Page 67 of Gone Tonight
The first thing I did was stare down at my stomach. It didn’t look any different.
Maybe I’d gotten the dates wrong, I told myself. But I knew I hadn’t.
The thought was too huge for my mind to absorb. So I did what I always do when I get anxious: I moved into action.
I crept down the first aisle I came to. It was filled with toiletries and medicines. I turned the corner and saw what looked like an endless array of snack foods: potato chips and Goldfish crackers and pretzels and candy. My stomach felt hollow. It ached from hunger.
I forced myself to keep moving, tiptoeing down aisle after aisle, pausing every few moments to hold still and listen. I even lurked by the door to the men’s room until I was satisfied it, too, was vacant. By the time I’d finished exploring, I’d familiarized myself with every corner and curve of the Target.
I didn’t know how long it would be until a cleaning crew showed up, but for now the entire place was mine.
There was a movie starring Natalie Portman based on a novel about a young woman who’d stayed hidden for a time inside a Walmart before building a life for herself in a nearby town. I’d only seen a preview for it and didn’t know how the story ended, but it made me wonder: Was it possible for me to actually stay here for a few nights?
I walked back to the snack aisle, leaning in close to see the packages because everything appeared gray and muted. When I spotted anAlmond Joy, my mouth watered. I reached out and felt the cool, crinkly wrapper. I could almost taste the creamy chocolate and coconut.
Then I put it back.
A baby needed nutrition.
There was a box of granola bars a few feet down. I carefully opened it and took one out, wincing at the rustle of the plastic wrapper coming off. But my luck held. The only noises in the store were the ones made by me.
At the first taste of the sweet, crunchy oats, I almost lost control and shoved the whole bar in my mouth. But I forced myself to take small bites and chew thoroughly. I finished it and tried to remember the location of the Snapple lemonade I’d been craving. I’d seen it in a refrigerated case near the front of the store, alongside individually sold iced teas and sodas. I couldn’t risk being that close to the big window where anyone passing by might spot me, so I wandered deeper into the store, taking the granola bars with me, until I found a box of Capri Sun fruit juice pouches.
I would find a way to pay back the store someday, I promised myself as I opened one end of the box and pulled out a foil pouch and stabbed it with the attached little straw. I greedily drank three in a row, one after the other, the foil pouches collapsing as the sweet liquid emptied into my mouth.
My stomach made a gurgling sound, and my hand automatically moved to cover it.
I looked down, thinking about how I’d held my palm to the bus window earlier today, aching for a connection with someone—even a stranger who’d wrecked his car.
Now my hand was pressing toward you.
I stayed like that for a little while, thinking about you. Those were the moments in which you became real to me.
Because of you, Catherine, I was no longer alone.
Timmy was born when I was five, and I loved him from the moment I saw his red, crinkly little face. I took care of him as best I could because my mother wasn’t exactly up to the job. I learned to support his neckwhile I held him and how to swaddle him in a blanket so he’d feel cozy. At night I rubbed his back and sang to him until he fell asleep.
I hadn’t even met you, but I swear, I already loved you, too. You were the only thing good left in my life. If it hadn’t been for you, I would have given up a hundred times that first week.
After a while I made my way back to the camping goods section and briefly thought about removing the sleeping bag from the box and using it, then putting it back in. But I didn’t want someone else to buy a used bag, thinking they were getting a new one. I was about to move on when I spotted something right next to the sleeping bags. Flashlights.
The bigger ones were encased in hard plastic packaging, but a half-dozen small ones, the size of baby cucumbers, were just lined up on the shelf. I was pretty sure my dad had this identical flashlight in the glove compartment of his car. I’d seen him use it when he’d gone to help a group of college kids whose breaker had tripped in the basement of the house they were renting.
I reached for one and flicked it on. Nothing.
It probably needed batteries. I remember seeing Duracell packages over by the video cameras and VCRs. I retraced my steps there, guessing I’d need two double As.
It took me a minute to find and open the right package, and I almost lost one of the batteries when I dropped it and it rolled down the aisle, but I finally got the flashlight to work. And when I cupped my hand over it and flicked it on and saw a white-gold circle shining on the floor—that’s the moment when I began to feel a bright spot of hope flicker within me, too.
I went back to my hiding place to tuck the remaining granola bars and juice pouches in my duffle bag and to grab a change of clothes and my toiletries. I could use the restroom to wash up and put on fresh underthings and clean jeans—and my sweatshirt because the store’s air-conditioning was strong. Then I’d duck back into the rack of pants and make myself a little nest and treat myself to another granola bar and one more juice.
There was still so much to figure out. I didn’t know when a cleaning crew might show up or if a night guard patrolled the premises. I would have to learn how to blend in with other shoppers tomorrow morning to get out of the store. I needed to find a place to throw away my blood-stained shorts and the shirt I’d been wearing for two days, too.
But for now, with my stomach full and my thirst slaked and a safe place to sleep, I felt for the first time as if I—as if the two of us—had a real chance.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREECATHERINE
I fold the copy of the RJ’s application my mother filled out and tuck it in my purse. I have what I came to Sunrise for, but I don’t want to go home. I can’t bear to be around my mom right now.
