When Wade came to pick her up, she was at the synagogue gift counter, buying a crystal clock whose face showed the hours in the Hebrew alphabet.

He wrinkled his nose as he paid. “I hope that’s not for me.”

“For Keith.” She tucked the wrapped gift into her bag, along with her books and notes. Playbill had reported that Phonomania had tripled its list of artists, and she needed to find out where she stood in a pyramid chart Keith Schwartz kept on his wall. “I need to buy more presents. And a printed shirt for Jenna.”

She would visit her sister day after tomorrow. Not tomorrow, the Jewish New Year’s Eve, which Nola would spend at the Silvers’ synagogue, showing off her newly acquired knowledge of the prayers. Afterwards, they would have a holiday dinner at their home. Eat apple with honey, the rabbi had said, to bless the coming year with sweetness.

An hour later, Wade swung the bag containing some of the Silvers’ gifts, a gold-leaf picture frame for Eddie’s mother, a crystal decanter for Eddie’s father, an onyx tiepin for Eddie. “You’re spending too much energy on these people.”

“No less than you have on Deanna’s family.”

“They have important contacts—” The ringing of Wade's phone stopped him.

Nola stood in front of Tiffany’s, examining a Fabergé egg. The diamonds and semi-precious stones sparkled in the red enamel as she took in the details. For Eddie?

When touring, she would often find Eddie in her hotel bed on Saturday nights, or she would fly to see him on Mondays. She demanded that Wade schedule no travel or media appearances on the Jewish holidays; she was doing well enough to make time for herself. Last year, her fifth record had made the top ten on the pop charts for her first platinum, and DJs kept “scratching” her tracks, pumping up sales. She had won the American Music Award for Favorite Vocalist, and “Plant My Own Garden” won the Grammy’s Song of The Year for its lyrics, bringing her up on the stage for the first time. However, Best Female Vocal Performance in Pop still went to another, as did Album of The Year.

A “Damn!” from Wade made her turn from the store window.

His face contorted. “It’s Jenna. She’s run away.”

Nola dropped her bag. “Maybe she’s heading here?”

“It’s been a week.”

The blood drained from her head. “What??”

Wade shook his fist in anger. “I wonder when they would have told us if you hadn’t been planning to visit.”

Nola collapsed against his chest. “Oh, God! She’s never been on her own!”

Wade disengaged her hold and called a detective, a former schoolmate, and asked him to meet them within the hour.