floor. Hurriedly sliding her feet into them—they were a little short and a little wide, but if she curled her toes, they’d do—she headed toward the door.
“CVS? They have a bakery?” The old lady sounded confused. As well she might, since CVS was a chain of pharmacies.
Oh, well.
“Some of them do.” Katharine listened intently at the door, heard nothing, and gave it up. She needed to go now, while they were still hoping she was going to turn herself in to a nurses’ station. “I think I’ll just go check on Mom. See you later.”
“Bring some of that cake next time, would you?”
“Sure. Bye.”
Slipping through the door, she tried to look nonchalant. Which wasn’t easy when her heart was beating a mile a minute and her pants felt like they might take a dive with each and every step and her cramped toes were already killing her. To say nothing of the fact that her legs felt about as solid as limp spaghetti and her head was swimming and the only way she was getting any air was through her mouth. The elevator was, she thought, her best bet, because the stairwell was too obvious and too easy to monitor. What she wanted to do was blend, blend, blend.
The hallway was even busier than before, which was a good thing, she told herself firmly. Smoothing her unfamiliar hair with her hands—she’d forgotten what a mess it was until she caught a glimpse of it in a shiny brass doorplate that read staff only— she kept her face averted from the nurses’ station as she shuffled in the wake of an orderly pushing a man in a wheelchair toward the elevators. Not that they were likely to be circulating a wanted poster of her or anything —yet— but still her bandaged nose might, she felt, attract attention if, by some miracle, her hobbling gait did not. And attention was the very last thing she needed or wanted just at that moment.
No one paid her any heed. She joined about half a dozen people in front of the elevators just as the last one on the right went ping.
Holding her breath, pulse racing, she slid—unobtrusively, she hoped—behind the tall orderly for cover as the elevator doors slid open. Peeking warily around him, she huffed out a sigh of relief as she saw that the sole occupant was a blond teenage girl carrying a big bunch of flowers. She stepped out without more than a cursory glance at the group waiting to replace her, and walked away.
Katharine got on with the rest, crowding toward the back to make room for the wheelchair, just one of the group wedged in there. Looking studiously at the floor in case anyone was monitoring the security cameras with which she was almost positive the elevators were equipped, she rode down five floors to the lobby without incident, and got out.
There her nerve failed her. The lobby was a huge space with tall, dark-tinted windows and polished terrazzo floors. Modern seating groups consisting of black-leather -and-chrome couches and chairs anchored by area rugs in a red, gray, and black abstract design were scattered about. Escalators ferried passengers up to a mezzanine that offered a gift shop and a McDonald’s, according to the signs. An information desk was located directly in front of the elevator bank. Fortunately, it faced the entry and it was busy, with each of the three women staffing it occupied with her own little line of the lost or the clueless.
A pair of uniformed security guards, or maybe cops—it was impossible to be sure, because they were some distance away with their backs to her—idled near the main entrance, drinking from foam cups and chatting as they watched the comings and goings of the hospital ’s visitors.
Coincidence? Yes, probably. She was 99.99 percent positive that their presence couldn’t possibly have anything to do with her.
Still, her heart picked up the pace again. No way was she going to chance it. Shrinking back into the shadows near the elevator bank, she took a quick, panicked look around.
And came up with plan B. It was
“CVS? They have a bakery?” The old lady sounded confused. As well she might, since CVS was a chain of pharmacies.
Oh, well.
“Some of them do.” Katharine listened intently at the door, heard nothing, and gave it up. She needed to go now, while they were still hoping she was going to turn herself in to a nurses’ station. “I think I’ll just go check on Mom. See you later.”
“Bring some of that cake next time, would you?”
“Sure. Bye.”
Slipping through the door, she tried to look nonchalant. Which wasn’t easy when her heart was beating a mile a minute and her pants felt like they might take a dive with each and every step and her cramped toes were already killing her. To say nothing of the fact that her legs felt about as solid as limp spaghetti and her head was swimming and the only way she was getting any air was through her mouth. The elevator was, she thought, her best bet, because the stairwell was too obvious and too easy to monitor. What she wanted to do was blend, blend, blend.
The hallway was even busier than before, which was a good thing, she told herself firmly. Smoothing her unfamiliar hair with her hands—she’d forgotten what a mess it was until she caught a glimpse of it in a shiny brass doorplate that read staff only— she kept her face averted from the nurses’ station as she shuffled in the wake of an orderly pushing a man in a wheelchair toward the elevators. Not that they were likely to be circulating a wanted poster of her or anything —yet— but still her bandaged nose might, she felt, attract attention if, by some miracle, her hobbling gait did not. And attention was the very last thing she needed or wanted just at that moment.
No one paid her any heed. She joined about half a dozen people in front of the elevators just as the last one on the right went ping.
Holding her breath, pulse racing, she slid—unobtrusively, she hoped—behind the tall orderly for cover as the elevator doors slid open. Peeking warily around him, she huffed out a sigh of relief as she saw that the sole occupant was a blond teenage girl carrying a big bunch of flowers. She stepped out without more than a cursory glance at the group waiting to replace her, and walked away.
Katharine got on with the rest, crowding toward the back to make room for the wheelchair, just one of the group wedged in there. Looking studiously at the floor in case anyone was monitoring the security cameras with which she was almost positive the elevators were equipped, she rode down five floors to the lobby without incident, and got out.
There her nerve failed her. The lobby was a huge space with tall, dark-tinted windows and polished terrazzo floors. Modern seating groups consisting of black-leather -and-chrome couches and chairs anchored by area rugs in a red, gray, and black abstract design were scattered about. Escalators ferried passengers up to a mezzanine that offered a gift shop and a McDonald’s, according to the signs. An information desk was located directly in front of the elevator bank. Fortunately, it faced the entry and it was busy, with each of the three women staffing it occupied with her own little line of the lost or the clueless.
A pair of uniformed security guards, or maybe cops—it was impossible to be sure, because they were some distance away with their backs to her—idled near the main entrance, drinking from foam cups and chatting as they watched the comings and goings of the hospital ’s visitors.
Coincidence? Yes, probably. She was 99.99 percent positive that their presence couldn’t possibly have anything to do with her.
Still, her heart picked up the pace again. No way was she going to chance it. Shrinking back into the shadows near the elevator bank, she took a quick, panicked look around.
And came up with plan B. It was
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