Speaking in Tongues

last Christmas Tate was surprised only that it had taken her so long to accept what must have been her dozenth proposal since they’d divorced. When they’d been married she’d been charming and flighty and wholly ungrounded, relying on him to provide the foundation she needed. He’d assumed that once they’d split up she’d quickly find someone else to play that role.
    He wondered if he was standing next to a Betty Susan McCall different from the one he’d been married to (and wondered too if she was thinking the same about him).
    “Bett,” he said to reassure her, “she’s fine. She’s a mature young woman. She vented some steam and’s going off for a few days. I did it myself when I was about her age. Remember?” He doubted that she did but, surprising him, she said, “You made it all the way to Baltimore.”
    “And I called the Judge and he came to get me. A two-day runaway. Look, Megan’s had a lot to deal with. I think the soap dish is the key.”
    “The dish?”
    “You’re right—nobody’d buy a present and a card and then not give them to you. She’ll be back for your birthday. And know what else?”
    “What?”
    “There’s a positive side to this. She’s brought upsome things that we can talk about. That ought to be talked about.” He nodded—toward the house, where his letter rested like a bloody knife.
    Logic. Who could argue with it?
    But Bett wasn’t convinced.
    “There’s something else I have to tell you.” She chewed on her narrow lower lip the way he remembered her doing whenever she’d been troubled. She gripped the porch banister and lowered her head.
    Tate Collier, intercollegiate debate champion, national moot court winner, expert forensic orator, recognized the body language of an impending confession.
    “Go ahead,” he said.
    “The night of the water tower thing—I was . . . out.”
    “Out?”
    She sighed. “I mean, I didn’t get home. I was at Brad’s in Baltimore. I didn’t plan on it; I just fell asleep. Megan was really upset I hadn’t called.”
    “You apologized?”
    “Of course.”
    “Well, it was one of those things. An accident. She’d know that.”
    Bett shook her head dismissingly. “I think maybe that’s what started her drinking before she climbed up the tower. It didn’t help that she doesn’t like Brad much.”
    The girl had described Bett’s fiancé as a nerd who parted his hair too carefully, thought sweaters with reindeer on them were stylish and spent too much time in front of the TV. Tate didn’t share these observations with Bett now.
    “It takes a little while to get used to stepparents. I see it all the time in my practice.”
    “I held off going over to his place for a while after that. But last night I went there again. I asked her if she minded and she said she didn’t. I dropped her at Amy’s on my way to Baltimore.”
    “So, there.” Tate smiled and caught her eye as she glanced his way.
    “What?”
    He lifted his palms. “It’s just a little payback. She’s over at somebody’s house, going to let you sweat a bit.”
    So, no need to worry.
    You go your way and I’ll go mine.
    “That may be,” Bett said, “but I’ll never forgive myself if I just forget it and something happens to her.”
    Tate’s phone buzzed. He answered it.
    “Counselor,” Konnie’s gruff voice barked.
    “Konnie, what’s up?”
    “Got good news.”
    “You found her?”
    Bett’s head swiveled.
    The detective said, “She’s on her way to New York.”
    “How do you know?” Tate asked.
    “I put out a DMV notice and a patrol found her car at the Vienna Metro station. On the front seat was an Amtrak schedule. She’d circled Saturday trains to Penn Station. Manhattan.” The Metro would take her from Vienna to Union Station in downtown D.C. in a half hour. From there it was three hours to New York City. Konnie continued. “You know anybody up there she’d go to visit?”
    Tate told this to Bett, who took the news cautiously. He asked about where she might be going.
    She shook her head. “I don’t think she knows a soul up there.”
    Tate relayed the answer to Konnie.
    “Well, at least you know where she’s going. I’ll call NYPD and have somebody meet the trains and ask around the station. I’ll send ’em her picture.”
    “Okay. Thanks, Konnie.” He hung up. Looked at his ex-wife. “Well,” he said. “That’s that.”
    But the violet eyes disagreed.
    “What, Bett?” he asked.
    “I’m sorry, Tate. I