She awoke to feel him crawling into bed. Despite her earlier tears, her breath caught in anticipation when he moved close. Maybe things would be all right after all. He reached for her and she smelled the cloying sweetness of another woman’s perfume.
Her stomach clenched and she feared she would throw up. Head spinning, she stumbled from bed, suddenly desperate to escape. Barely thinking, she found her clothes in the darkness and fumbled them on, tucking her short nightgown into her jeans as if it were a blouse, pulling her sweater on over it.
“What the devil are you doing?”
She blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I’m going home.”
“Like hell you are!” Sitting up, Paul turned on the bed lamp. His naked chest looked pale and vulnerable in the shaded light and his expression showed alarm.
Denise blinked, realizing he had taken her seriously. A sense of power filled her. “It’s my car, isn’t it?” She took out her suitcase, opened the closet, yanked the bureau drawers wide.
“But — what about me?”
His anxious question fueled her newfound power. “Bum a ride with one of your conference friends. Or walk.”
Packed, Denise snapped her suitcase shut. Paul had taken advantage of her for the last time. Burning self-realization swept her from the room, down the elevator, and out to the parked car. Paul had wanted her on the trip for her car; he had wanted her in his bed in case he struck out with somebody else. Paul had been bad news from the start, but out of fear and loneliness, she had bargained away her self-respect. She may have been a fool, but never again.
Denise drove through the night, taking a different route from the one coming down. Paul had wanted to avoid the Washington traffic so they had traveled west from Baltimore to Frederick before going south on 1-81. Now, she aimed to cut east to Richmond, then follow 1-95 straight to Washington, taking pleasure in a course he would disdain.
A cloudy day dawned. Denise stopped for gas and a snack. She sipped dark coffee and smugly envisioned Paul ducking out of meetings to see if she had returned to their room. He wouldn’t be able to believe she had actually left him.
By afternoon, however, she was weary from driving and suffering second thoughts. Her apartment would be so lonely. Suppose Paul had had good reason for having come to bed so late? She had been half asleep — maybe she had imagined the perfume. He might have been able to explain. Shouldn’t she have at least given him the chance? She gripped the steering wheel with sweaty hands. Leaving Paul had been a mistake. The week and a half without him had been hell.
That’s when she saw the shoe, sitting exactly where she had seen it before. Her car was past it when she realized it couldn’t be the same shoe. She was traveling north, not south, and miles to the east. This wasn’t even the same road!
Two shoes placed so similarly at least seventy-five miles apart excited her imagination. She eased her foot from the accelerator and pulled off onto the shoulder. The shoe showed in her rear-view mirror, the toe pointing toward the highway.
“Come on, mister, I’m waiting.” She spoke as if picking up a hitchhiker. A chill shivered through her. This is silly. I should drive on. But since she was already stopped, what harm would it do to take a closer look? Backing her car, she felt a bump. The shoe must have been closer than she had thought. She got out and found it lying in front of her rear tire.
Being run over had caused it no apparent harm. She turned it in her hands. It was for a right foot. There were no scrapes, no scuffs, no signs of weathering — as if it were made of indestructible stuff. The smooth black leather, cool in the sunless afternoon, wasn’t even dusty. It held an unusual luster, giving the impression of patent, yet seeming to absorb light rather than reflect it. There were no size markings or manufacturer’s stamp. Everything about the shoe seemed odd, right down to the lace tips, polished black bone instead of plastic or metal. It dawned on her that it was handmade. Fascinated, she slipped her hand inside. Her arm jerked. The inside of the shoe was body-heat warm.
Denise felt a sudden impulse to drop the shoe and flee. Nervously, she glanced around, feeling on stage. What’s wrong with you, spooked by a lost shoe. She breathed deeply, calming herself. The shoe was warm because hot exhaust had blown in when she had run over it. Simple enough once she figured it out.
With sudden inspiration, she loosened the laces and lifted the tongue. Printed on the inside was a wiggly red design, a stylized letter Y. The owner’s initial? Her face twisted. The shoe was quality, but worthless. Just like people, shoes were only good in pairs.
Her thoughts went to the shoe she had seen the day before. Suppose they were a match? No, what a dumb idea. What sort of freak accident could separate them so widely? Someone would almost have to do it on purpose. I lost a shoe on a trip traveling south, so I tossed out the other one on a different trip, traveling north. Denise smiled at the farfetched scenario. They couldn’t be a pair. Still, it seemed wrong to leave a perfectly good shoe behind. Back in her car again, she placed the shoe beside her on the passenger seat.
Could the first shoe be its mate? As she headed toward Washington, the notion persisted. Maybe she should go and find out, just to satisfy her curiosity. Reaching the Beltway, she tossed the idea back and forth. Was the detour worth another hour and a half when she was already so close to home? Home to her lonely apartment. The entire notion was ridiculous. What did she have better to do? She was exhausted. Not anymore. The idea of hunting down the other shoe was exhilarating.
The sign for Frederick appeared. That settled it. Wild-goose chase or not, she was going. The shoe slid to the floor and landed in the same position as if someone were wearing it. Amused, Denise imagined the attire of an imaginary companion. To go with his handmade shoe, he needed a custom-tailored suit. The kind a diplomat or the heir to a vast fortune would wear. He would be handsome, that went without saying. Suave and darkly handsome.
Shortly before Frederick, she refilled the gas tank. Once she found the shoe — if she found it — she would drive straight home without stopping. At least she wouldn’t go home alone. She passed the restaurant where she and Paul had eaten lunch. Her pulse quickened. Almost there.
The shoe appeared. Denise laughed in a giddy way, feeling almost as if she had conjured up the image. From a distance, it looked a match to the one she had already. Only, of course, it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Eyes bright, she pulled to the shoulder and coasted up to her prize.
Leaving her engine running, she got out and rounded the front of her car. The shoe sat several feet in front of the bumper. Her nerves hummed. It was a man’s black dress shoe. For a left foot. Hands trembling, she picked it up. It was a perfect match to the one in her car. Identical, right down to the black bone lace tips and the stylized initial on the underside of the tongue.
The implausibility stunned her. What had happened was totally outside the normal nature of things. She struggled for breath. If she put her hand inside the shoe, would she find it warm, as if its wearer had just shucked it off?