30
GWENDY SPENDS THE MAJORITY of Sunday afternoon Christmas shopping with her mom. Their first stop is the Walmart, where Gwendy picks up a couple of jigsaw puzzles for her father and Mrs. Peterson snatches the last remaining Sony Walkman on the shelf for Blanche Goff, her longtime neighbor and friend “to use on her morning strolls around the high school track.”
Gwendy’s cellphone rings as they’re walking to the parking lot. It’s her father checking in to see how Mom is faring. Gwendy gives her mother a look and tells him everything’s fine and promises to keep an eye on her. Before she hangs up, Mrs. Peterson grabs the phone from her daughter’s hand and says, “Just watch your football games and leave us alone, you old nag.” The two of them climb into the Subaru, stashing their bags in the back seat and giggling like a couple of teenagers.
The truth is Gwendy has been keeping close tabs on her mother, and so far she’s delighted with what she’s seen. Mrs. Peterson is still a bit frail and she’s definitely slower on her feet, but all that’s to be expected after everything she’s been through. More important, to Gwendy at least, is the fact that her mother’s cheery attitude and whip-smart sense of humor are back, not to mention that sweet smile of hers. There’d been barely a glimpse of those things during the eight weeks of chemotherapy.
After Walmart, the two women grab a light lunch at Cracker Barrel and head to the mall out on Route 119. The two-story shopping mall is as crowded and noisy as a Friday night football game—it seems like half of Castle Rock’s teenage population is there that afternoon—but they don’t let it take away from their fun. Gwendy and her mom spend the next couple hours knocking off the final items on their gift lists, eating double-scoop ice cream cones while people-watching in the food court, and singing along to the never-ending selection of Christmas carols playing over the mall’s sound system.
At their final stop of the day, Gwendy leaves her mom sitting on a bench outside of Bart’s Sporting Goods, and goes inside to purchase a rain-suit for Ryan to wear kayaking. It was his only gift request before he left, and she’s determined to have it waiting for him under the tree. Gwendy is stuffing the credit card receipt into her bag and not looking where she’s going when she bumps into another shopper on her way out of the store.
“I am so sorry,” Gwendy says and then looks up and sees who it is. “Oh my God, Brigette!”
The tall, blonde woman laughs and picks up the shopping bag that was jostled from her hand. “Same old Gwendy, always running somewhere.”
Brigette Desjardin was two years ahead of Gwendy at Castle Rock High. Back in those days, they ran indoor track together and spent a lot of time at each other’s houses.
“I haven’t seen you since what… the Fourth of July parade?” Gwendy asks, giving her friend a hug.
“You ran into me that day, too.”
Gwendy covers her mouth. “Oh my God, you’re right, I did. I am so sorry.” Gwendy had knocked a glass of lemonade right out of Brigette’s hand and all over her brand-new sundress. “I never used to be so darn clumsy, but I think I’m making up for lost time these past few years.”
“That’s okay, Gwen,” says Brigette, laughing. “I think I know a way you can make it up to me.”
“Tell me.”
Brigette raises her eyebrows. “Well, you probably haven’t heard, but I was elected president of the PTA in September.”
“That’s terrific,” Gwendy says with sincere admiration. “Congratulations.”
“Oh, whatever.” Brigette rolls her eyes and smiles. “Miss Big-Shot Senator.”
“I’m not a—”
“Anyhoo, I’m in charge of the New Year’s Eve celebration this year—weather permitting, we’re holding it outside in the Common—and I was wondering…”
Gwendy doesn’t say anything. She can guess what’s coming next.
“…if you might stop by and say a few words?”
One of her mother’s favorite sayings flits through her mind: Don’t choose the easy thing to do, choose the right thing to do.
“It would only be for three or four minutes, but I understand if you can’t or don’t want to or you already have other—”
Gwendy places a hand on her old friend’s shoulder. “I’d be happy to.”
Brigette squeals and throws her arms around Gwendy. “Thank you, thank you! You have no idea what this means to me.”
“Just make sure you’re not holding a mug of hot chocolate when you see me coming.”
Brigette giggles, relaxing her bear hug. “Deal.”
“I’ll give you a call next week so you can tell me when and where to show up.”
“Perfect. Thank you again so much.” She starts walking away, and then turns back. “A very merry Christmas to you and your family.”
“Merry Christmas. I’m glad I ran into you.”
Gwendy turns and starts wading through the crowded promenade. Halfway to the bench where she’d left her mom, Mrs. Peterson comes into view and Gwendy raises a hand to wave—but she never gets that far.
Her mother isn’t alone.
A stab of terror piercing her chest, Gwendy starts pushing her way through the crowd.
31
“WHO WAS THAT?” GWENDY nearly shouts, frantically scanning the throng of shoppers behind the bench. “Who were you just talking to?”
Mrs. Peterson looks up in surprise. “What… what’s wrong?”
“The man with the black hat, the one you were just talking to… did you know him?”
“No. He said he’s visiting with friends in town. He asked me a couple of questions and went on his way.”
“What friends?”
“I didn’t ask him that,” Mrs. Peterson says. “What’s going on, Gwen?”
Up on her tip-toes now, still searching the crowd. “What kind of questions did he ask?”
“Well, let me think… he asked how I liked it here in Castle Rock. I told him I’d lived here my entire life, that it was home.”
“What else?”
“He wanted to know if I could recommend a good restaurant for dinner. He said he hadn’t had a decent hot meal in weeks and was very hungry, which I thought was rather odd considering how nicely he was dressed.”
“What else?”
“That was it. It was a very brief conversation.”
“What did he look like? Can you describe him?”
“He was…” She thinks for a moment. “Tall and thin and probably about your age. I think he had blue eyes.”
Mrs. Peterson stands and picks up her shopping bags from the bench. “Now are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to start worrying about you, too?”
Thinking fast, Gwendy looks at her mom with that same blank poker face. “There’s a reporter who’s been bothering me these past few weeks. He’s persistent and not a very nice man. For a minute, I was afraid he followed me all the way up here from DC.”
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Peterson says, and Gwendy immediately feels horrible for lying to her. “This gentleman seemed very kind, but I guess you can never really tell, can you?”
Gwendy gives her a quick nod. “It’s getting harder and harder, that’s for sure.”
32
THE COLD AIR FEELS good in Gwendy’s lungs and the burn in her legs is like catching up with an old friend. After dropping off her mom at the house, she wanted nothing more than to drive home to the condo and head straight upstairs to bed, but her brain had other ideas. Especially after the scare she experienced at the mall.