Abby put a hand on my arm, restraining me. “No, Kay. Wait a minute. We’ve got to think about this.”
I settled back into the seat.
“You can’t just walk in there,” she said, and it sounded like an order.
“I want to buy a paper.”
“What if he’s in there? Then what are you going to do?”
“I want to see if it’s him, the man who was driving. I think I’d recognize him.”
“And he might recognize you.”
“‘Dealer’ could refer to cards,” I thought out loud as a young woman with short curly black hair walked up to the bookstore, opened the door, and disappeared inside.
“The person who deals cards, deals the jack of hearts,” I added, my voice trailing off.
“You talked to him when he asked directions. Your picture’s been in the news.”
Abby was taking charge. “You’re not going in there. I will.”
“We both will.”
“That’s crazy!”
“You’re right.”
My mind was made up. “You’re staying put. I’m going in.”
I was out of the car before she could argue. She got out, too, and just stood there, looking lost, as I walked with purpose in that direction. She did not come after me. She had too much sense to make a scene.
When I put my hand on the cold brass handle of the door, my heart was hammering. When I walked inside, I felt weak in the knees.
He was standing behind the counter, smiling and filling out a charge card receipt while a middle-aged woman in an Ultrasuede suit prattled on, “. . . That’s what birthdays are for. You buy your husband a book you want to read…”
“As long as you both enjoy the same books, that’s all right.”
His voice was very soft, soothing; a voice you could trust.
Now that I was inside the shop, I was desperate to leave. I wanted to run. There were stacks of newspapers to one side of the counter, including the New York Times. I could pick one up, quickly pay for it, and be gone. But I did not want to look him in the eye.
It was him.
I turned around and walked out without glancing back.
Abby was sitting in the car smoking.
“He couldn’t work here and not know his way to Sixty-four,” I said, starting the engine.
She got my meaning precisely. “Do you want to call Marino now or wait until we get back to Richmond?”
“We’re going to call him now.”
I found a pay phone and was told Marino was on the street. I left him the message, “ITU-144. Call me.”
Abby asked me a lot of questions, and I did my best to answer them. Then there were long stretches of silence as I drove. My stomach was sour. I considered pulling off somewhere. I thought I might throw up.
She was staring at me. I could feel her concern.
“My God, Kay. You’re white as a sheet.”
“I’m all right.”
“You want me to drive?”
“I’m fine. Really.”
When we got home, I went straight up to my bedroom. My hands trembled as I dialed the number. Mark’s machine answered after the second ring, and I started to hang up but found myself mesmerized by his voice.
“I’m sorry, there’s no one to answer your call right now. . .”
At the beep I hesitated, then quietly returned the receiver to its cradle. When I looked up, I found Abby in my doorway. I could tell by the look on her face that she knew what I had just done.
I stared at her, my eyes filling with tears, and then she was sitting next to me on the edge of the bed.
“Why didn’t you leave him a message?” she whispered.
“How could you possibly know who I was calling?”
I fought to steady my voice.
“Because it’s the same impulse that overwhelms me when I’m terribly upset. I want to reach for the phone. Even now, after all of it. I still want to call Cliff.”
“Have you?”
She slowly shook her head.
“Don’t. Don’t ever, Abby.”
She studied me closely. “Was it walking into the bookstore and seeing him?”