”

  How young we are, thought Jodie, compared to other teenagers. We’re eight-year-olds here, waiting for the parents to decide. Who would we be right now, if Hannah hadn’t driven through New Jersey?

  Janie turned, laughing, to Jodie. “We can drop in on Reeve, too.”

  “Unannounced,” said Jodie. “We’ll catch him with some gorgeous college girl.”

  “Bring a weapon then,” said Janie. “He’ll be history.”

  They had never so completely been sisters. Not the red hair, but the patience of waiting for permission; they were mirrors of each other; they had been formed by parental permission more than any other family they knew.

  “She is my sister,” said Janie, to bolster an argument that hadn’t started.

  “Her big sister,” added Brian. “Her big, reliable older sister.”

  Mrs. Johnson nodded minutely with her chin, and Mr. Johnson, appointed spokesman, said, “Okay. You may go to Boston with them.”

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  Brian knew he had to take the backseat. Jodie and Janie never even thought of discussing seat choices but took the front as their due. The longer you’ve been on earth, the more front seat you get.

  He was glad they’d be seeing Reeve. Reeve was what Brian wanted to be: popular, handsome, tall and at ease.

  They’d leave the car in the parking garage at the Marriott. To get around Boston for the next three days, they’d take the T, Boston’s trolley-subway system. Brian was desperate to be the kind of person who was comfortable taking the T. Who knew how much a ticket was, and where the routes went, and wasn’t afraid of the people who sat next to him.

  Plus Boston was the cradle of history. Perhaps he could convince his sisters to go to at least one historic site.

  Dream on, thought Brian wistfully.

  At WSCK, Reeve took the phones. It was only nine P.M., he could have been in his room studying, but he couldn’t stay away. “You’ve reached WSCK, We’re Here, We’re Yours, We’re Sick, how can I help you?” He loved those lines.

  “Hi, Reeve. Listen, I just have one question about the janies.”

  “Just one?” he said. “Normal people have at least a hundred.” Reeve disconnected, laughing to himself. He loved how the tip of one finger could remove somebody from his world.

  Vinnie said to him, “Remember I had Derek Himself ask for volunteers ’cause we need more disc jockeys?”

  Reeve nodded.

  “Guess how many people called in?”

  “How many?”

  “Eleven. Guess how many said they wanted to be just like you? Go overnight from pathetic lame freshman to campus star?”

  “Eleven?”

  “You’re pretty conceited, fella.” Vinnie grinned.

  The phone lit up. “Hi, you’ve reached WSCK, We’re Here, We’re Yours, We’re Sick,” said Reeve grandly, “how may I help you?”

  Vinnie held up ten fingers. Reeve went wild beneath his shrug. Ten people wanted to be Reeve. Eat your heart out, world, thought Reeve. I’m the only one.

  “Listen, I just have one question,” said the caller in a childish voice. They all said that. Listen, I just have one question.

  Listen, I have all the answers, thought Reeve.

  Jodie was telling Janie about the day she and Stephen had gone into New York City thinking they could find Hannah.

  “How’d you get away from Mom and Dad?” said Brian, awestruck. Mom and Dad would never have allowed Jodie and Stephen to go into New York City alone.

  “We lied,” said Jodie, and Brian was thrilled and stunned that his good, decent older sister and his difficult, moody older brother had had this pact between them, this lie, this adventure.

  “And did you find her?” said Brian seriously.

  “Bri, get a life. How could we find her? There are seven million people in New York City.”

  “Then what made you look to start with?”

  “Remember the police report? She’d been arrested in New York two years before? Of course, back then they didn’t know she was the kidnapper, they just thought she was a common hooker, they wouldn’t figure out who the kidnapper was until Janie figured it out. Stephen and I thought she might still be in New York, so we went there.”

  Brian had been to New York with school groups. He hadn’t been able to find the Metropolitan Museum, never mind one particular woman out of seven million. He forgo
t about being so nice to his sisters that they would agree to go to Faneuil Hall with him. “Pretty stupid to think you could find her.”

  “We felt stupid all day long,” Jodie agreed, “but we also felt okay. It’s hard to describe. At the end of the day, I didn’t want to murder Hannah. Or you either, Janie.”

  Janie made noises of irritation. “I don’t see why you had fantasies of murdering me. I had no choices in this whole thing. And besides, what if you had found Hannah? Nothing could be worse. Do you realize what we would go through if Hannah appeared? A trial.”

  It would be Hannah accused in court, but it would be Janie’s mother and father who were tried, by television, and radio, and newspapers, and neighbors.

  “We’d be on CNN for a year,” pointed out Brian. He thought this was cool, but he knew his parents and Janie’s parents didn’t. They’d die first. Hannah might deserve a trial, but they didn’t, and there was no escape once these things began.

  Brian thought of himself on the witness stand, being calm and handsome and knowledgeable. Of course, he wouldn’t be called. He’d been a toddler in diapers when it had happened. His mother had literally kept the twins on leashes; little harnesses as if they’d been dogs pulling carts. Brian hated to look at photographs of himself on a leash.

  How quickly Janie and Jodie left the fascinating topic of Hannah. Brian wanted Janie to talk about what her Johnson parents thought when they thought about Hannah. Were they full of guilt? Anger? Horror? What did they say out loud to the daughter they had acquired by theft?

  He listened to his sisters talking, enjoying the plural: two sisters. But they were boring, which was the habit of girls, talking about the personalities of boys instead of anything interesting, so Brian stared out the window instead. Turnpikes at night were like girl talk: not interesting.

  Jodie was a good driver. They drove north on 395, rural with little traffic, and picked up the Mass Pike, where a steady thrum of trucks pushed them faster and faster toward Boston.