Jakarta Missing by Jane Kurtz Read Free Book Online Page A

everyone sing, but it wasn’t the same. Jakarta always pulled her aside, though, between the dorm and school and slipped a candy bar into her hand, something special saved from store night two weeks before.
    Mom touched Dakar’s forehead again, almost shyly. “When did you start to wear your hair that way? It makes you look more like Jakarta, except hers isn’t red, of course.”
    â€œI know.” Dakar flexed one of her skinny arms and made a muscle. “I’m getting buff like her, too.” Buff was a great new word she got from Melanie. “But I wish you would call my hair auburn.”
    Mom laughed. “Okay. Not as red as your dad’s. Though I’ve always thought you looked like him.”
    Dakar felt absurdly happy, as though she’d just been told she resembled God. “But my eyes aren’t like his.” Dad’s eyes were deep brown. Her eyes were blue. Not Mom’s blue. Just blue. “And he doesn’t have freckles.”
    Mom smoothed Dakar’s bridge of freckles with both thumbs. “I’ll bet he did when he was twelve. If his mom or dad were still alive, we could ask.”
    The next best thing about the day was being able to say yes to Melanie’s Saturday plan. Why not? By the time they were walking to school together, Dakar felt expansive, full of goodwill. Goodwill. Just thinking the word made her laugh.
    â€œâ€˜Fear not,’” she said to Melanie, spreading her arms and pretending that she had great, shimmering wings to flap. “‘For behold I bring you good tidings of great joy. Peace on earth and goodwill to all’ … to all human beings.”
    â€œWhoa,” Melanie said. “Including the hockey players?” They giggled together, and Dakar felt she might grow real wings and start floating. She put her hand against her chest. No ice in there today. The glow had melted it all.
    Except—except that Melanie’s comment had started worries bubbling again. She’d never seen a hockey game or a football game. How stupid was that going to seem? And what was Jakarta going to play here? “It’s all right,” she told herself. Jakarta had to be happy that the four of them would be together again. “I just remembered I’ve got to do something,” Dakar said. “It’s urgent.” Without waiting for Melanie to answer, she started to run. She had to be sure she had enough time to get downstairs before the first bell rang.
    â€œAfrica child,” the cook said before she could say anything. “You are full of glory today. The heavens are telling the glory of God, as my mother used to say to each one of her children every single morning.”
    â€œWhat about that day to day pours forth speech part?” Dakar asked. “Don’t you like that? Good storytellers pour forth speech, don’t you think? I know I feel that way when I’m telling one of my favorite stories.”
    The cook clicked her tongue. “Your parents surely did bring you up to know your good word, Africa child. Or did the Bible just come bubbling up out of the hot springs over there?”
    Dakar laughed. “Neither,” she said. “And I wanted to tell you that my big sister is coming home. That’s why I look so full of glory.”
    â€œYour sister.” The cook let out a long, squeaky sigh. “Well, you know, that’s a hallelujah moment, Africa child. I do wish I could see my own sister. There’s a wide, wide ocean between me and my baby sister.”
    â€œWhy don’t you go see her?” Dakar asked.
    The cook shook her head. “I was born saying I would never, ever get up in an airplane. Then life twisted itself around me, and up I went in spite of all I had to say.” She chuckled. “And isn’t that life? But when God set me safely down on North Dakota solid ground, I vowed that was my last airplane flight. No, I think these willing