Finding Charlie

Chapter Five

Chapter Five (Saturday)

I had to shoo Oscar out of my suitcase before dumping in my clothes. I didn’t bother folding any of it. Jeans, t-shirts, underwear. I didn’t own anything that wrinkled. Even my work clothes consisted of things that were stretchy, things with give.

            I’d spoken to Manny last night about feeding Oscar while I was away. He’d assumed I was going with Rick and I didn’t correct him. The explanation was unnecessarily complicated, especially when Rick’s truck was still making appearances in the lot overnight.

            It probably didn’t say good things about the way my life was going that when I went out of town, the only people I notified were my cat-sitter and my father. I’d considered calling Rick, but I couldn’t stand the prospect of having another conversation where he told me this was all just the normal behavior of an average nineteen-year-old, as if that’s all Charlie was: some generic example for her age bracket.

            My father knew where Charlie was every moment of those nineteen years. She called when she was running late, she texted if she decided to stop at Walgreens on her way home. Oh, I wasn’t stupid. I knew there were times she claimed to be at Carmen’s when she was really somewhere else -- otherwise how would she have managed to lose her virginity? But even in those moments, Carmen knew where she was. She was never just nowhere, anywhere.

            Charlie had been missing for four days.

            I stacked Oscar’s canned food on the counter beside the can opener and filled his water bowl. He liked Manny, but he’d still punish me for leaving. The first weekend I spent away, I returned to find he’d pooped on my pillow. He hadn’t done that again, but I could expect the cold shoulder for a day or two when I got back.

            I’d had Oscar for three years. We’d never been allowed pets growing up and once I lived alone, it came to me slowly that I set the rules. Someone at school brought in a cardboard box of homeless kittens. By the end of the day, only the littlest was left. I had the instinct to refuse out of habit  -- it wasn’t allowed. And then I remembered that I decided what was allowed.

            When I brought Oscar home, I still hadn’t been used to living by myself. I heard every noise, got up in the middle of the night to look out the window or check the locks. That first night, I fell asleep with Oscar curled on my chest, and any noises I heard in the night were easily dismissed as kitten exploration. I slept eight solid hours for the first time since I‘d moved out..

            I threw in a hairbrush and toothbrush and zipped the suitcase shut. “There’s still room if you want to come,” I told Oscar as he scowled at me from the doorway. That scowl was what got him his name.

            I heard the gravel crunch beneath my dad’s tires and I was out the door before he could beep.

“What does that mean: she wishes she could say more? Like, someone won’t let her?” My father had one hand on the steering wheel and the other pressed against his forehead and temple.

            “I don’t know, Dad. Maybe she just didn’t want to get into it.”

            “Into what?”

            “I don’t know.” We could go back and forth like this for hours. Days. I didn’t know anything more than he did. That’s why I had to catch a plane in the first place. “Did you update the detective?”

            “I’m afraid he’ll take this email as proof that they don’t need to look for her.”

            “They’re already not looking for her.”