Eleven Hours. Paullina Simons

you think so, too?’ the man said to her.

      He’d asked her a question. What was she supposed to say to that? The Belly was locked in a Braxton Hicks. She held on to it for a few seconds and then said, shrugging lightly, hunched over against the door, ‘I guess so.’

      ‘No, no, we definitely did,’ said the man. ‘And it’s my fault, and I’m sorry for that. We didn’t have time to be properly introduced, and then I was so busy getting us out of Dallas that time just flew. You never even told me your name.’

      She opened her mouth to speak. His voice was gentle now, soothing, as if listening to soft country music had relaxed him and made him calm. Had it made him calm enough to stop the car and let her out here in the middle of the highway?

      ‘When we were in the mall, I was trying to figure out what your name was,’ he said. ‘Did you try to guess what my name was?’

      What was he talking about? She needed a drink. A sip or two of water. She was going to lick her wet-with-sweat hand again and then thought better of it.

      ‘Uh-huh,’ she said, her mouth barely moving. She said it very quietly. ‘Is it John?’

      ‘No, no.’ He laughed. ‘When I sat and waited for you to be done at Dillard’s, and you did take a long time, you know, I almost left. But anyway, when I sat and looked at your back and hair and legs, I tried to figure out what your name was. Let’s see…Ellen? Sonia? Maybe Jackie?’

      He waited for her to answer him.

      No, she said, or thought she said.

      He nodded. ‘You don’t look like a Melanie, I decided. My wife is a Melanie, and you look nothing like my wife.’

      Didi stared at her yellow sundress. She had felt so happy when she put it on this morning.

      ‘Monica?’ he continued. ‘No, that’s a tall name, and you aren’t tall. Annette? No. That’s a short name, and you aren’t short.’ He glanced at her, a smile widening his lips. ‘You are just right.’

      She looked away.

      ‘You aren’t blond like a Jennifer, or made up like a Jessica. You don’t look smart like a Melissa, or lazy like a Megan. Am I right so far?’

      ‘You’re right so far,’ Didi said faintly.

      He tapped on the steering wheel. ‘I’m having fun here. Right. This is tons better than working at some pathetic little job for a few bucks.’

      I knew it. He wants money, thought Didi.

      He seemed to be enjoying himself. He was smiling and looked as if he hadn’t a care in the world. The tension was gone, though he still kept both hands conscientiously on the wheel. ‘Hey, want to play a little game? Guess mine and then I’ll guess yours.’ He almost giggled with delight.

      ‘Listen,’ Didi said. ‘I’d love to play, but do you think we can get a drink somewhere first?’ She thought that stopping would be preferable to being stuck in the car with him. There would be people, she might be able to get away, call for help, anything but sit in the car and sweat.

      The man’s smile dimmed a little. ‘What? And have you perform one of your little antics again? You’re dangerous enough in a moving car. No, I’m going to take you to a safe place. Now guess my name.’ He paused. ‘Tell you what.’ The smile returned. ‘If you guess my name in three tries, I’ll stop and get you a drink. Don’t want to dehydrate a pregnant woman, do I?’ His hand reached out to – oh my God, what was he doing? Was he thinking of touching the Belly? Didi was sitting too far away or he reconsidered, because he put his hand back on the wheel. ‘No, no, we certainly don’t. But you have to play a part in quenching your own thirst. Is that fair?’

      Is that fair? she thought. Up to one o’clock, the unfairest part of today had been the doctor telling Didi the baby might be too big and they might need to induce labor a little early to make sure there were no complications during delivery. And she remembered thinking to herself, God, it’s unfair, to be penalized for having a big baby.

      ‘Let’s play,’ said Didi.

       3.45 PM

      Rich felt like bashing his head against the nearest car. What’s happened to my wife? he thought, and then screamed. Screamed right in the middle of the Dillard’s parking lot.

      ‘Didi!’ he shouted, and her name echoed amid the Toyotas and the Hondas and the Fords. ‘DIDI!’

      A couple walking by turned to look at him and then lowered their heads and sped up. Rich ran after them.

      ‘Have you seen my wife?’ he said fervently. ‘My wife, five-seven, brown hair, brown eyes, very pregnant?’

      They stared as if everything was not all right with him.

      ‘Please,’ he said, in a lower, pleading voice. ‘My wife. Very pregnant. Have you seen her?’

      The woman took her husband’s arm. ‘No, sorry,’ she said and tried to push past Rich. The man followed, casting a sympathetic look at him. The man understood. But the woman shot him a frightened sneer; she must have thought Rich was crazy.

      Clutching the pretzel bag, Rich ran inside the mall, heading straight for the Freshens Yogurt stand. As he ran, he was thinking that perhaps Didi had been walking to the car, dropped the bag by accident, thought of something she’d forgotten to buy, and gone back to the mall. But he knew that made no sense. She went back and didn’t call him? Her phone had been on, her voice whispering ‘Rich,’ when he dialed her number. She could have called him. But she hadn’t called him. She hadn’t got into an accident. The car was in the parking lot. Didi wasn’t calling because she couldn’t call, and the proof was in his hands.

      A girl stood behind the Freshens Yogurt counter. She smiled. ‘Can I help you?’

      ‘I hope so,’ said Rich intensely. ‘I hope so. My wife –’ He stammered. ‘My wife was here earlier today.’ He thrust the bag at her. She moved away. ‘My wife was here and bought these two pretzels.’

      ‘Walt, hold on, hold on, sir,’ said the girl. ‘I just came on. I don’t know anything.’

      ‘Who worked before you?’

      ‘Alex. He just left.’ Rich’s face must have implied urgency, because she said, ‘Wait, maybe he’s still in the back changing. Hold on.’

      She came back a few minutes later with Alex.

      ‘It’s your lucky day,’ said Alex.

      ‘Somehow I doubt it,’ said Rich. ‘Unless you want to redefine the nature of my luck.’ He thrust the bag with the receipt and the pretzels at Alex. ‘My wife was here earlier. She bought these here.’

      Glancing at the receipt, Alex said, almost defensively, ‘Is something wrong with them?’

      ‘No, but something could be wrong with my wife,’ said Rich. ‘She’s disappeared.’

      Alex smirked a little. ‘Do you think it had something to do with the pretzels?’

      The counter rattled when Rich slammed down his fist. ‘You think that’s funny? Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. Let me explain. My wife, nine months pregnant, was here earlier today shopping. At twelve twenty-five she bought these from you. At twelve-thirty she called me and asked if she could meet me for lunch earlier than planned. At one o’clock she didn’t show up, and no one’s heard from her since. So now, tell me what part of that you find funny, so we can laugh together.’

      Paling, Alex said, ‘Hey, look, I’m sorry, I didn’t do anything. What did your wife look like?’

      ‘Pregnant. Extremely, inordinately, unbelievably pregnant. How many pregnant women did you serve today?’