worry. I just want us to go for a little ride.’
Shaking her head, Didi said, ‘I can’t.’
‘Yes, you can,’ he said. ‘Please.’ And then added, ‘I have to insist.’
He stood very close to her between the cars. He was invading her personal space, and Didi’s knees would not stop shaking. She glanced this way and that. Please, someone just come walking, get out of a car, something, somebody see us. Please.
Didi wasn’t in the restaurant.
Rich thought there was nothing more pathetic than a man waiting for his late wife. Embarrassed, he straightened his tie and smiled politely at the hostess.
Finally he called the office for his messages and listened to one from Didi at 12.30 PM, asking him if he could meet her a little earlier. There was something in her voice that he didn’t like and didn’t understand. There was an edge to it, and the pitch was higher than normal.
It was also an unusual call. Rich and Didi had been together for ten years. In that decade, Rich Wood had never known Didi to call from the mall and ask to meet him early.
Late, yes.
Honey, I’ll be a few minutes late.
Honey, I’m stuck in line.
Honey, there is just one more stop I have to make.
Yes, yes, yes.
But honey, can you meet me early?
If she was at the Laredo Grill, then he could tease her about it.
But she wasn’t there.
Rich knew there were many diversions between the mall and the restaurant. She could have stopped at the bookstore or the music store. Or the Container Store.
He waited awhile longer before calling his office again. There was nothing new from her after 12.30 PM. If she had stopped off somewhere, she would have called. Didi usually was considerate about being habitually late.
At one-thirty, he glanced at his watch as a little worm of worry ate away at the empty stomach where hunger had been.
Thirty minutes was too long to be stuck in any line.
He dialed the number to her cellular phone. It rang the requisite seven times before an annoying male voice answered and told Rich that the cellular customer he had called was unavailable.
Rich wondered if Didi was getting back at him for the fight they’d had yesterday, to prove to him that all it would take was for her to be a little late and he would be concerned. Maybe this is payback time, Rich thought irritably, looking at his watch every thirty seconds or so.
Rich felt his throat constrict. It wasn’t fair of her to be so late. She was exceedingly pregnant. Didi must know that Rich would immediately think she had gone into labor. Or had an accident.
He called his answering service for the third time and listened to her twelve-thirty message. ‘It’s just me,’ Didi said. ‘Calling from the mall, hoping I could meet you a little earlier.’ Pause. ‘It’s okay. I’ll see you at one, I guess. Bye.’
He listened to it again, trying to read into the pause.
What was that in her voice?
Sweat ran down Didi’s cheeks. She hoped it was sweat and not tears. She didn’t want to cry in front of this man. ‘Listen,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’
He reached out and wiped her face. He wiped the tears off her face. ‘Just come for a ride with me,’ he said.
Where were her keys? Where were they? Where had she dropped them, ah, goddammit, in her purse! How would that work, anyway? Excuse me while I fish for my keys, let me rummage through my bag while you wait, just hang on a sec.
And what would she do with them? Hitting the panic button was a joke. It was the joke of parking lots, of streets, of urban living. Nothing was ignored with quite the same intensity as a piercing car alarm. What do we all think? We think, when is someone going to find his keys and turn that stupid thing off?
Still, she wished she could have her keys handy. Hit the alarm, startle him, get in her car, lock the doors, drive away.
She leaned against the car, not moving, panting, trying to steady her knees.
He moved closer to her and pushed her slightly with his body. ‘Come on. It’ll be all right. I’m parked just over there.’
Didi knew that in her condition she couldn’t walk anywhere, she’d just fall down.
‘Okay,’ she said, sniffling. ‘Can you carry my bags?’ She thrust all the bags at him, except for her purse, and looked behind him, searching for other people in the parking lot. Didi cursed the day minivans became so popular. He and she were sandwiched in the three-foot space between her minivan and a small truck. Behind her was another minivan, and she could not see out. Worse, no one could see in. ‘Could you carry my bags?’ Didi repeated, trying to sound calm. She just wanted a second to reach into her purse.
He chuckled. ‘No, I don’t think that would be a good idea. But it’s nice of you to ask me.’
Moving off the car to stand on her own, Didi tried again. ‘You did say I shouldn’t be carrying them. Could you help me out? They’re really heavy.’
He continued to smile peaceably. ‘Well, whose fault is that, now, ma’am? Is that my fault? Did I spend a half hour at Dillard’s buying makeup? Did I go to FAO Schwarz and come back out with another bag? Did I go to Coach? To Warner Bros? To Victoria’s Secret? No, I didn’t. I didn’t buy anything. I’m not carrying anything. But you didn’t seem to care then about carrying all these bags and hurting your baby. It’s your fault they’re heavy. Now come on. We’re wasting time.’
My God, thought Didi. It was clear he had followed her from her very first stop at NorthPark. For all she knew, he had seen her at the doctor’s.
Why would he follow her? Why would he single her out?
She didn’t want to turn her back to him.
Didi had thought that feeling fear was watching a scary Halloween movie with Rich, and when the teenagers were alone in the room and any second the vampires would appear, Didi would get a pit in her stomach, turn to Rich, and say, ‘I’m not watching this.’
And that’s what Didi wanted to do now. Turn away and say, ‘I’m not watching this.’
‘How’s your wife going to feel about you taking other women for rides in your car?’ Didi said.
She
