Eleven Hours

  Glad to see there was no one in the store this afternoon, Didi asked for something silky and sexy for the hospital.

  “I have just the thing for you,” said the salesgirl. “When are you due?”

  “Monday,” said Didi.

  “As in today, Monday?” The girl’s eyes opened wide.

  “Maybe not today,” Didi said pleasantly. “But I’m hoping to have my baby on a Monday.”

  “Is Monday your lucky day or something?”

  Nodding, Didi said, “It is my lucky day, I guess. I was born on a Monday. My second daughter was born on a Monday, and it was a pretty easy delivery, so that was lucky. Much easier than the first, which was on a Saturday.”

  “Maybe the easy labor was because she was second and all,” the salesgirl said.

  “You’re right,” said Didi. “But it’s still my lucky day.”

  “Well, let’s pray it’s not today,” said the salesgirl. “Let me show you what I’ve got for you.” She had pretty red hair. Didi wondered if it was her natural color. Didi was proud of the fact that she had never colored or highlighted her own brown hair. She also didn’t wear much makeup, though she bought plenty. Didi thought of herself as a person comfortable in her own skin. The salesgirl must have seen Didi looking at her hair, because she smiled and, touching it, said, “Best color money can buy. Do you like it?”

  Smiling and secretly pleased, Didi said, “Love it. It looks very natural.”

  “I like yours,” the salesgirl said. “Tell me, is it difficult keeping it that long in this heat and with being pregnant and all?”

  Touching her hair, Didi replied, “It’s not too bad. It’s naturally straight, so I don’t do much to it. But I can never cut it. My husband loves it long.”

  The girl found Didi a burgundy silk robe with a matching negligee, panties, and bra. The ensemble looked great on Didi, although the negligee was too small. It was the largest size in stock, and Didi had to hope that the Belly would not stay enormous forever.

  “I’ll take it,” she said, walking out of the fitting room. From inside the store, she peered into the mall. Her heart beat faster when she thought she saw the back of the man. The person sitting on the bench was obscured by tall, leafy corn plants; it was hard to tell if it was he. She turned to the cash register.

  “I’m sorry. What did you ask?” Didi said absentmindedly.

  “Do you know what you’re having?”

  Didi smiled. “We’re hoping for a boy,” she confessed. “But we don’t know.”

  “Hey, you got a fifty-fifty chance, right?”

  “Not according to my husband,” said Didi easily. “He’s been wearing his red socks for weeks. He thinks that improves our chances to seventy-five–twenty-five.”

  “Red socks?” The salesgirl looked at her as if Didi were crazy.

  “Hey, I’m not the crazy one,” said Didi. “The same ones he wears when the Cowboys play. They won the Super Bowl once when he was wearing red socks and now he wears them every Sunday. I don’t think he’s ever let me wash them since then.”

  “Oh, dear,” said the salesgirl, handing her a receipt to sign. “I hope you don’t sit next to your husband on Sundays.”

  “I’m a football widow,” said Didi, but it wasn’t true. It just sounded funny, though she wished she hadn’t said it. She loved football. She and Rich watched the games together when they could. It was true about the red socks. Rich believed in the socks even when the Cowboys lost. “Think how much they’d lose by if I wasn’t wearing them,” he’d say when Didi called the socks’ dubious charm into question. Didi had no response to Rich’s perverse logic.

  “Good luck,” said the salesgirl, tossing her red hair. “I hope you have your boy, and I hope your labor will be easy.”

  “Thanks.” Didi smiled. “Have a nice day.”

  “Hey, and stay inside,” the girl called after her. “It’s brutal out there.”

  “Don’t worry,” Didi said.

  She walked out of the store and looked at her watch. Five to one. It was time to meet Rich. With luck she’d be only ten minutes late, but probably more like fifteen. She looked up and down the mall. Just a few shoppers. God forgive me, is everyone this paranoid at near term? Didi thought. Wait till I tell Richie.

  Laden with bags, she walked back to Dillard’s, made a left at the Freshëns stand and then a right, and walked out the mall doors. Outside was unbearable. The sun whipped her with heat. After taking a dozen steps, Didi was light-headed. She hoped she could make it to the car and not faint.

  Putting her bags down on the concrete, she looked around, wondering where her Town & Country was parked. Slowly she took the pretzel bag out of one of the larger shopping bags, reached into it, and broke off a piece of a pretzel. She chewed and swallowed it. Looking at her watch, she saw it was already ten past one and tried to hurry. She picked up three bags with one hand, three bags with the other, and with her purse on her shoulder and the pretzel bag between her fingers headed up one aisle, swaying from side to side. Did she have to get those wooden blocks at FAO Schwarz? She struggled with the bags, setting them down again and wiping her forehead, wishing her hair were up in a bun.

  Didi walked a few more feet but couldn’t see the minivan anywhere. She put her bags down, sighed as loudly as possible to make herself feel better, and rummaged through her purse. She found her key chain and hit the alarm button to get her car to make its noise, but the alarm did not go off. Instead she heard the dull click of a door lock opening, and looked to her right to see her white van. She had pressed the wrong button. Thank God.

  Relieved, Didi dropped the keys back in her purse and bent down to pick up her bags.

  A voice behind her said, “You know, you really shouldn’t be carrying those heavy bags. It’s bad for the baby.”

  12:58 P.M.

  Richard Wood parked his Pontiac Bonneville in the Laredo Grill lot and looked for Didi’s minivan. It wasn’t there yet. He glanced at his watch and saw it was a little before one and he was early. That was okay. He sat in the car and listened to a Bad Company CD. Didi said Rich was forever stuck in the seventies, but he took that as a compliment.

  The clock in the car read 1:17 when he decided to look for her inside the restaurant. Maybe she’d parked elsewhere. He hurried. He should have remembered that Didi sometimes parked in the adjacent Olive Garden lot to be a bit closer to the exit ramp for the highway home.

  1:20 P.M.

  Didi wanted to speak but found she was made speechless by her heart ramming itself against her chest. She didn’t need to turn around. She recognized his voice. It was the man in the jacket. She felt slightly nauseated.

  “Did you hear me, ma’am?” the voice said. “You shouldn’t be carrying those heavy bags. It’s not good for the baby.”

  Didi turned around.

  The man was standing in front of her, hands in his jacket pockets. The heat index was up to 120 and he was wearing a jacket over his white shirt. The incongruity of the jacket hadn’t registered in the cool mall, but now it seemed distinctly out of place.

  She stared directly at him without averting her gaze. His upturned nose made him look petulant, as if he’d been waiting for a bus too long. His mouth was upturned too, in a semblance of a smile. It looked as if he was grimacing, stretching his thin lips upward, toward eyes that weren’t smiling. They were blue and they were cold, and she saw that they lacked something essential. The expression in the eyes, like the jacket, did not belong in a mall parking lot on a hot summer day.

  Didi held on to her bags as she and the man stared at each other. She tried to focus, but all she saw was dark spots instead of his face. Wait, wait, she said to herself, narrowing her mental vision. Think! It’s not so bad. Maybe he is really concerned about the bags. Remember? He said the same thing to me in the mall.

  Though now there was an edge to his tone, as if he were judging her. Didi knew the tone of judgment well enough. When her mother-in-law, bless her, would visit, she’d loo
k at Didi and say, “You’re not eating enough, Didi.” It was the same tone, but Barbara was her husband’s mother, and this man was a complete stranger who had followed her out of the mall.

  Wait a second. Who said he’d followed her? Maybe he hadn’t followed her. Maybe his own car was parked here and he was on his way home.

  Didi had been silent too long. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry and her heart was beating too fast.

  “You don’t need to help me. My car is right…” She stopped, already regretting what she had been about to say. Take it back, fool, take it back. Why would she want him to know they were in front of her car?

  The man said, “What I’d like to do is help you to my car.”

  Didi lost her breath and opened her mouth.

  “I’d rather not do that,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’m meeting my husband for lunch.” Her knees began to shake. To steady herself, she leaned against the minivan.

  The man stretched his lips sideways, exposing his teeth. “I think he’ll be eating alone today,” he said.

  Didi hurriedly scanned the parking lot for a mother with a baby, an elderly couple, a man buying a present for his wife. Why was it that when she needed to adjust her underwear or scratch her inner thigh, the parking lot was teeming with people, but now when she needed someone more than ever, there was no one? Why was that?

  Dumb luck.

  No, it was karma, she thought, harking back to the fight she’d had with Richie yesterday. That’s why.

  Is this my karma? She thought. This young man in front of me, menacing me with his vagueness and his eyes?

  She started to speak, but he interrupted her.

  “Shh,” he said. “Don’t 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.

  1:25 P.M.

  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 P.M., 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 P.M. 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?

  1:30 P.M.

  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 was instantly sorry. His expression lost some of its politeness. She
saw him clench and unclench his fist, and his face struggled for control. He quickly regained it, and took her arm. He wasn’t hurting her arm, but he wasn’t letting go of her. Despite her brave tone, Didi thought any minute she was going to get hysterical.

  He said coolly, “Why don’t we make our first little rule, okay? You leave my wife out of this.”

  “I’m sorry, all right?” Didi said, in a pathetic low voice. “Listen—I’m going to have a baby.”

  He let go her arm and said, “Don’t worry. I just want to take you for a ride, like I said.”

  Didi could do nothing to stop herself from sinking to the ground. She was shaking her head and saying, “I’m not watching, I’m not watching.”

  “What are you doing?” he said, pulling her by her arm. Didi dropped to the ground between the cars.

  “What are you doing?” He yanked her again, careful not to raise his voice. Clearing his throat, he said huskily, “Could you get up, please, ma’am?”

  “I can’t.” She panted. “I can’t stand. Just leave me alone. I won’t tell anyone. Just leave me alone. My belly hurts. My husband is waiting for me. Just leave me alone.”

  “Get up, I said.”

  If Didi could have gotten up, she would have. But she couldn’t move. She was still clutching the shopping bags. Letting go, she fumbled to get to her purse. Keys, keys, keys.

  “I said, get up!” he said, bending down over her.

  Didi opened her mouth to scream but didn’t have the breath. It was as if she had just run a mile at full speed and was gasping for air. She bit her lip shut trying to breathe through her nose.

  “Get up!”

  She shook her head slowly.

  No one could see them. Didi was still on the ground. Feeling herself about to cry, she covered her face with the white pretzel bag. She didn’t want him to see her weakness. Then she tasted something salty in her mouth. There was blood from her bitten lip.