During the silence, Harper's thoughts turned to Chelsea and the information Mary had given her. She had moved out in April and had called Harper in June and asked to see her. Mary had assumed that they were back together. What did that mean?

Harper wondered. Mary knew Chelsea better than anyone did. If she expected her to run to Harper, what other conclusion could there be but...

Harper stopped herself from completing that thought, forcing herself to listen more carefully to Sarah's description of rumbling through Wyoming overnight, listening to elk bugling at sunset and how that had made her feel really far from home, impossibly far, as if she had crossed some divide that was passable in only one direction and there was no longer any chance of turning back.

0.

Chapter 22.

JUNE 26.

Harper put the cereal bowls in the dishwasher and sat across from Sarah at the kitchen table as she finished her glass of orange juice. Dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, she looked different today.

Without all of the cleavage and thigh of yesterday, she looked younger, more like the child Harper knew.

Sarah sifted through the stack of CDs at the edge of the table, then screwed up her face in distaste. "Dean Martin?"

"Not mine. I picked those up for a friend."

"Good."

"Have you ever even listened to Dean Martin?"

Sarah shrugged. "Guess not."

She got up and put her juice glass in the dishwasher.

"What was the book Mary gave you?" Harper asked.

"It's poetry. It's Catherine Gardiner's. She told me to read this one poem in particular, but I decided to read the whole book.

I'll get it." Sarah ran into the guest room, retrieving the book and returning, flipping it open to a marked page. "Should I read it to you?"

Harper nodded and listened as Sarah attempted to read a poem called "Tradition." Harper had read that poem years ago and hadn't thought of it since. Sarah read it too fast and without a lyrical quality.

"What do you think it means?" she asked when she'd finished.

Harper took the book from her. "Listen," she said, and then she read the poem, pausing in the right places so the meaning came through.

Young girl sat spinning, spinning, knotting herself into a tapestry of mothers upon mothers, a pantheon of mothers stretched along her coiled thread.

Each one sat spinning, spinning, admiring the crimson and the silver where blood of moonlight mingles in the fine lines of cloth, consecrated by unquestionables While daughters upon daughters sat spinning, spinning, weaving a dense web of ignorance and vainglory around and through themselves to please their mothers Who sat spinning, spinning, welcoming the end of their days with regrets for the patterns and the colors, mutely dreaming of unravelings, But only wailing, wailing over the spinning of young girl who sits smiling at the flawless absolutes in the shroud she has made.

Harper looked up from the book to see Sarah gazing at her, her brow furrowed by a look of concentration. "Wow," she said.

"You read that so much better than I did."

"Did it make more sense, hearing it like that?"

Sarah nodded and took the book back, then studied the page, silently reciting the poem again to herself with her new insight.

"Read it a couple more times, and then we can talk about what it means," Harper told her.

Sarah continued reading. Harper drank her coffee, thinking about how much she could tell Sarah about this poem and about so many poems and stories and the people who wrote them, if there were more time. "Teach her something," Mary had advised.

There was only so much you could teach someone in a couple of days. Not enough to make much difference. To make a difference, you'd have to have more time.

"Sarah, Mary mentioned a poem you wrote called 'Passing Through.' Do you mind if I look at it?"

She went to get the poem for Harper, returning with a piece of paper that had been folded often into fourths and was covered in a scrawling longhand. Harper skimmed it quickly, agreeing with Mary's assessment. It was dreadful, at least in its current state.

"Why don't you read it out loud to me?" Harper suggested.

"That makes such a big difference, especially in the author's own voice."

Sarah's eyes widened with delight, and Harper understood that it was because she had used the word "author" to refer to her. Sarah took the poem and read it aloud, lending a singsong rhythm to it that had eluded Harper when she read it. The message was a simple one about passing through the dingy side of small towns without ever knowing anything about them or the people who lived there, people who must have interesting and tragic lives, each one a story worth telling. It wasn't so much "dreadful" as amateurish, a poem that probably wasn't worth a second thought...until Sarah recited it. Because, in her voice, it wasn't a poem at all. It was a song.

"A little stiff," Harper said. "What if you try to sing it?"

Sarah looked astonished. "Well, I did. I mean, that's where it came from. I heard it in my head first. I sang it, like a song. And then I wrote it down as a poem."

"So sing it for me, like you did in your head."

Sarah took a deep breath and then sang the song without looking at the paper. She sang in a pop style with a slightly melancholy tone, and the song had more complexity to its melody than the poem had revealed.

Harper was taken aback. "That's a lovely song," she said. "It's melodic and thought-provoking. Do you read music?"

Sarah shook her head.

"Come here." Harper led Sarah to the piano in the living room. She pulled the bench out, then asked Sarah to sing her song again. While Sarah sang, Harper began to play, picking up the tune. In a few minutes, she had embellished it and increased the tempo, and Sarah was laughing with excitement and a little embarrassment to hear her song transformed like this.

"Let's record this," Harper suggested, "and when I have time, I'll write down the notes for you."

Sarah seemed elated. It had obviously never occurred to her that she could actually write a song. Because she didn't know how to read or write music, she had written an unremarkable poem instead. Now, of course, she wanted to be able to play the song herself. She was all fired up, in fact, to take lessons and launch herself into an entirely new realm of artistic achievement.

After they had recorded the music, Sarah sat at the computer, listening to the instrumental version of her song, singing along with it, pleased with herself. Okay, Mary, Harper thought, I've taught her something. But there's not going to be time, unfortunately, for much more than this.

"I called your father last night," Harper said.

Sarah looked up. "I figured you would."

"Your parents were very relieved to hear that you were safe."Sarah shrugged.

"Don't you care that you terrified them?"

"I was just pissed off."

"About what?"

"They won't let me do anything. They took away everything.

I felt like I was suffocating. I couldn't go out. I couldn't use the computer. I couldn't watch TV even. They took my phone. If I had stayed there, they would have chained me up in the basement next." Sarah held up her iPod. "This is the only thing I have left, my tunes."

Harper smiled. "So why'd you come here? You knew I would rat you out."

"Oh, sure, but it was an adventure getting here. I had fun.

Besides, you promised that I could come out for a visit and I was tired of waiting."

"Sorry about that."

"Well, here I am. Let's party!"

"Your parents have asked me to send you back right away."

"Can't I stay just a little while?" Sarah's expression, pleading and sincere, plucked at Harper's heartstrings.

After pondering it a while, she called Neil again and proposed a new plan. "Let her stay here until my scheduled trip home," she offered. "That's July twenty-sixth. I'll bring her home then."

"Do you really want to have to deal with this for the next four weeks, Harper?" he asked. "You don't know what kids are like."

"We can give it a try. If it gets bad, I'll send her home. I have that luxury."

"I hate to reward her for running away," he said, but in the end, he gave in.

Sarah was ecstatic. They sat down with a map of California and a guidebook and began planning where they might go together. Before long, though, Harper's attention drifted back to the question of Chelsea and where she was.

As if reading Harper's mind, Sarah suddenly said, "Oh, but what about Chelsea? Will she be coming with us? I can't wait to meet her."

That's right, thought Harper, startled. Sarah thinks Chelsea and I are still together. Mary had not explained anything to her, preferring to avoid the subject altogether.

"Unfortunately," she said, "Chelsea and I broke up two years ago.""Oh, wow," she responded. "No wonder Mary was so surprised when I showed up."

Harper nodded. "No damage done."

"Oh, that's so sad."

Harper could tell by Sarah's expression that she had given Harper and Chelsea a happy ending in her imagination. People do so want a happy ending, Harper thought, recalling something Chelsea had once said.

"So, is Mary Chelsea's aunt or something?" Sarah asked.

"No," Harper said. "Not a relative. They were, uh-"

Sarah's eyes widened. "Oh," she said, understanding. "Oh, shit, that's even worse. Oh, God, Aunt Harper, I'm sorry. I'm such a moron."

"Chelsea has apparently broken up with Mary now too,"

Harper said.

Sarah perked up. "Really? So she's available? You can hook up again."

"I don't know. I don't really know what her situation is now."

"Why don't you call her?"

"I have, actually, a couple of times. No response."

"Do you still love her?" Sarah asked, her tone almost comically sympathetic.

Harper nodded.

"Well, then, you must go to her!" Sarah said dramatically, her eyes flashing.

Sarah was suddenly no longer concerned about sightseeing, it seemed. She wanted to do something far more interesting- reunite two lovers.

Harper wished she knew if Chelsea still wanted to see her.

Even if she did, Mary's threat loomed. Her certainty of her hold on Chelsea was chilling.

"I think she must have an apartment here in town," Harper said, "but I don't have her address."

"Well, she isn't there anyway," Sarah said nonchalantly.

"What?" Harper asked. "Why do you say that?"

"When I asked Mary if Chelsea was home, she said she was gone away on vacation. I thought she meant that she had gone away with you."

"So that's why you were waiting for me there? Why you thought I had come back with Chelsea?"

"Right. Anyway, I asked Mary where. Mendocino, she said."

"Mendocino," Harper repeated. "Her brother has a vacation home there."

"I told Mary I was your niece and that I was looking for you because you weren't home. She was confused. She asked me why I was asking where Chelsea was if I was looking for you.

I began to think that maybe it was a secret, you know, you and Chelsea, and that I was outing you guys or something. I mean, I'm still thinking that Mary is her aunt or her landlady or even her mother. So I got freaked out. I don't even know what I said after that, something about you and Chelsea being traveling companions or something."

"Traveling companions!" Harper said, laughing.

"I know, it was so lame! She started asking me all these questions about you and Chelsea, and I told her I didn't know anything, that I'd just arrived from Cape Cod. So then she said I could wait for you at her place. And you know the rest." Sarah looked sheepish. "Anyway, now that you know where Chelsea is, you can go to her."