Free Bloodlines by Jan Burke

had dropped. He questioned her about it, and she told him she had purchased it herself to keep men from annoying her--told them she had a steady beau. "Who's annoying you?" he wanted to know, firing up.
    "You are!" she told him.
    That Friday night in April, he didn't meet her after work. He had a night off from his job at the Express, and he had a date. For months now, he had been one of the many young men who sought the attention of another high school senior, Ethel Gibbs, and she had finally agreed to go out with O'Connor, surely the shyest member of her court. Maureen had been more excited about the prospect of her brother going on a date than perhaps he had been himself. A vicarious bit of pleasure for her, he thought, since she seldom dated.
    Looking back on it now, he could not remember where he had planned to take Ethel. He hardly remembered why he had wanted to date her, what it was that had seemed so attractive about her. He could only vaguely recall her face.
    He could, however, recall perfectly that moment when her mother opened the front door and looked in a puzzled way at the young man who stood before her, wearing his best clothes, smelling of his father's cologne. He remembered Mrs. Gibbs's blushes as she stammered confused apologies on her daughter's behalf. Ethel had left an hour ago, she said in dismay, with-- but she halted mid-sentence, not naming O'Connor's rival. O'Connor had felt his own face redden and only managed to murmur, "My mistake, I'm sure."
    He had delayed going back home, had wandered around the streets of downtown Las Piernas for a couple of hours before deciding that he might as well swallow his shame and let Maureen know that Ethel had stood him up. Going up the steps of the porch, he wondered how she would take it. Probably be more disappointed than he was, really.
    As he opened the front door, he saw that although there was no blackout ordered that night, the house was nearly in total darkness. He heard his father shout frantically, "Maureen! Maureen! Is that you?"
    "No, Da, it's me, Conn," he called back, turning on the lights as he went toward the back room that had been adapted for his father's use.
    A small lamp near the bedside cast the only light in the room. His father had moved himself to a sitting position--an act that he could barely manage on his own, and only by enduring tremendous pain. Kieran O'Connor's hair was silver, but that night, looking at his father in the light of that single lamp, was the first time that O'Connor found himself thinking, He's become an old man.
    "Conn!" his father said sharply. "Conn, listen to me--your sister--she's not come home."
    "Not come home?" O'Connor repeated blankly. "Maureen, not come home?"
    His father's face twisted in agony.
    "Da, lie back down now. I'll get you something to eat."
    "To hell with that!" his father roared. "It's your sister I'm worried about, not my damned belly!" And to O'Connor's shock, the older man burst into tears.
    "Da," he said, coming to his side, easing him back on the bed. "Da, don't now. Don't. It might not be anything--maybe she had to work overtime. I'll call the factory..."
    "I've already called," his father said, quickly wiping a hand across his face. "There's been no overtime since February."
    O'Connor felt a coldness in the pit of his stomach. Maureen was dedicated to taking care of their father. She would never leave him, not even for a few moments, without arranging for someone to care for him.
    "Conn," his father said, "never mind me, now. You've got to go look for her. You know she always comes straight home to me. Something's wrong. What if she's--if she's been in an accident?"
    "I'll find her. I promise."
    He began by calling the neighbor who often walked with them. She was surprised at his questions--Maureen had walked as far as the corner of their street with her, before turning to walk toward home. Maureen had mentioned no other plans. The neighbor hadn't noticed anyone else nearby.
    O'Connor