Page 53 of Gone Tonight
“I wish I knew where Ruth was, but I don’t.”
My stomach clenches.
Keep going,I mentally beg him.
“We owe her money, too. I’ve probably still got her final paycheckin her file. Our accountant makes us hang on to everything for years in case we get audited, and I doubt anyone has bothered to throw it out.”
“Final paycheck?” I echo.
“Yeah, Ruth didn’t show up one day and I haven’t seen her since.”
My legs weaken. I sink down onto the bed.
It’s another catastrophic lie. We didn’t have to leave my friends, my school, my Charlie. It seems like my mother wanted to wrench me away from anyone I felt close to—other than her.
One by one, I’m tearing down the layers of deception she built around us. What will I find when I get to the last one?
“You still there?”
I clear my throat to buy time while I try to remember what else I needed to get out of this call.
“I would appreciate it if you could forward any information you might have on Ruth to assist us in tracking her down.”
“Um… I can look in her file. Probably nothing in there but that old paycheck and the application she filled out before she started here.”
I feel my eyes widen.
“Her application?” My voice sounds a little strangled.
“Yeah, it should still be there.”
“What’s on it?”
“Where she worked before, her address, that kind of thing.”
“Please fax it to me. Or you can scan it, whichever is easier.”
“We’ve got a fax, but I’m not sure I can get to it tonight. We’re fully booked for dinner, and honestly, the files aren’t all that organized. That okay? Seeing as you’re in such a rush.”
“Tomorrow is better than never,” I tell him.
I recite the fax number for Sunrise, grateful we still use one to send medical records back and forth to doctor’s offices and insurance companies.
Then I hang up and fall back onto the bed.
I didn’t locate just one stepping-stone. If that old work application comes through, I may be able to trace my mother back through allof them—perhaps even to the first place she landed after leaving her family’s home.
I may finally be able to find out who she really is.
I’m still lying on the bed, stunned, when a man yells, “They’re coming! They’re coming!”
I leap up and run out of the room.
Mr. Damon is crouched by a window in the hallway, staring out intently, gesturing for everyone to keep back. Outside the panes of glass, the brilliant greens and blues of the trees and sky have been gray-washed. The night gloom is drawing up around us.
Sundowning is when Mr. Damon’s muddled mind tricks him into believing it is 1971, and he is a young army draftee again.
“Do you see them?” Mr. Damon tilts his head at me. “They’re sneaking in. Tell the men!”
