I tried not to think about it. The whole bus ride home I tried to purge my mind of all of this - my mother, my genes, what would happen when someone found out - all the questions. When I got home I tried to focus on homework, but my curiosity got the better of me. I got on the computer and googled "Lisa Brimmer".
After sifting through several sites devoted to an Olympic tennis player and cast and crew lists for community theatre shows in the Chicago area (Choreographed by Lisa Brimmer), I finally found a link that might have applied my mother. Unfortunately, the link was broken. I found the imdb profile of a rather unsuccessful actress (possibly the same woman as the choreographer, I mused) and tried several other dead ends before giving up in frustration. I was going to need outside help. Fortunately, I knew just where to get it.
I had opened my e-mail box and was about to start composing my plea when I got a phone call from Jason. He was just calling to confirm that we were meeting at Zhong's house tomorrow night around four. I said I'd be there as soon as I could. The distraction would be a welcome one.
I sat down and began composing the e-mail, telling everything I'd discovered, and then...
I deleted the whole thing. Some information is just to sensitive to trust the internet. Maybe I was starting to give a little too much credence to Mora's "The government screens your e-mails" theory, but something was telling me not to commit any of this to writing. It would be like having a written confession - irrefutable proof. Unfortunately, I didn't really have a more reliable method for sending messages. Phone lines could easily be tapped, especially long-distance. I could write a letter in code, but I got the feeling that was the sort of thing that worked far better in novels than in real life. Still I figured I'd try. The worst that could happen was that Catherine would recieve a horribly confusing letter, which she'd probably ignore anyway. The code had to be subtle, yet obvious enough that she'd see it. I puzzled over it for a while then started writing.
How are you? Really good, or just minorly good? I'm great here! Is everything alright with Vince? We are anxious to hear from you. Send me an e-mail sometime, you rarely do these days. Could you not write or call more often? Seeing as we -
I stopped and looked at I was writing. Far to obvious. Minorly good? It didn't flow naturally at all, and once you realized some letters were bolded you found the code immediately. Plus she'd broken up with Vince a month ago. There was no point in this. I didn't know why I was being so paranoid. It didn't matter. I was going to have to either wait until my sister came home for break to ask her about this or risk traditional methods of communication, neither of which I liked. At the moment though, there was nothing I could do about it.