“Sorry,” she says again. “She’s the only Dimidius I’ve ever met. I want to know what she’s like.”
“I told you. She’s like one part hip thirty-something, one part tranquil angelic being, and one part crotchety old lady.”
“I don’t see the old lady part.”
“Trust me, it’s there. And you’re like one part crazy teenager, one part angelic being, and one part private detective.”
She smiles. “I’ll try to behave.”
That’s when I see him. A man, watching me from the doorway of the GNC. He’s tall, with dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. He’s wearing faded jeans and a brown suede coat that hangs off his body loosely. Out of all the people passing by in that swarming mall, I might not have noticed him except for how intensely he’s staring at us.
“Angela,” I say weakly, my pretzel dropping to the floor. A wave of terrible sadness crashes over me. I have to fight not to double over with the sudden intensity of the emotion. My hands clench into fists, my nails biting painfully into my palms. I start to cry.
“Whoa, what’s the matter, C?” says Angela. “I swear, I’ll behave.”
I try to answer. I try to press through the sorrow to form the words. Tears pour down my face.
“That man,” I whisper.
She follows my gaze. Then she sucks in a jagged breath and looks away.
“Come on,” she says. “Let’s find your mom.”
She puts her arm around my shoulder and steers me quickly down the hall. We bump into people, push our way through families and groups of teenagers. She looks back again.
“Is he following us?” I can’t manage anything louder than a whisper. I feel like I’m struggling to keep my head up in a pool of dark, icy water, chilled to the bone, wearier with every step I take, and it’s too much. I want to sink down and let this blackness take me.
“I don’t see him,” says Angela.
Then, like an answered prayer, we find my mom. She and Wendy are coming out of Payless, both carrying shopping bags.
“Hey, you two,” Mom says. Then she notices our faces. “What happened?”
“Can we talk to you for a minute?” Angela grabs Mom’s arm and pulls her away from Wendy, who looks confused and somewhat offended as we walk away. “There’s a man,” she whispers. “He was staring at us, and Clara just. she just. ”
“He’s so sad,” I manage.
“Where?” Mom demands.
“Behind us,” says Angela. “I lost track of him, but he’s definitely back there somewhere.”
Mom zips her hoodie and pulls the hood up to cover her head. She walks back to Wendy and tries to smile.
“Everything okay?” asks Wendy.
“Clara’s feeling sick,” Mom says. “We should go.”
It’s not a lie. I’m hardly able to put one foot in front of the other as we make our way quickly toward the department store.
“Don’t look back,” Mom whispers close to my ear. “Walk, Clara. Move your feet.”
We hurry through the cosmetics department and the lingerie, past the formal wear section where we started out the day. Within moments we’re in the parking lot. When she sees our car, Mom breaks into a full run, towing me after her.
“What’s going on?” asks Wendy as we run.
“Get in the car,” Mom orders, and we all scramble in.
We gun it out of the parking lot. It’s not until we’re a few miles away from Idaho Falls that the sadness starts to dissipate, like a curtain lifting. I take a deep shuddering breath.
“Are you okay?” asks Wendy, still looking wildly confused.
“I just need to get home.”
“She has medicine at home,” chimes in Angela. “It’s a med-ical condition she has.”
“A medical condition?” repeats Wendy. “What kind of medical condition?”
“Uh—”
Mom shoots Angela an exasperated look.
“It’s a rare form of anemia,” Angela continues smoothly. “Sometimes it makes her feel sick and wobbly.”
Wendy nods like she understands. “Like that day when she passed out at school.”
“Exactly. She needs to take her pills.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” says Wendy. She glances at Angela and then back at me, as if she’s really saying, “How come you told Angela about this and didn’t tell me?”
