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Emma’s pulse began to slow when no one entered the store behind her or jumped out to grab her. But it was still hard to wait. She needed to make the most of this time. If she could finish here quickly, she could get the clothes she’d told Preston she was going to buy. Then he’d never be the wiser. There’d be no sudden upsets, no surprises and, as soon as the van was ready, he’d have no reason not to take them with him.
“Is that everything?” the pharmacist asked a few minutes later.
She glanced down at the supplies he’d piled on the counter in front of her and nodded. “How much do I owe you?”
“Do you have insurance?”
They had insurance, but she didn’t dare use it. She doubted Manuel could trace her through the transaction. By the time he received any type of notice, she’d be long gone. But the authorization would take forever, and because she was out of state she’d probably have to pay for it, anyway. “No.”
He whistled. “This stuff’s not cheap.”
God, didn’t she know it. The test strips alone were outrageous, and these supplies would only last a month.
Emma dug into her purse and pulled out three crisp one-hundred-dollar bills while the pharmacist listed all the products she was purchasing. “You from around here?”
“No.”
“Just passing through?”
“Yeah.”
“Where ya headin’?”
He was being nice, making conversation, but Emma figured the less anyone knew, the better. “California.”
“Lots of folks like California.”
He said it as though he couldn’t understand why, but she didn’t respond. She didn’t want to encourage him. She had very little time before she had to return to the motel. She had to give Max his lunch; to keep his blood sugar steady, he needed to eat at the same time every day.
She flashed the bills she’d taken out. “How much is it?” she asked again.
When he gave her the total, she paid him, grabbed the bag and walked quickly through the store, pausing only when she saw the clerk dusting a shelf of decorative plates a few feet away. “Can you tell me where I can do a little shopping?”
“For groceries or—”
“For clothes.”
“There’s a Garnet Mercantile across the street. They took over when the JC Penny went out of business.” She pointed kitty-corner from the drug store. “I buy most everything there.”
“Thanks,” Emma said, setting off the jingle again as she hurried out.
MANUEL DROVE with one hand so he could answer his cell phone. The incoming call had a 775 area code. Nevada.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Rodriguez?”
“Yes?”
“This is Gray Featherstone, the pharmacist over at Ely Drugs.”
Manuel’s hand tightened on the phone. There were two pharmacies in Ely. He’d visited both and left his card. But when he hadn’t received a call from either place, he’d finally decided he was wrong, that Vanessa must have continued on as Rosa had said. He’d started driving to St. George. But he’d only been en route for fifteen minutes.
It was a good thing he’d waited so long. “Is she there?”
“She just left.”
Excitement bubbled up inside him as he glanced over at the backpack that held Max’s diabetes supplies. He’d gambled on the fact that Vanessa would need to replace what she’d lost before moving on, and he’d won. She might’ve made it this far, but she wasn’t nearly as smart as she thought she was. She never had been. “Can you step outside to see which direction she’s going?”
“I don’t need to.”
“Why not?”
“I know where she’s going. She’s heading over to Garnet Mercantile.”
Manuel smiled. He had her now. “Where’s that?”
“On the main drag, a couple blocks west of here.”
“Graçias, Mr. Featherstone.”
“No problem. I hope you get your boy back. I tell ya, I wish someone had listened to me when I went through my divorce. My ex even managed to turn a few family members against me, claiming I abused the kids.”
“That must have been terrible.”
“It was. Some people really lose it, don’t they?”
Manuel made a U-turn and put the gas pedal to the floor. “Yes, indeed.”
“CAN WE GO swimming now, pul-leeze?”
Preston gritted his teeth and looked down at Max, who was standing at his knee, wearing the most pathetic expression he’d ever seen. SpongeBob SquarePants had been over for nearly an hour, and apparently nothing else on TV could replace it. Emma’s son had been bored silly almost from the moment she’d left. “I’m trying to work.”
“How are you doing that?”
“Can’t you see my computer?”
“Where’s your suit?”
Despite himself, Preston chuckled. “My job doesn’t require a suit.”
“Why not?”
“I’m a day trader. Day traders wear whatever they want.”
“What’s a day trader?”
“Someone who often loses his shorts,” he grumbled.
“Like me and Mom?”
Preston’s chuckle turned into a full-blown laugh. “Never mind.” He returned to the article he’d been reading on Drawdown Reduction Methods, but by the time he reached the third paragraph, Max was nudging him again.
“What are you doing now?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Working?”
“Exactly.”
“Oh.” Max left his side to bounce on the beds, but the noise and activity got on Preston’s nerves almost as badly as the boy’s constant questions.
“I’m hungry,” he announced a few seconds later.
“Stop jumping on the bed,” Preston said.
“But I’m hungry.”
Preston could tell Max thought those two simple words would be enough to drag him from his computer, but it wasn’t even noon yet, and the boy had eaten plenty for breakfast. “You’ll live until lunch.”
“I need to eat.”
Preston gave up on the article—it was too technical for right now when he had a five-year-old tapping his thigh every minute or so—and clicked back onto the Wall Street Journal. He generally had no trouble making money on the Internet, but he’d had a run of bad luck this week—he glanced over at Max—in more ways than one.
