Capturing Angels by V. C. Andrews Page B

Mary wasn’t beside me. I even located the very clothes I had worn that day and put them on. I struggled to remember every detail about what Mary and I had done before we had left to go shopping, and I repeated each and every action I could recall. Then I got into my car and started away. Looking into my rearview mirror, I saw that Margaret had just come out of her house. She looked after me and stood there until I had made the turn and left our street.
    Maybe I should have taken her along, I thought. Maybe I could have used her strength. Besides, it wasn’t right to keep rejecting her kindness. She had cried with us and prayed with us, and she knew, as we did, that Mary’s birthday was approaching.
    Yes, I would have benefited from her company. I could feel the trembling in my hands as I clutched the steering wheel. When I came to that cross street where I had turned away every time before, I slowed, and then, holding my breath, I jerked into the turning lane, nearly cutting off another vehicle. The driver let me know it with a blaring of his horn as he shot past me.
    “Sorry,” I whispered, “but you’ll just have to endure it.” I kept driving.
    It was eerie, but I was able to park in the exact same spot in the underground garage. I sat with the engine off, practically hyperventilating. Finally, I got out and made my way to the escalator. When I reached the store level, I felt as if I had truly come up from the dark depth of the nightmare I was living and could breathe clean, fresh air. Maybe if I did this, I would suddenly be brought back to that very day, and I wouldn’t lose Mary after all. Everything since would have been a nightmare destroyed by the morning sun.
    I turned toward the department store just the way I had turned that fateful day. Retracing my steps as precisely as I could, I reached the entrance and tried to recall how it was possible that I had not realized that Mary was lingering too long behind me and had not entered the store right alongside me. Where had I let go of her hand? I must have taken it when we were on the escalator. I had to have let go immediately afterward.
    I stared at the door. People walked past me, some gazing oddly at me because I was just standing there staring at the entrance. A stout older woman, not watching where she was going, knocked into me. She started to apologize and then, maybe because of something she saw in my face, just walked away. Even people coming out almost paused when they looked at me. I must have appeared quite terrified. Why did I come here? I asked myself, and I had started to turn away when I heard someone say, “Mrs. Clark?”
    I turned to see Lieutenant Abraham coming toward me on my left. He was carrying a bag filled with a purchase he had made at a men’s clothing store. I stared at him so long that he paused and said, “Lieutenant Abraham. Sam Abraham.”
    “Yes,” I said. “Sorry. Of course, I know who you are. I was just . . . shocked to hear anyone say my name.”
    He nodded, holding his smile. “You okay?” he asked.
    I shook my head. He lost his smile and stepped closer. Then he looked from me to the department-store entrance and back to me.
    “Why are you standing here like this? Were you in the store? Did you just come out?”
    “No. I wanted to go in, but I just reached this point and couldn’t go any farther,” I said. “This is the first time I’ve returned to this mall. I was hoping . . . I don‘t know what I was hoping.”
    “Oh.” He thought a moment. “How about we get a cup of coffee?” He nodded at the café three stores down on our right. “Maybe if you just sit for a while.”
    I started to say no and then looked at him. Did he have something to tell me? Was the FBI trying to get hold of me that very moment? I shuddered, struggling to speak.
    “They haven’t found her or found any clues or—”
    “No, nothing I know about. I’ve kept myself informed on the case,” he said. “C’mon.” He put