The two sets of green eyes were the only real resemblance in the photograph. What had Gina once told me? She'd looked out the window at Irisplaying in the yard and smilingly observed, "Iris is the image of her father, except for her eyes."

Iris. The name brought to my mind the vision of a slim blonde with startlingly blue eyes. But not this Iris. Not Iris Chavez, whom I remembered as a giggling little girl with a mop of curly black hair and later as a plump, eager-to-please teenager. A sweet, bouncy, cheerful girl. I'd not seen his or Gina in several years. Yet when the phone rang yesterday at my daughter's home in east Texas, I'd immediately recognized Gina's voice and just, as swiftly known there was trouble. Or, to be precise, realized immediately that Gina was terribly afraid.Gina hated to ask for help, but there is nothing you won't do, no mile you won't walk, no mountain you won't climb, no effort you won't make for a grandchild. I understand that. I have two grandchildren of my own."Nothing, Henrie 0, nothing since last Wednesday. And Iris never misses E-mailing on Saturday mornings without telling me in advance that she will skip. I've sent message after message. I've called and called. There's no answer. I thought of contactingthe police. But what could I tell them? That I haven't received an E-mail? That I can't get her on the phone? That's not enough to report her as missing." She paused. "And maybe she's just out of town with a friend. Oh, there could be many reasons. I don't want to embarrass her. But I can't wait any longer." Gina's voice quavered.

E-mail. It links us to the world no matter where we live. It was through a casual E-mail that Gina knew I was visiting my daughter, Emily, and that I was only a three-hour drive from San Antonio, where Iris lived. And yes, my days were free. I was no longer teaching, though I'd decided to keep my home in, the Missouri college town where I'd been on the journalism faculty for several years. And yes, I could easily go to San Antonio and yes, I would do that for my frightened friend.

I'd received Gina's call early this morning. Now, the answer was near. Perhaps I would find Ids at her apartment. If I didn't find her, I would go to the store where she worked and perhaps we'd both laugh andafter she'd called her grandmother, assured her she was fine-Iris would offer to buy me a cold raspa, the shaved-ice confection so dear to San Antonians, and I would stay a few days in this lovely city-what better place to do some early Christmas shopping?--then resume my visit at my daughter's.

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