The Vanishings (2 page)

“I need some peace and quiet, all right?”

“What will you do for dinner?”

“I'll get something out.”

“Do you need some money?”

“No! Now leave me alone!”

“All right! Just go! But don't be late!”

“Mom! I already told you! I'm staying till closing, so—”

“Don't wait up, yeah, I know. Are you meeting someone there?”

“No!”

“I'd better not find out you've been out with your friends, young man. . . .”

But Judd was already out the door.

At O'Hare, Judd found a flight on Pan-Continental Airlines that left early in the evening and was scheduled to arrive in London the following morning. His phony identification cards worked perfectly, and he
enjoyed being referred to as Mr. Thompson. His first-class ticket was very expensive, but it was the only seat left on the 747.

Judd knew it wouldn't be long before his parents started looking for him. They would discover his car at the airport, and they would quickly find his name on the passenger list of the Pan-Con flight. He'd better enjoy this freedom while he could, he decided. He would try to hide in England for as long as possible, but even if he was found and hauled back to the United States, he hoped he would have made his point.

What was his point, exactly, he wondered. That he needed his freedom. Yeah, that was it. He needed to be able to make some decisions on his own, to be treated like an adult. He didn't want to be told what to do all the time. He wanted the Thompson family to know that he was able to get along in the world on his own. Going to London by himself, based on his own plans, ought to prove that.

Judd sat on the aisle. On the other side of the aisle sat a middle-aged man who had three drinks set before him. Beyond him, in the window seat, a younger man sat hunched over his laptop computer.

Judd was stunned at the beauty of the flight attendant, whose name badge read
“Hattie.” He'd never known anyone with that name, but he couldn't work up the courage to say so. He was excited and pleased with himself when she didn't even ask to see any identification when she offered him champagne.

“How much?” he asked.

“It's free in first class, Mr. Thompson,” she said.

He had tried champagne a few times and didn't like it, but he liked the idea of its sitting on the tray table in front of him. He would pretend to be on business, on his way to London for important meetings.

Captain Rayford Steele came over the intercom, announcing their flight path and altitude and saying he expected to arrive at Heathrow Airport at six in the morning.

Judd Thompson Jr. couldn't wait. This was already the most exciting night of his life.

V
ICKI
Byrne was fourteen and looked eighteen. Tall and slender, she had fiery red hair and had recently learned to dress in a way that drew attention, from girls and guys. She liked leather. Low cut black boots, short skirts, flashy tops, lots of jewelry, and a different hairstyle almost every day.

She was tough. She had to be. Other kids at school considered kids who lived in trailer parks lower class. Vicki's friends were her “own kind,” as her enemies liked to say. When she and her trailer park neighbors boarded the bus on Vicki's first day of high school, they quickly realized how it was going to be.

The bus was full. It was obvious the trailer park was the last stop on the route. Only the first two kids of the twelve boarding from the
trailer park found a seat even to share. Every morning they jostled for position to be one of the lucky first ones aboard. Vicki had given up trying. Two senior boys, smelling of tobacco and bad breath and never, ever, carrying schoolbooks, muscled their way to the front of the line.

No one on the bus looked at the trailer park kids. They seemed to be afraid that if they made eye contact, they might have to slide over and make room for a third person in their seat. And, of course, no one wanted to sit next to “trailer trash.” Vicki had seen them hold their noses when she and her neighbors boarded, and she had heard the whispers.

How was a freshman girl supposed to feel when people pretended not to see her, pretended she didn't exist, acted as if she were scum?

The bus driver refused to pull away from the trailer park until everyone was seated, so the two senior trailer boys—who had already found seats—rose and scowled and insisted that people make room. Some “rich kids,” which they all seemed to be if they didn't live near Vicki, begrudgingly made room.

The first day, Vicki had found herself the last to find a seat. She looked in the front, where most of the black kids sat. They had to
be among the first on the bus, because no one seemed to want to sit with them either—especially the trailer park kids. In fact, Vicki's friends called the black kids horrible names and wouldn't sit with them even if they offered a seat.

Vicki had been raised to believe black kids were beneath her too. No black people lived in the trailer park, and she didn't know why they were supposed to be inferior, other than that they were a different color. Her father had said they were lazy, criminal, stupid. And yet that was how Vicki saw her father himself. At least until two years before.

When she was twelve, something had happened to her parents. Before that they had seemed the same as most of their neighbors. Every Friday night there was a community dance where drunk and jealous husbands fought over their wives and girlfriends. It was not unusual for the dances to be broken up by the police, with one or more of the fighters being hauled off to jail for the night. Often, her mother bailed out Vicki's dad, and then they would fight over that for the rest of the weekend.

Vicki's father had trouble keeping a job, and her mother's waitressing didn't pay enough to cover their bills. Vicki's dad had been a mechanic, a construction worker, a
short-order cook, and a cashier at a convenience store. Being arrested or late or absent from work one too many times always cost him his job, and then they would live on welfare for a few months until he could find something else.

Vicki had wished her parents would stay away from the community dance every Friday night, but they seemed to look forward to it as the highlight of their week. She had to admit she used to love hanging around with her older brother Eddie and little sister Jeanni and their friends during those dances. They were always off sneaking around and getting into mischief while their parents danced, sang, drank, and fought. It was while running with those kids that Vicki learned to smoke and drink. When Eddie graduated from high school, he moved out on his own to Michigan.

There were a few trailer park families who never came to the dances. They, Vicki's father said, were the “religious types. The goody-goodies. The churchgoers.”

Vicki's mother often reminded him, “Don't forget, Tom, that was the way I was raised. And it's not all bad. We could do with some church around here.”

“I rescued you from all that superstitious mumbo jumbo,” he had said.

That became Vicki's view of church. She believed there was a God out there somewhere, and her mother told her he had created the world and created her and loved her. She couldn't make that make sense. If God created this lousy world and her lousy life, how could he love her?

One Friday night when Vicki was in seventh grade, the family heard the loud music signaling the weekly dance and began moseying to the parking lot to hear the band. Vicki's plan was to ditch Jeanni as soon as the party started and run off somewhere with her friends to sneak some cigarettes and maybe some beer.

But before she could do that, the music stopped and everyone looked toward the small stage in surprise. “Uh, 'scuse me,” the lead singer said. “One of our neighbors here has asked if he can introduce a guest who'd like to speak to us for a few minutes.”

Sometimes local politicians said a few words at the dances, or the police reminded people to behave, or the landlord reminded everyone that “this is a privilege and can be ended if there are more fights.”

But the neighbor with a guest speaker had never been seen at one of these dances. He was one of those church people Vicki's dad made fun of. And his guest was a preacher.
As soon as he began to speak, people groaned and began shouting to “get on with the music.”

But the speaker said, “If you'll just indulge me for a few moments, I promise not to take more than five minutes of your time. And I plead with you to let your children hear this too.”

Somehow, that quieted the crowd. The man launched into a very fast, very brief message that included verses from the Bible and a good bit of shouting. Vicki had been to church only once with a friend, and she had no idea what he was talking about. She was struck, however, that everyone, even the bartenders and musicians, seemed to stop and listen. No one ran around, no one spoke, no one moved.

The speaking didn't seem all that great, but there was a feeling, an atmosphere. The man seemed to know what he was talking about and spoke with confidence and authority. The best Vicki could figure out, he was saying that everyone was a sinner and needed God. God loved them and wanted to forgive their sins and promise to take them to heaven when they died.

She didn't believe him. She hated her life, and if she did things wrong, they weren't any worse than what her own parents did. They
smoked and drank and fought. What was the big deal? And if God loved them, why were they living in a trailer park?

Vicki wanted to get going, to run with her friends, but she didn't want to be the only one moving. Everyone else seemed frozen in place. Vicki didn't understand it. She hadn't heard too much of this religious talk, and she didn't care to hear any more. When she turned to complain to her parents, she was shocked to see her mother standing there with her eyes closed, silently moving her lips. Could she be praying?

And her father! Usually something like this would make him nervous and fidgety. It wouldn't have surprised her if he had tried to shout down the speaker or cause some other disturbance. But there he stood, staring at the preacher, not moving. “Daddy?” she whispered.

He held up a hand to shush her. What was so interesting? What was keeping all these party people quiet? The preacher asked his listeners to bow their heads and close their eyes. Now
there
was something they would never do. If there was anything Vicki's dad and his friends hated more than being told what to do, she didn't know what it was.

When she looked around, however, almost everyone was doing it! Some just stared at
the ground, but most had their eyes closed. The preacher told them how they could receive Christ. “Tell God you realize you're a sinner,” he said. “Thank him for sending Jesus to die for you, and accept his offer of forgiveness.”

Vicki still didn't understand. The whole thing made her uneasy, but something was happening here. She looked to her dad and was stunned to see he had fallen to his knees and was crying. Her mother crouched next to him, hugging him and praying with him.

Vicki was embarrassed. As soon as the preacher finished and the music started again, she slipped away with her friends. “What was that all about?” she asked them.

“Who knows?” a boy said, pulling cans of beer from a paper bag and passing them around. “You ought to ask your old man. He really seemed into it. Your mom too.”

Vicki shrugged. Her girlfriend added, “They left the dance, you know.”

“What do you mean?” Vicki asked.

“Your mom was leading your dad back to the trailer, and your little sister was tagging along behind them. They must've got religion or something.”

“Whatever that means,” Vicki said, hoping to change the subject. “I need a cigarette.”

Vicki didn't really need a cigarette. It was
just something to say that made her feel older. She smoked, yes, but she didn't carry a pack with her. She just bummed smokes off her friends once in a while.

At the end of the evening, when she and her friends had had enough beer and cigarettes to make her feel wasted, she filled her mouth with gum to try to hide the smell and made her way back home. She walked through the parking lot where the music and the dancing were still going on.

Some of the people she had seen with their eyes closed and seeming to pray were now drinking and carrying on as usual, but there didn't seem to be any fights or any reason for anyone to call the police.

Vicki was half an hour past her curfew, but her parents had never been home this early from a weekend dance before. She expected a loud chewing out, the usual threats of grounding (which were rarely followed through), and charges that she had been involved in all kinds of awful things. All she and her friends had done was to put firecrackers in a few mailboxes and run away, and they tipped over a few garbage cans. Her father always accused her of much worse than that, but his promised punishments were nearly always forgotten.

This night was strange. Her little sister,
Jeanni, was already in bed, but her parents were as awake as she had ever seen them. Her mother sat at the tiny kitchen table, her dusty old Bible in front of her. Vicki's father was excited, beaming, smiling, pacing. “I want to quit smoking and drinking, Dawn,” he said, as Vicki came in. “I want to clean up my whole act.”

“Now, Tom,” Vicki's mother cautioned, “nobody says you can't be a Christian if you smoke and drink. Let's find a good church and start living for God and let him do the work in our lives.”

Vicki shook her head and started for her bedroom, but her father called her back. “I became a Christian tonight, honey,” he said, a name he hadn't called her since she was a preschooler.

“What were you before?” Vicki asked.

“I was a nothing,” he said. “Your mom was a Christian, but I—”

“I knew the Lord,” Vicki's mother said, “but I haven't lived for him for years. I was pretty much a nothing myself. But I came back to the Lord tonight. We're going to start going to church and—”

“Church?” Vicki said.
“I'm
not going!”

“Of course you are,” her dad said. “When you get saved, you'll
want
to go to church. I can't wait.”

“I can,” Vicki said. “And when I get saved from what?”

“Saved from hell, saved from your sin. You'll be safe in the arms of Jesus, and you'll go to heaven when you die.”

“You really believe that?” Vicki said.

“You bet I do,” Mr. Byrne said.

“I'll tell you what I bet,” Vicki said. “I bet you'll be drinking and cussing and fighting and losing your job again.”

Her father's smile froze. She knew she had made him mad, and she could tell he wanted to hit her. She had spoken what she believed was the truth, but she hadn't really wanted to hurt him.

He approached and reached for her, and she flinched. “Don't you touch me!” she screamed.

He took her gently by the shoulders and spoke softly. “I'm not going to hit you, Vicki,” he said. “Let me hug you.” She couldn't remember how long it had been since he had done that. “I know this all has to sound strange to you, but something happened to me tonight. It was as if God spoke to me. I don't know why I listened or how he got through, but he did. And things are going to change around here.”

That'll be the day,
Vicki thought.

“I know you have no reason to believe me,
hon,” her dad said. “I don't blame you for not understanding. I've never given you any reason to trust me, so I guess I'll just have to prove it.”

“Let's let God work on her,” her mom said. “We have enough work to do on ourselves, and he's going to help us with that too.”