Girl, Forgotten (Andrea Oliver 2)

“You mean the New York Times? The Washington Post? The Baltimore Sun?” She gave a rueful laugh. “Slow and deliberate starvation isn’t very sexy compared to a worldwide pandemic, insane election conspiracies, whatever social upheaval is going on in the world and a mass shooting every single week. The few reporters who returned my calls told me to give it time.”

“I understand,” he said.

“Mr. Bible, forgive me, but I don’t think you do. Time is the very thing that’s going to kill my daughter.” Melody had put her hands on her hips. “When Star first got wrapped up in this madness, I talked to an eating disorder specialist about what to expect. My mother was a nurse. I needed to understand the science. Anorexia nervosa has the highest mortality rate of all mental health disorders. Typically, the heart simply gives out. There’s not enough potassium and calcium to generate the electricity required to maintain a normal heartbeat.”

Andrea thought about Star’s deliberate movements around the kitchen. The long pauses in between. She was so malnourished that the slightest expenditure of energy exhausted her.

Melody continued, “If their heart doesn’t stop, there’s the osteopenia from the loss of calcium. Their bones are more susceptible to breaks, and the breaks don’t heal. Infections are more life-threatening because the immune system is compromised. The neurological problems range from seizures to cognitive deficits caused by structural changes in the brain. And don’t forget anemia, gastrointestinal disorders, organ failure, hormonal fluctuations, infertility—though I suppose that part is very convenient for Dean and Nardo.”

Bible asked, “How’s that?”

“Mr. Bible, I’m not the hysterical, febrile woman Jack Stilton has made me out to be. Why else would they be starving and brutalizing my daughter if they weren’t fucking her?”

She let them consider her words as she led them to the sunroom off the kitchen.

Again, Andrea was surprised by the décor. One entire wall was taken up by a massive vinyl album collection. A professional drum kit filled the corner, which explained the Ringo Starr affinity. The framed posters on the walls were clearly originals. Andrea recognized the festivals. Bonnaroo. Burning Man. Coachella. Lilith Fair. Lollapalooza. Signatures were scrawled across the band names.

“I mostly work as a session drummer now, but my husband and I toured for thirty years,” Melody explained. “My mother watched Star while we were on the road. I never left her for more than two weeks at a time, but they were very close. Then, four and a half years ago Mother died. I think that’s what triggered Star to start searching for meaning. She felt lost. I’m her mother so obviously I couldn’t give her what she needed. For better or worse, the farm gave her something to believe in.”

Bible sat on the futon, which was so low that his knees were at chest-level. “Is your husband still touring?”

“Denny passed away the year before my mother. Looking back, that’s when Star began to go downhill. She was experimenting with drugs. Which was fine. I experimented with drugs—they were fabulous. But Star couldn’t stop.” Melody sat down cross-legged on the floor. A tubby calico appeared out of nowhere and crawled into her lap. “Dean Wexler aside, I was actually glad when she started volunteering at the farm. She stopped using. She was my little girl again. It’s funny how easy it is to see all of your mistakes after the fact.”

Bible expertly pulled her away from the self-recriminations. “What was that like? Touring around and such?”

“It was a fucking blast.” She gave a deep belly laugh. “We weren’t huge, but we were good enough to make a living, which is more than most can say. I went by Melody Bricks, short for Brickel, not to be confused with Edie Brickell. That’s me in the corner, to quote R.E.M.”

Andrea felt caught out. Her eyes had wandered to the alphabetized vinyl collection. The Melody Bricks Experience was faced out in the B section. A younger version of Melody was on the front. She was screaming into a microphone from behind her drum kit. Andrea read some of the track names. “Everything Gone”; “Misery Loves Comity”; “Absent in Absentia.” Very New Wave.

Melody told her, “There’s a signed Missundaztood in there. I got to sit in with Pink on the Midwest swing of the Party Tour. Feel free to poke around.”

Andrea wasn’t here for the record collection, but Bible had established an easy tempo with the woman that she didn’t want to break.

“Hold on before we get to the hard part.” Melody leaned over and started cranking open the windows. A light breeze filled the room. “Menopause is not for sissies.”

“Gotta agree with you there.” Bible chuckled. “My wife, Cussy, I don’t know how she does it.”

Melody sat back on the floor. “As much fun as it is to talk about cats and menopause with you, Mr. Bible, let’s please cut to the chase.”

“My partner and I were out at the farm this morning.” Bible paused. “We saw your daughter.”

Andrea looked away from the albums. Tears had sprung into Melody’s eyes.

“Is she—” Melody’s voice caught. “Is she all right?”

“She’s alive,” Bible told her. “I didn’t speak to her, but—”

His work phone started ringing. He checked the caller ID.

“Mr. Bible,” Melody said. “Please don’t answer that.”

“It’s just my boss. She can wait.” Bible silenced the ringer. “Oliver, show her the photograph that Star took with your phone.”

“What?” Melody stood up. “How did Star get your phone?”

“I left it for her on the counter.” Andrea tucked the album she was holding under her arm so that she could retrieve her iPhone. “You can take a photo without the password.”

“Yes,” Melody said. “The button is on the lock screen. Can you hurry, please?”