Eleven Hours (3 page)

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 look 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.

Knocking the pretzel bag out of her hands, the man grabbed her under her arms and lifted her to her feet. Didi had a second to feel his strength. This late in her pregnancy, even her husband had trouble helping her off the couch or up from the bed. If she was on the floor, forget it. Rich would need a car jack.

Didi's legs weren't making it easy for him, yet he yanked her up as if she were a stubborn weed. As soon as she got to her feet, she started to sink down again.

“Let's go,” he snapped, shoving her lightly with his body. “Come on now. You may be pregnant, but you're not crippled. Not five minutes ago you were breezing through the mall, not a care in the world, bags and all. You can go ten feet now, can't you?” Staring at her, he said, “What did you do to yourself? Look.” He wiped her mouth with his hand and showed her the blood. “Say something.”

Didi tried to talk, but the words wouldn't come. Fear for her life, fear for her baby, fear for her family—all the fear in the world was in her mouth, and her mouth was bloody and mute. She felt as if her throat were filling with cement. Nothing was moving except her tongue, which labored to help her breathe. She felt nearly paralyzed when she thought of leaving what she perceived as the safety of her own car. She was at her unlocked door. If only she'd hit the panic button instead of the unlock. Maybe it would have scared him off. Maybe it would have. Is that what it all came down to? Hitting the wrong damn button on her key ring?

He shoved her again. Didi moved. She took a few tentative steps and walked out into the main row. A car drove by.

Suddenly hope sprang up inside her. Between cars she had no chance, but here in the open, maybe someone would see her. Maybe someone would see her running—

Running? Who was she kidding? Hadn't she just sunk to the ground faster than an anchor into water? She couldn't run, hadn't run in months. With the baby's head between her legs, pressing down on the blood vessels in her pelvis, she had to take stairs one at a time. She couldn't even pretend-run after her girls.

My girls. Didi gasped and dropped the bags.

“Could you pick those up, please, ma'am?” he asked.

“I can't,” Didi panted. “They're too heavy for me.” She wanted to leave a trace of herself behind.

“Pick them up, please,” he said.

Shaking her head, Didi said, “I can't. Let's just leave them.”

Bending his head to look at her sideways, he said, “Now, you know that we can't leave your bags in the middle of the parking lot.”

“Forget it,” she said, pretending not to understand him. She was trying to fight the fear that was pulling her down to the ground again. What could he do in the middle of a sunny parking lot, a hundred feet away from Central Expressway, in broad daylight?

She didn't think he'd do much, and that gave her a little bit of courage. She thought, he seems pretty calm. He is being reasonable, therefore he can't be crazy.

Bravely, Didi repeated, “Forget it. I don't want them. Really. If you can't carry them, just leave them.”

“Oh, shit,” he mumbled under his breath. He grabbed all the bags off the ground with his left hand, keeping his right hand on her. “I'll take your bags. Happy now? Come on, let's try to walk a little faster.”

The man hurried, but she dragged her feet. “It's only a little further. Then you can sit down,” he said kindly.