“And you're certainly old enough and smart enough to make your own choices. If going to bed with your father will make you happy, then I'm not going to stand in your way.

“And as for the rest of it, it is not the State of Illinois’ business who you choose to love. Hell, if you got arrested, I bet I could make a damn good case for those Laws being unconstitutional, just based on the

Equal Protection Clause." She sniffed angrily.

“Just like gay people have the right to marry now. As they should.

“So the question is," she said, moving back to the sofa, "what are we going to do about it? You certainly can't walk into his workshop tomorrow and try to seduce him. Even if he found you attractive, which he does, he'd be all torn up with guilt afterward. Your father and I are just getting back together. I'm not going to put our relationship in danger. Not even for you, Sarah."

She nodded as her mother sank into thought and called the next hospital. A few minutes Later, she crumpled the sheet into a frustrated ball and chucked it at the wastepaper basket in the corner, missing by a yard.

“If Daddy knew we had your permission..." she said tentatively.

Rachel quirked an amused eyebrow at her.

“Hmmm. Maybe a notarized slip?

“Dear Josh: You have my permission to screw Sarah. Please give her the fucking of a lifetime. Sincerely, Rachel.‘ That idea has its charms, especially to see the look on his face." Sarah giggled.

“But no. It has to be indisputable."

“What has to be indisputable?" her father asked, entering the room.

Sarah jumped guiltily.

“Nothing,” her mother said easily. "Just a Little girl-talk."

“Sounds interesting," he said, his tone meaning the opposite. He picked up the remote and turned on the TV, settling down beside Rachel. They spoke quietly together as Sarah made more calls, Rachel explaining their project. He listened carefully, making suggestions about who else could be contacted: homeless shelters, churches, and the like. She eyed her mother enviously as she nestled into the hollow of his shoulder.

"Yes," she said to the receptionist at the University of Chicago

Medical Center.

“I'm looking for a woman who has been missing since

Thursday, May nineteenth. I am checking the local hospitals to see if she might have been brought in. Her name is Althea Carpenter. Yes," she sighed. "I'll hold."

A minute later she cupped her hand over the speaker.