Marion started running forward, toward the tree line. Let them at least see her going in the direction they might expect.
As soon as the trees hid her from sight, she changed directions, making a sharp right. Which meant option one, backtracking the way she’d come. That was her only hope of escape.
If she found a telephone, she would call Harold to save her. He’d take her home and protect her. She just needed to find a phone.
She ran, following the line of trees, staying hidden with hunted-animal cunning. Eventually, the trees opened into a small park. She squatted in the bushes on one side, watching as two mothers played with their little ones.
Should she see if they could help her? Marion glanced down at her dirty hands and stained clothing. She must look a sight, and no doubt there were twigs in her hair. She didn’t want to scare the kids. She sagged against a tree.
Besides, now that she’d stopped running, the drugs they’d given her were making her drowsy.
Her eyelids drooped as she watched the little ones playing. She recalled those days. Sarah was all grown up, but Marion remembered. Oh yes. “Swing me higher, mommy,” she whispered, her gaze following a tiny girl flying high, the child’s laughter filling the still afternoon air with delight.
Too soon, the women collected their protesting children and left the park. She watched them go with sad eyes, then gave a startled glance around. What should she be doing?
She took a deep breath, shook her head, and sat upright. Oh yes, a phone. She needed to call Harold for a ride.
Marion followed the same path as the mothers. She crept to the edge of the clearing and peered into the village square.
For a wonder, a telephone-booth stood tucked into the alley by a pharmacy. Everybody used cellphones nowadays. She remembered her husband complaining about that. Phone-booths had become as rare as hen’s teeth, he would say, and roar as if he’d invented a great joke.
You couldn’t help laughing when Harold did. He possessed one of those infectious laughs, which made everyone around him chuckle too. Marion thought it was unfortunate he didn’t seem to laugh so much anymore.
Once she got home, perhaps he would smile more.
Nobody seemed to pay her any attention. In fact, the square looked empty. It was getting late. People would either be hurrying to pick up their older children from school or headed to their own homes to prepare supper… if they weren’t stuck at work.
She scuttled down the sidewalk, cut across the road, and slipped into the phone booth; furtive eyes peeled for anyone paying her any mind. Marion couldn’t resist a triumphant little crow, quickly suppressed. She mustn’t draw unwanted attention to herself.
As she picked up the receiver, she froze. Coins. She’d forgotten her damn change purse. Her heavy breath hitched with a stifled sob. How could she telephone Harold if she didn’t have any money? She fumbled in the empty coin slot.
Nothing. Just her luck.
Maybe the operator would allow her to place a collect call? Perhaps that only applied to long-distance calls. But if she explained how she’d escaped, and asked politely…
A knock on the glass made her jump.
Turning slowly, she gazed up at the large man, wearing a white coat, and shaking his head at her. He spoke into his walkie-talkie, then turned toward her. “Alright, Marion. You’ve had your fun. Time to go back.”
She sagged against the wall. Caught. Again.
The door to the phone booth opened, and he gently pulled her out as his partner drove up in the nursing home van. She winced as a bruised hip bounced off the frame.
They must have hidden inside the pharmacy, waiting for her.
She didn’t fight them. She’d gotten much farther than last time. Perhaps Harold would laugh if she told him about it when he visited. He should at least try to smile more.
Marion practiced her own best smile. “Do you suppose there’ll be cake for dessert tonight?”
