The Face on the Milk Carton by Caroline B. Cooney

Author:Caroline B. Cooney [Cooney, Caroline B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-307-56750-5
Publisher: Laurel-Leaf
Published: 1990-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

11

They spent two hours on the Connecticut Turnpike. Janie read every blue and white highway sign as if it were immortal literature and she was going to be tested.

On the New York Thruway they paid a toll and turned north for White Plains, where they headed for the Tappan Zee Bridge and crossed the Hudson River. The river was very wide and flat, the same gray color as the sky. A single barge floated downstream.

All that water, thought Janie, and no traffic on it. She stared at the apartment buildings and houses on the riverbanks and pretended to choose a place where Jayyne Jonstone would live. Jayyne Jonstone. She had planned Jayyne to be mysterious and sensual and full of flair.

She had always thought of mysteries as exciting curtains, to be tugged aside to reveal intriguing pasts. But her mystery was sick and vicious. Was she even now driving on the very road that Frank and Miranda Javensen had driven down when they made their horrible decision to replace Hannah? Had they ever talked about it? Out loud? Ever said to each other, “Why don’t we kidnap somebody?” Or had it just happened of its own accord, without plan, and then somehow had seemed right to them, instead of hideously, evilly wrong?

“Janie,” said Reeve, “it’s impossible.”

Janie held up the milk carton.

“I see the milk carton,” said Reeve. “But that isn’t you. How could you recognize you after all these years?”

“I don’t recognize me. I recognize my dress. Reeve, this dress is in the attic! In Hannah’s trunk.”

“Come on, there must be a trillion polka-dotted dresses that little girls wore once. My sisters probably wore that stuff. So big deal.”

“It is a big deal, Reeve.”

She could feel that Reeve wanted to drive a hundred miles an hour and was angry with the traffic and the law for keeping him back. “And who could this Spring family be?” demanded Reeve. “Maybe it’s a conspiracy the Springs dreamed up to destroy your mother and father. They’d go to prison, you know, if they really kidnapped you.” Reeve looked right at her. “Which they didn’t,” he said.

Prison. Another dark and vicious word. She had never seen a prison, except on TV cop shows. Her mother—stripped, searched, locked up, and tormented?

Mommy! Janie’s heart cried.

But out loud she said calmly, “Okay, I’ve been studying this map of New Jersey.” She was glad driving took so much of Reeve’s attention. He did not have much turnpike experience; the heavy, truck-filled traffic kept Reeve’s eyes ahead, or on the mirrors, but rarely able to meet Janie’s eyes. “It’s a good thing that gas station was stocked with maps. We want to get off in seventeen more exits, and then turn south. The town where the shopping center is will be halfway between—”

“What are we going to do when we get there?” Reeve demanded.

She said nothing. She did not know yet.

“Janie, how’m I going to explain to my parents where we’ve been?”

“Why do we have to explain to anybody? Let’s say we went—um—just driving around—killing time—we felt like skipping school.

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