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softly along to the radio.
    At zero miles an hour Didi could easily open the door and get out. However, the station wagon seemed so perilously close to the divider that Didi feared the door might not open. She was alive right now. What if she pulled a stunt like that and he killed her?
    She placed her hands on her belly and then on her heart. It was beating too fast. He won’t kill me, Didi thought. I have to believe that. He seems … almost decent.

2:20 P.M.
    Rich called the office again and told Donna that he was expecting an urgent call from his wife. “Has she called?” he asked. Donna said no and asked if everything was all right. Rich didn’t know how to answer that and didn’t.
    Then he called home again. Ingrid had come home with Amanda. No, Ingrid said, she hadn’t heard from Didi. Yes, both kids were home and everything was fine.
    â€œDaddy, Daddy.” His five-year-old was on the phone. “Are you coming home early for dinner?”
    â€œI don’t know yet, honey. Maybe.”
    â€œWhere’s Mommy?” Amanda asked.
    â€œI’m meeting Mommy for lunch. She’ll see you soon, okay? How was school?”
    â€œGood,” said Amanda. “Mom has to see how much homework I have. I have to cut and paste a whole dinosaur.”
    â€œMommy will be home soon, okay?”
    â€œOkay. Love you.” Her conversation finished, Amanda hung up.
    Rich smiled, returning the receiver to the headset.
    Yet the empty ache inside Rich would not subside. Where was his wife? Where was his ready-to-give-birth wife? He felt ridiculous, standing at a Mobil station on 15th Street in the broiling heat. He was going through the motions of his day without having the motion of a wife.
    Realizing he was dying of thirst, he went into the Mobil minimart and bought himself a six-pack of Coke and some bottled water. The drink made him feel marginally better for a few seconds.
    Then Rich drove to the Valley View Mall.
    Up and down, up and down, up and down the rows of cars. If she was at this mall, he’d find her. And when he found her, lost at the hair salon and having forgotten to call him, he’d yell at her till her hair turned blue.

2:30 P.M.
    Didi and the man sat in the car for ten minutes, moving a few feet a minute. The man seemed increasingly anxious. He kept turning on his right blinker and then turning it off again. Didi suspected he would get off the highway as soon as he could. She thought she heard her phone ringing, but the radio played too loudly to be sure. The phone was buried deep inside her bag. She listened carefully again but heard only the radio. Must have been my imagination, Didi thought.
    Now the car wasn’t moving.
    It was time.
    She grabbed the handle and swung open the door.
    Didi had been right. The door was too close to the divider. It opened no more than a foot. The man immediately swerved to the right, scraping the divider and pushing the door shut.
    â€œWhat do you think you’re doing?” he yelled, pulling her by the neck away from the door. Didi cried out as he yanked her down on the seat, pressing his hand on her head to keep her down. She struggled to get up and bit his hand. She heard him muttering as he fiercely pressed her into the seat.
    The car soon started moving, but in stops and spurts. It turned one way, then another. Didi tried to keep track of the direction, to no avail. She tried to sit up half a dozen times before the man told her to give up.
    â€œStay down, please,” he told her. “You’ve caused enough trouble already. Stay down.”
    Did I cause trouble? Didi thought, uncomfortably scrunched up below window level on the bench seat. Have the police come? Have we been stopped? Am I with my husband? No, I don’t think I caused much trouble at all.
    Her eyes, level with the radio controls, darted past the glove compartment to the floor. She thought she heard the phone ring faintly again, but she