“I wouldn’t worry about Toni,” says Julia.
“It’s a code we’ve got.”
“Code?”
“A traveler’s thing—if you don’t turn up, report it to family.”
Julia’s mouth goes dry.
“Are you there, Julia-Anne?” says Yasmin.
Julia licks her lips. “Julia. My name is Julia.”
“Sorry—Julia.”
Julia clears her throat. “Listen, Ms. Jefferson, thank you very much for your concern about my sister. But she does this from time to time. Gets in these little fixes and expects people to bail her out. I’m sure she’s fine. She’ll be out there somewhere enjoying herself. She’s just irresponsible, that’s all. But thank you again for contacting me. Sorry, I’ve really got to go now. Goodbye.”
Julia disconnects. She hates hanging up, but she has to be firm. Toni is not going to ruin her life again.
*
That night Julia watches shadows argue on the bedroom ceiling. She lies there and thinks about Yasmin’s call, a little ball of dread forming in the pit of her stomach. She’d been wrong to snap. This Yasmin person hadn’t deserved that, she was just trying to look out for Toni. But that’s what Toni does to Julia, turns her into a person she doesn’t like, an abrupt, bad-tempered, butt-clenching person. Toni has always brought out the worst in her.
Julia had told Yasmin Toni was just being irresponsible, but what if she was wrong? What if this is serious and Julia does nothing? She would have to live with that for the rest of her life.
The sinking feeling gets worse. She flips over. Bishop’s sleeping on the dresser. In the dark light, she can just make out his two fat white paws folded together in a perfect M.
Damn you, Toni. Damn you.
4
In the morning Julia heads for the police station. But when she gets there, they tell her they don’t deal with missing abroad cases and give her a number to call instead. She finds a quiet corner in a Starbucks close to the hospital and dials. But when she’s put through, she isn’t sure what to say.
“It’s my sister. A friend of hers says she never turned up at an agreed time and place in Istanbul. It’s probably nothing.”
The operator transfers her to an embassy advisory, John Miller. Julia relays the Yasmin conversation and John Miller advises her that the US Embassy in Turkey will make some inquiries.
“Try not to worry,” he says. “Nine times out of ten they turn up.”
Julia wants to say I’m not worried, I’m embarrassed. My sister’s just being her usual careless self; she’s going to turn up someplace, grinning on a stupid Facebook post, saying oops, guys, I didn’t stop to think.
The conversation ends with John Miller promising to give Julia an update in a day or two.
Julia looks at her watch. Terrific. Now she’s more than thirty minutes late for her monthly cardiothoracic team committee meeting. She hates being late. She prides herself on timeliness. It’s part of her work ethic.
*
The committee chair, Petra Fields, a pediatric congenital heart defect specialist, peers over her cat-eye Tom Ford glasses as Julia hurries to take a seat next to Sue at the table. The nine other committee members are already present. Seven cardiothoracic surgeons that Julia knows in various degrees, and three specialist nurses, including Sue.
Petra returns to the agenda. Item number three. Changes in reimbursement.
“As I was saying...”
Sue reaches for the plate of glazed pastries, takes a pecan and maple Danish, offers one to Julia. Julia shakes her head and pours herself a glass of water instead.
Sue leans closer, chewing. “You okay?” she whispers.
Julia would rather keep things to herself but knows Sue will keep pushing.
“Family issue,” Julia whispers back. “My sister.”
Sue looks surprised. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”
Petra Fields shoots them a frown over her Tom Fords. Julia studies the agenda and tries to focus. But she can’t concentrate. What was it that John Miller had said? Nine times out of ten they turn up. She’s done the same thing as a doctor, rattled off statistics in an effort to reassure patients. But when it comes to the crunch, when it is you or one of your family members on the line, statistics mean nothing. Why hadn’t she questioned him more thoroughly about the process? She should have asked him if there was anything else she should be doing. She never even offered to send him a photograph.
Petra turns to agenda item number four, Lawsuits Lessons, and switches on the projector for a PowerPoint presentation, throwing a vibrant shade of violet onto the blank screen.
Julia is struck by the sudden need to get away.
“Sorry,” she says, pushing back her chair and getting to her feet. “I have to go.”
“Go where?” says Petra, startled. “We’re in the middle of a meeting.”
Julia snatches up her handbag. “I know. I’m sorry.”
She feels their eyes on her. Judging. Except for Sue, whose face is soft with concern.
“Sorry,” Julia says again and walks out the door.
5
She drives to her old neighborhood. A hangdog, dirtbag of a place, skirting East Oakland. Julia’s not sure why she’s come here. What she hopes to achieve. There’s nothing here except dead history. Her eyes track left and right, taking in the unchanged streets. Everything looks smaller, dirtier, like a childhood friend you encounter at a school reunion who has let herself go. The tiny postage stamp park on the corner of Dixon and Rem streets where the kids used to huff solvents. The corner store that charged desperate families credit at twenty-five percent interest. The elementary school where she learned that the best she could hope for was to become a shop girl or factory shift worker or housekeeper for one of the fancy San Fran hotels.
She drives deep into the neighborhood, amongst the derelict housing and treeless streets and bare-dirt front yards. Kids who should be in school wheel around on Frankenstein bikes. Contraptions made up of mismatched parts, salvaged (or most likely stolen) from different bicycles. A mountain bike frame mixed with a ten-speed’s ram’s horn handlebars. A small, low-slung BMX paired with the oversized wheels from an old-fashioned butcher’s bike. Julia feels sorry for the kids. She remembers what it was like. The boredom, the hopelessness, scrounging around for
