The Bird Cage Read Online Free PDF Page A

think he knew he’d be gone for more than a few days, and he cleaned out his refrigerator.”
    “Go away and leave his wallet, his cell phone, lap top, check book? It doesn’t make any sense,” Trevor said. “You take ID if nothing else, even if you’ve gone camping. His camping gear is in the closet.”
    She felt as helpless as he looked. Hesitantly she said, “Maybe you should notify the police. Make a missing person report or something.”
    He thought about a twenty-five thousand dollar check recently deposited and shook his head. “He could be in real trouble. Something he wouldn’t want the police to know about,” he said in a low voice. “Scare my dad even more than he is now. Not yet. Maybe later, but not yet.”
    “Is his car here?”
    “He sold it, said it was an expense he could do without. He uses a bike to get around.” He jumped up. “I didn’t think to check it out. Wait here.” He hurried from the apartment, returned a minute later and said flatly. “It’s chained to the rack. Someone came to get him. He must have emptied his pockets and left with him.”
    He looked about the apartment, crossed to the table and snatched up Cody’s cell phone. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.
    “What are you going to do?”
    “Let’s go to my place. Get something to drink. I’m going to call every number in his address book. Someone has to know where he is. He wouldn’t have walked out with a stranger.”
    After another hellish drive with Trevor talking all the way, they were on his patio drinking iced tea. No alcohol, Jean had said. He had to go to the hospital by five to check on his mother, relieve his father, let him leave her long enough to take a walk, eat something.
    “If anything happens… ” she had said turning down beer, a mixed drink. “You know. They shouldn’t smell alcohol.”
    Now he was making another call.
    She listened to the one-sided conversation dully. Nothing. No one knew anything. He disconnected and put the phone on a table. “I’ll finish later,” he said. “I have to go. I’ll finish calling later.” He drained his glass and stood. “Jean, why don’t you stay here. I’ll get a cab. You can rest.”
    She jumped up. “No! I don’t want to be alone! Stay together, you said that we should stay together.” She heard the panic in her voice and drew in a long breath. “I’ll drive this time. We should take turns. Trevor, I don’t want to be alone. Not yet.”
    He examined her face, nodded. “Yeah, we should stay together for now. Let’s go.”
    He sat with his eyes closed as she drove and talked about whatever came to mind. She had been an interior decorator. The company tanked and she lost the job, got hired by someone called Lizzie, a fabric shop. She liked to ski. Her voice faltered and stopped and he said quietly, “Keep talking, Jean.” She started again.
    “I thought I had wet myself. But I hadn’t. When I took off my snow pants, I was dry. He was wet, not me, but I felt wet and ashamed.”
    “Keep talking,” he said again in a strained voice. He had felt his legs burning, Cody’s legs burning. “You’re doing fine. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
    Her mouth was dry. But she had felt wet that day. She talked without any real awareness of what she was saying. Now and again she glanced at him, now and then caught him glancing at her.
    Again in the coffee shop, this time with a book, she was prepared to wait a long time for him to return, and that day at the pond played in her head, the sensation of being wet, freezing cold and wet, screaming. She wanted to scream and bit her lip, forced herself to look at the open book she held, and could not remember what she had read. She started over.
    Finally he came to the booth and slumped into the seat opposite her. “She’s a little better,” he said. “Breathing without the ventilator. If the improvement continues through the night, they might move her to a private room tomorrow. Still