Barking Up the Wrong Lead - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter One

Chapter One

PROS AND CONS OF THE CENTERAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY DECLARING YOUR MOTHER AS MISSING IN ACTION

(A List by Morgan Goode)

CON: She's gone.  Mom's gone.

On the night my father told me, the first person I wanted to talk to was my mom.  But I couldn't.  That was sort of the point.  Five call-ins—now six. That was... well, it wasn't looking too good.  But I couldn't let myself lose hope because once that was gone, I didn't have much else left.

So I settled with talking to her plaque, displayed proudly in the Gallagher Academy Hall of History, beside the sword of Gillian Gallagher herself.  There was a picture of her in cap and gown, smiling.  I was reminded for probably the millionth time that my mom was—is—completely gorgeous.  Dad always said that I looked just like her, but I didn’t think I did.  Not in the ways that counted anyways.  Her hair was light and straight, while mine was dark and tangled.  While Mom had hips, I stood there looking like a boy with a bra.  I certainly didn’t have her smile—that was the part that really got you.  When Mom smiled, I’d always thought that nothing bad was ever going to happen.  That things like hate and cruelty might even be impossible.

But now I was certain that these things existed, because the sadness I felt was cruel and I hated whatever had happened to my mom.

I began to think that maybe I had grown immune to Mom's smile because no matter how long I looked up at her picture, I still wanted to cry.  "Hey Mom," I said.

I felt sort of stupid talking to a picture.  The rational part of me knew that no matter how much I said, it wouldn't change anything.  But only a very little bit of me was rational anymore.  In fact, it was starting to seem like the rational parts of me had disappeared with my mother.  "It's been a long winter break."

I waited like someone was going to respond, but no one did.  That hallway was quieter than it had ever been, the few girls that stayed at school for the holidays getting in their last good night of sleep before the new semester.  If I listened closely, I could hear the wind outside our walls, blowing in the chill of winter.  "There's some pretty cool people looking for you," I assured her.  "The best of the best.  Last I heard, Aunt Bex was somewhere in Portugal.  Aunt Abby's here too.  She and Grandma and Townsend are always strategizing away in the office.  Of course, the door stays closed to me, and you probably know that it's soundproofed."  Of course she knew.  Mom knew everything.

"Dad's looking for you," I continued.  I hoped that, somehow, the real Mom would hear me.  That she would know to keep an eye out for him.  "When you were declared MIA, he totally flipped and took off.  Didn't even wait for CIA instruction.  Just booked a jet and left.  Grandpa Joe went with him—told me he’d keep an eye on Dad.  Grandpa Joe is acting really cool, but he’s not right.  The other day he spilled his coffee.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen Grandpa Joe spill anything, Mom.”

The night seemed to have grown darker and the wind louder.  “Matt wanted to go with them—he was yelling at them.  I didn’t even know people could yell at Grandma and live to tell the tale.  Told them that he was almost graduated.  That he was just as capable as anyone else.  They blew him off though.  Said he wasn't ready.  I haven't seen him since.  Not even on New Years, but then again, it's not like we had much of a celebration this year." 

I wondered what she would think about not celebrating New Year’s Eve. It was her favorite holiday.  A fresh start with family and friends.  This whole time of year was her favorite, actually, but everyone was so preoccupied with Mom being lost that, in a way, they had forgotten all about her.