Izzy does not want to be guilt-tripped. You promised you wouldn’t get mad!

She did? Either way, Antonia better scale it back or Izzy is going to hang up before Antonia can get the information they need to track down their lost sister. For an unreal moment Antonia wonders if this is a trick? Izzy calling from beyond the grave. A heaven wink? A narrative bump? In which case, put Sam on!

Slowly, the rambling story sort of coheres—which is as much as can be expected of any of Izzy’s narratives. Izzy was on her way to Tilly’s but she had to stop to make a deposit on a motel. Turns out the people next door had llamas about to be put down, as the owners couldn’t take care of them. Izzy offered to adopt them. Didn’t you get my message? Izzy asks in a cross voice.

What message? Antonia feels she has entered an alternate universe where nothing follows logically from anything else. Why haul the llamas to Illinois? Tilly lives in the suburbs. There’s probably an ordinance against llamas on Happy Valley Road.

That’s why I called you, Izzy explains. They’d be better off in Vermont. I would have driven them there. But you didn’t pick up.

You knew I was in Illinois, Antonia reminds Izzy. Or did this information even register with their older sister? Could Izzy also have a touch of dementia?

We could drive back from Illinois together, Izzy proposes.

If she wasn’t before, Antonia is sure now. She agrees with Mona: Izzy needs help. Izzy, listen, honey, just tell me where you are, okay?

At some roadside stop, which is why she’s calling. She just went into the bathroom and there was a wanted poster of her on the wall. A really bad photo. It didn’t even look like her. Otherwise someone might have recognized her.

Izzy, this is serious, Antonia interjects. The police are looking for you; we hired a private investigator. The time and money they’ve spent. Most of all, the anguish.

You’re raining on my parade! Izzy scolds in her I’m-the-oldest tone of voice. How dare a younger sibling tell her what’s what.

Antonia can hear it; she’s losing Izzy. The only way to draw her back from the edge is to engage her in one of the sad stories that Izzy always gets involved in.

Listen, Izzy, Antonia cuts through Izzy’s rant. I’m not in Illinois anymore. I’m in Athol with Mo-mo; Tilly is on her way here; we’ve been trying to find you. But here’s the thing: I need to get back to Vermont. There’s this young girl, undocumented, pregnant, about to dar a luz, alone in this world, no one else she can call on. Antonia relates the tale, heightening the pathos, not that it needs any touching up. She can feel Izzy listening. Can such empathy be a pathology?

Antonia concludes with her bargaining chip. She’s not going home until Izzy is back.

I can’t, Izzy wails. I signed papers. I don’t have the money. And I know you guys aren’t going to lend it to me. If I rob a bank, I’ll end up in jail. Or in the loony bin, she jokes. So, the reality gauge is not totally off. Izzy has not lost her sense of humor. There is hope.

We can get you out of that agreement. Your Realtor friend Nancy as good as said she’s ready to tear up the agreement. Antonia does not need to add the caveat: if something untoward has happened to the signatory. The last thing Izzy needs is an idea like that put in her head.

As she has been speaking, Antonia is walking back into the house, through the sunporch, into the living room, which has suddenly become very quiet. Mona and Maritza and Dot have sensed a surprising development. Antonia makes an emphatic gesture—jabbing a finger to her lips, then mimes writing on a piece of paper, afraid if she turns on the speakerphone, Izzy might get suspicious and hang up. Izzy, Antonia scribbles, pointing to the phone. Mona’s mouth falls open, but Antonia again gestures for silence. The three women crowd around Antonia.

Ask for her location, Dot jots down.

Antonia nods deeply. Precisely what she has been trying to do. Izzy, honey, where are you, cuquita? Their mother’s moniker for the favorite daughter of the moment.

Izzy again says, How should I know? Some rest stop on the interstate.

Hey! Antonia hears a male voice in the background. You’re going to have to finish up. I gotta go!

Who’s that? Antonia asks.

A really nice guy who is letting me use his cell. I lost mine.

Put him on, Antonia says, unsure whether Izzy will comply. Could you, please? Antonia inflects the command into a question. The eldest has to be made to feel she is in control.

Ralph sounds nice enough. Antonia explains her sister doesn’t quite know where she is. Always has had a bad sense of direction—best to leave it at that in case this Ralph is some shady character for whom a vulnerable older woman, flashing her wad of cash from the bank account she emptied, would be the perfect setup.

Antonia jots down the location, Interstate 94, Exit 9, in Gary, Indiana. Dot and Mona hurry into the porch, dogs in tow, to make follow-up calls. Antonia can hear them—Dot dialing the state police; Mona, their sister Tilly. Meanwhile, Ralph really has to go. He’s got a load of cream cheese to get to Chicago yesterday.

Does she offer to buy the whole truckload in exchange for Ralph babysitting Izzy before the cops come? Can you put my sister back on?

Hey! she hears Ralph shouting into the roar of interstate traffic. Your sister still wants to talk to you!

I’m afraid she just drove off, he says when he comes back on. Don’t worry. She’s not going fast pulling that big trailer of animals.

It doesn’t take long to set their rescue operation in motion. The Indiana state police have already stopped a driver swerving on the highway. Dot asks them to please hold Felicia Vega. She has been missing. The family is worried. Mona reaches Tilly and Kaspar, who were only a couple of hours away from Athol. They are turning around and racing back to Gary. Depending on what the state police might require, the plan is to pick up Izzy, and—then what? That’s what the sisterhood has to decide. Where do the homeless whose ice floes have melted reside? What is the right thing to do by someone whose head isn’t on right?

Another call comes in, but this time it’s Beth Trotter. Just wanting to give Antonia an update. Beth has checked out the expectant mother. The position of the baby, the size of her cervix, any time now. But here’s the thing. Beth has done a little of her own sleuthing. Since Estela is a minor, if she goes to the hospital without a guardian, they will have to notify DCF, who will notify ICE about an underage undocumented minor, and the likelihood is Estela will be deported before another brown US citizen can be born. It never rains but it pours, right?

Beth has already called her friend Deborah, a probate judge, who is ready to step in with an expedited guardianship. You’d be the perfect candidate, Deborah agrees. Respected professor emeritus, writer, widow of a beloved doctor, and, a biggie, you’re Hispanic, able to communicate with the girl pending her special juvenile status hearing. But we’re racing against the clock here. How soon before you’ll be back?

Who is the most important one? Antonia could torture herself. But the answer is plain as day. They now know where Izzy is. The state police already have her in custody. Tilly is turning around on the interstate. They’re in for the long haul now, getting Izzy into treatment, monitoring her meds, a residential facility perhaps. In the meantime—

Oh my God! Beth exclaims when Antonia explains her situation. Sorry to have dumped all this on you right now. You’ve got enough on your plate. It never rains but it pours all right.

Antonia is soaking wet. On the narrow path. Every self-help podcast advises her to take care of herself first. But the objects in the mirror come closer.

eight

All it takes

Back home, Antonia’s answering machine is blinking. A dozen or so hang ups. Finally, one of the messages has content: Toni, are you there? Please pick up! Hello! I know you’re there! Izzy’s voice is urgent. She’s pretending she’s not there, Izzy complains to someone at her end. The line goes dead.

Tuesday, 5:30 p.m., the machine voice announces. A day ago. Izzy must have called the landline before reaching Antonia on her cell number in Athol.

The next message is again Izzy. Sorry, she didn’t mean to hang up. She’s using somebody else’s cell. She lost hers. I really need to reach you, she pleads. I have a huuuuuge favor to ask.

Can Toni—oops, sorry, can Antonia take in some homeless llamas that are otherwise going to end up as dogmeat? Izzy was going to buy a farm but she doesn’t think she can swing it right now. You’ve got a ton of land around your house, Izzy pleads. It’s a family, the mom and dad, and the cutest little baby. All it would take is fencing in a little area and building a small shed for them to get in out of the weather in winter.