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The Jigsaw Jungle Page 2


  VIDEO TRANSCRIPT

  INT. KITCHEN—NIGHT

  The room is full of people. Streamers hang from the ceiling and a bunch of balloons are tied to one chair. Claudia’s father, Jeff, stands next to the balloon chair. His hair is dark and he wears brown glasses. He has on a blue dress shirt, khaki pants, and a novelty math tie that says C = 2πr. Jeff is chatting with Kate and her mom, Mrs. Anderson. Kate wears a silly hat with candles, which she takes off and puts on Jeff’s head. Her mother wears a dark blue maternity dress that clings to her belly.

  JENNY (Off-Screen)

  Time for cake!

  The lights suddenly go out.

  Claudia’s mother carries a beautifully decorated round cake with two number candles, 4 and 1, on the top. She looks as if she’s come straight from work. She has dark blond, shoulder-length hair, and is wearing a silk blouse and a pencil skirt. Everyone starts to sing.

  Jeff smiles patiently until they’re done. Then he closes his eyes for a moment, making a wish. He opens his eyes and blows out the candles. Everyone cheers.

  Jenny leans over and gives him a kiss.

  JENNY (CONT’D)

  Happy birthday, sweetie.

  NOTE TO READER

  IT WAS STRANGE to see my father on the video. I couldn’t help thinking that if I walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, my father would be there, reading the paper.

  There were no other videos of my father on my phone, just a few clips of Kate and me and a couple of other girls from school at a sleepover, lip-synching to songs and trying out crazy hairdos.

  I told Mom we needed to get out our home movies—the clip was kind of dark and a little blurry for television—but she said Dad had taken most of our videos to his parents’ house when Nana was sick. She’d felt too bad from the chemo to do much except lie on the couch, and watching videos of me always cheered her up.

  Mom promised to see what else she could find. But I still felt disappointed. I wanted to see those videos now. I wanted more notes in my lunch. I wanted to see my father again, even if it was only for a moment on a screen.

  PHONE TRANSCRIPT

  Claudia Dalton’s Cell Phone | Monday, June 29, 2015, 10:49 a.m.

  Kate: Did you hear from your dad yet?

  Claudia: No.

  Kate: That’s so strange. Everything seemed normal at his birthday party last week!

  Claudia: I know. Do you think he had an accident?

  Kate: Didn’t the police check the hospitals?

  Claudia: Yeah. No John Does matching his description.

  Kate: Well, that’s good.

  Claudia: Do you think he was, like, a secret drug user or something?

  Kate: Your dad?!

  Claudia: Yeah, you’re right. He doesn’t even drink coffee.

  Kate: Maybe he was kidnapped.

  Claudia: Who would kidnap a guy who is 6'2"?

  Kate: It could happen.

  Claudia: I guess.

  Kate: It’s just so odd. Your dad is, like, Mr. Dependable. Do you remember last year when I forgot my permission slip?

  Claudia: Yeah.

  Kate: My mom was in a meeting. My dad said it was “too bad” I wasn’t more responsible. Your dad said, “Sure, I’ll swing by your house on my lunch hour and pick it up.”

  Claudia: I remember.

  Kate: That meant so much to me! I mean, if my dad disappeared, I wouldn’t be so surprised. He’s always at work anyway. But your dad . . .

  Claudia: You’re making me feel worse, Kate!

  Kate: Sorry. Want to come to the pool? Might help get your mind off things.

  Claudia: Thanks, but no. I’m gonna stay home with Mom. In case we hear anything.

  Kate: Okay. Text me later.

  Claudia: Will do.

  VOICE MEMO

  Walter Dalton’s Cell Phone | Monday, June 29, 2015, 1:35 p.m.

  [RECORDING BEGINS]

  I wish you were here, Lily. Our son has been missing for three days now. It’s been awful. A couple of your friends from book club called to check on me. But I didn’t return their messages.

  I did finally go see that geriatric grief specialist you found for me before you died. The guy wasn’t too much of an idiot, I guess. Though he did tell me to start a diary of my thoughts and feelings. What a bunch of touchy-feely crap! I told him I stopped writing reports when I retired. But he insisted, and I agreed to try talking to my phone. Hence, the voice memos.

  Nah, I can’t do this. This is the stupidest idea I’ve ever—

  [RECORDING ENDS]

  NOTE TO READER

  MOM FOUND A box of old keepsakes way back in her closet. There was a program from the musical Camelot—Dad had taken her on one of their first dates. Under the program was a pile of postcards, bound together with a rubber band. Mom blushed when I picked them up. “Dad sent me one every single week of junior year when I was spending a semester in France.” Each postcard had a quote on it:

  “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.”

  Elizabeth Barrett Browning

  “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

  William Shakespeare

  “O my Luve is like a red, red rose.”

  Robert Burns

  In the box were also two videotapes. We watched them together that afternoon, curled up on the couch. The first was their wedding video. Mom said her favorite part was when the minister messed up the vows. “It broke the tension. Then Dad and I could just relax and enjoy the ceremony.” The second was of my fourth birthday. It should have been with the tapes Dad had taken to Nana, but I guess it had been placed in the wrong box.

  VIDEO TRANSCRIPT

  INT. CHURCH—DAY

  A younger Jenny wears a white dress and veil. She’s smiling and clutching a bouquet of flowers. A younger Jeff stands beside her in a dark suit. He’s pale and serious. His hands are trembling. A female minister stands between them, officiating.

  MINISTER

  Thank you for that lovely reading. Now it’s time for the vows.

  A hush falls over the crowd.

  MINISTER (CONT’D)

  Do you, Jeffery Robert Dalton, take Jennifer Ann Thompson to be your lawfully wedded husband?

  Everyone laughs, including Jenny and Jeff. Jeff’s hands finally stop shaking.

  MINISTER (CONT’D)

  (smiling)

  I’m sorry! I mean your wife.

  JEFF

  I do.

  Jenny takes Jeff’s hand and squeezes it. He smiles.

  —————

  INT. KITCHEN—DAY

  Claudia wears a frilly dress and a party hat. There’s a half-eaten cake on the table with the words Happy 4th Birthday, Claudia written in pink icing. She’s right in the middle of opening presents.

  DAD

  Now, this is a special one. It’s something my mother taught me to do.

  Claudia looks at Nana, who is standing nearby.

  CLAUDIA

  Nana.

  DAD

  Yes, Nana is my mother. And now I want to teach you.

  CLAUDIA

  What?

  DAD

  Open it.

  Claudia rips off the paper.

  CLAUDIA

  (confused)

  It’s a puzzle.

  DAD

  A big-girl puzzle. With one hundred pieces.

  CLAUDIA

  Really?! A hundred?

  NANA

  Oh, Jeff, I think that’s too many for her.

  CLAUDIA

  No! I’m a big girl.

  Everyone laughs.

  * * *

  —————

  INT. KITCHEN—LATER

  The table is cleared of cake and dishes. Jeff and Claudia sit close together. Claudia listens intently to everything
her father says.

  DAD

  First, you dump all the pieces onto the table. Then you turn them picture side up and sort them into edge and middle pieces.

  CLAUDIA

  Edge?

  DAD

  The edge pieces have a side that is straight.

  He picks one up and hands it to her. She runs her little finger across it.

  CLAUDIA

  I feel it!

  * * *

  —————

  INT. KITCHEN—LATER

  Claudia leads her mother into the kitchen.

  CLAUDIA

  Keep your eyes closed!

  MOM

  My eyes are closed.

  She stops at the table.

  CLAUDIA

  Now open.

  Her mom does. The puzzle, “Animal Alphabet,” is completed on the table.

  CLAUDIA (CONT’D)

  Ta-da!

  MOM

  Did you do this?!

  CLAUDIA

  All by myself. Dad only helped a little.

  MOM

  Wow!

  Jeff ruffles her hair and smiles.

  NOTE TO READER

  MY PARENTS LOOKED so young at their wedding, it was almost like they were different people. And I barely remembered getting that first puzzle. Puzzles were something my father and I had done together, almost every weekend, for years. Until, well, until last year, I guess, when I started middle school and I wanted to hang out with my friends more.

  Watching that video and seeing how happy we had been, I worried that my dad’s disappearance had something to do with me. I thought about saying something to Mom then, but the phone rang. It was the police. They’d found some surveillance footage from the bank and an email.

  While Mom was talking to the police, I went to get the mail.

  SURVEILLANCE VIDEO TRANSCRIPT

  EXT. BANK OF AMERICA—NIGHT

  The date/time stamp in the lower right-hand corner reads: 2015/06/26 17:25:03. A tall man in khaki pants and a light blue dress shirt approaches the ATM. He swipes his card and enters his PIN. He withdraws the maximum daily allowance of $800 from his checking account. He does not request a receipt.

  No one is visible in the frame with him.

  The next person to use the ATM is an old woman with a cane, approximately three minutes later.

  EMAIL

  From: Uber Receipts

  Date: Friday, June 26, 2015 6:07 PM EST

  To: Jeffery Dalton

  Subject: Your Friday evening trip with Uber

  $11.45

  Fare Breakdown

  Base Fare: 2.00

  Distance: 5.06

  Time: 3.39

  Subtotal: $10.45

  Safe rides fee: 1.00

  Charged:

  Personal XXXX-XXXX-XXXX-XX45 $11.45

  5:45 PM | 20 Division Blvd.

  6:05 PM | Greyhound Bus Station

  MAIL

  Monday, June 29, 2015, 2:14 p.m.

  EMAIL

  From: Claudia Dalton

  Date: Monday, June 29, 2015 2:33 PM EST

  To: Jeffery Dalton

  Subject: At least you’re not dead

  Dear Dad,

  You’re a jerk! A big fat jerk!! How could you disappear on Mom and me like that?! I’m glad you’re not dead, but I’m so ANGRY at you!! What do you need to think over? Are you in the mafia? Did you rob a bank? Did you kill someone? Why won’t you just tell us what’s wrong??

  Do you remember when I was seven and we were at the movies and you fell asleep? I got hungry, so I took some money from your wallet and went to go get popcorn. When you woke up, you didn’t know where I was and you were so terrified, you nearly had a heart attack. Well, that’s how Mom and I felt. We thought you were dead!

  Just come home and I’m sure we can figure this all out. It can’t be that bad! Isn’t that what you always say to me?!

  Love, Claudia

  PHONE TRANSCRIPT

  Jenny Dalton’s Cell Phone | Monday, June 29, 2015, 5:32 p.m.

  Mom: Did you get the picture of the postcard I attached to the email?

  Papa: Yes. What did the police say?

  Mom: They said it supports their theory that he left voluntarily. He left his car at school, paid cash for his bus ticket. None of the other teachers noticed anything wrong. According to the police, there’s nothing more they can do.

  Papa: What?

  Mom: Apparently, it’s not illegal to walk out on your wife and daughter.

  Papa: What?!

  Mom: I’m just telling you what they said.

  Papa: So what do we do now?

  Mom: Do you have any idea where he might be? Any old friends in New York?

  Papa: Jeff doesn’t have a lot of friends.

  Mom: I know. Did anything seem off the last time you saw him?

  Papa: I haven’t seen him since Lily’s funeral. That was four months ago.

  Mom: He stayed a week afterward. What did you all do?

  Papa: Nothing! Boxed up her clothes. Threw some stuff out. Jeff spent a lot of time in the attic, organizing his old puzzles. He stayed up late watching TV.

  Mom: There’s got to be something.

  Papa: There’s a box of stuff in his old closet. Yearbook, old papers, nothing that would help.

  Mom: It’ll be okay, Walter. We just need to be patient and—

  Papa: Patient?!

  Mom: What else can we do?

  Papa: [SILENCE]

  Mom: We’ll find him, Walter.

  Papa: I hope so.

  VOICE MEMO

  Walter Dalton’s Cell Phone | Tuesday, June 30, 2015, 8:45 a.m.

  [RECORDING BEGINS]

  A postcard?! One lousy postcard. That’s all he’s sent.

  I can’t believe this. I wish you were here, Lily. We need your optimism. And yet, part of me is glad you’re not around to experience this. It’s like when you got sick and there was nothing I could do. I hate feeling so helpless.

  The doctor said I should shake up my routine, try something different. I guess I’ll look through the box in the closet. I have to do something! Maybe Jenny can be patient, but I . . .

  [RECORDING ENDS]

  YEARBOOK

  Inside the front cover are a bunch of handwritten messages.

  To Jeff,

  It’s been nice knowing you this year. Have a great summer. Let’s play mini golf again soon.

  Steve

  To Jeff,

  You are my best friend. Would have been an awful year if I hadn’t met you! Have a terrific summer and come visit me next year!

  Brian

  To Jeff,

  I haven’t gotten to know U that well this year. I hope I get to know U better next year.

  Amanda

  To Jeff,

  Better than elementary school, huh?! Thanks for the food and answers. And remember—always write your name in your underwear!!

  Paul

  MARCHING BAND

  Jeffery Dalton, clarinet

  7TH GRADE HISTORIANS

  This year the 7th graders each put together a time capsule—maybe they put in the front page of the newspaper, or even a pair of orange Reeboks. Just don’t forget where you bury it—you might want to dig it up in 30 years!

  EMAIL

  From: InterContinental Geneve

  Date: Tuesday, June 30, 2015 9:35 AM EST

  To: Jennifer Dalton

  Subject: Registration Reminder

  Intercontinental Geneve

  July 6—July 16, 2015

  Dear Valued Guest:<
br />
  We are looking forward to welcoming you to the 11th Annual Medical Coding Conference in Geneva, Switzerland.

  You are registered for:

  Full Conference (Presenter)

  This package includes:

  One (1) Adult—Standard Room with Balcony

  Breakfast

  Special Meals (Opening Luncheon, Closing Banquet)

  Arriving: Monday, July 6, 2015

  Departing: Friday, July 17, 2015

  NOTE TO READER

  MOM AND I soon realized we had another problem: her annual conference in Switzerland.

  I usually stay home with Dad, but with him missing, I couldn’t do that. Kate was the obvious second choice, but her mother’s due date was right in the middle of the trip. Mom couldn’t cancel without risking her job, and with Dad gone, that didn’t seem like a good idea.

  Over dinner, Mom ran through the options. I could stay with another friend, Sophie or Madison or Emily. But they weren’t as close friends as Kate. The idea of talking with them about my dad made me feel sick to my stomach. Mom said I could go with her, but I had tried that one year. The hotel pool was fun for about two days and then I had ten more days of drinking hot soda without ice. Besides, what if Dad came home and we were gone? Every suggestion Mom came up with made me feel worse. Finally, I pushed my plate away and ran to my room.

  I started looking through all my old emails from Dad. There had to be some clue, right? Some inkling of what he wanted to “think over.” I think I found it—or at least I thought I did—in a message from about a month before.