“Did she have any boyfriends back home?”
“The usual. Boys coming and going, she’d dump them like the trash. One of them—this stringbean named Mark, a basketball player like her dad—seemed a little more serious, and I asked her if they were boyfriend and girlfriend and she laughed and said, ‘No, Mom.’ You know, in that tone they get? ‘No, Mom. He’s just my boy, comma, friend.'”
“Mark was her age?” I said.
“No, he was a senior, and she was a freshman, the older boys always went for her, and it was mutual—she liked them mature, looking old for their age. And tall, real tall. Why do you ask about Mark?”
“Just trying to get a feel for her state of mind.”
“You’re thinking ’cause she lost her dad she was looking for a dad, right? Someone older and tall. Maybe some older guy asked her to pose and she did it because she was vulnerable.”
I stared at her.
She said, “I’ve had plenty of time to think. So am I right?”
“That did cross my mind.”
“Crossed mine, too. And Dr. Yoshimura’s. She and I went all through that, her helping to analyze everything. But as far as Shawna having any much older boyfriends back home, I don’t think so. Mostly she didn’t have time for dating, was really concentrating on her pageants and getting into college— That’s one thing about Shawna, she was always a serious student. I never had to tell her to study. And if she didn’t get an A it was a world tragedy, she’d be arguing with the teacher.” Weak smile. “And sometimes she got her way—let me show you. Those report cards are on the bottom.”
As she rummaged I said, “Just to be thorough, where’s Mark now?”
She looked up. “Him? Oh, no. He joined the Army right out of school, got stationed in Germany, married a German girl. He was out of the country when Shawna disappeared. Wrote me the sweetest condolence card when he found out— I’ve got that, too. Right here.”
A hearts-and-flowers Hallmark landed in my palm. Soppy verse, and a block-printed notation:
Dear Mrs. Yeager,
Please accept our sincerest condolense about Shawna. We know she’s up with the angels.
Astrid and Mark Ortega, and Kaylie
Stapled to the facing page was a studio shot of a skinny, blond, young man, crew-cut and mustachioed, a chubby brunette woman, and a grinning, pie-faced baby.
“Nice boy,” said Agnes. “But Shawna was too much for him. She needed someone to stimulate her brain. Lord knows I couldn’t do it, never finished high school— Here we go, these are her report cards.”
She handed me a rubber-banded stack. Twelve grades’ worth of nearly straight A’s. Achievement tests consistently above the ninety-fifth percentile. Teachers’ comments: “Shawna’s a very bright little girl, but she does tend to visit with her neighbors.” “A joy, wish they were all like her.” “Has a firm grip of the material and loves to learn.” “Strong-willed, but she always ends up doing the work.”
At the bottom of the stack was a transcript from the U.
Four courses during the quarter she’d never finished. A quartet of in-completes.
“It arrived after she was gone,” said Agnes. “When I opened the envelope, I just lost it. That word. ‘Incomplete.’ When you’re in that state, everything’s got a double meaning. You’re looking for something to be angry about. I nearly ripped this into shreds. Now I’m glad I didn’t. Though I did give away the clothes Shawna left behind. Waited until a few months ago, but I was able to do it.”
I stared at the transcript, placed it back on the bottom.
“Smart,” said Agnes. “See what I mean?”
“Yes, I do, Mrs. Yeager. Is there anything else?”
“Well, you might tell me what you’re planning to do.”
“I’m going to review Shawna’s file. I know that sounds vague and bureaucratic, but I’m just starting out. If I think of something, may I call you?”
“You’d better.” She grabbed my hand in both of hers. “I have a feeling about you. You’re a serious person. However it comes out, you’re going to give it your best. Thank you very, very much.”