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herself, "quit playing with the salt--I don't know how much longer we'll be here. We need a tow, then we've gotta get the car fixed and--
oh, oh, yeah, here we go again with your favorite little guilt trip."
Jon rolled his eyes. Things were more interesting outside.
At the front edge of the lot, near the street, someone stood below one of the mercury lamps facing the restaurant. A girl. At least, it
looked like a girl. She wore a long dark coat and its hem snapped around her legs in the wind; a cap was pulled down over her head
and long fair hair blew around her face and neck. In the glare of the lamp high above her, the girl's face looked gaunt and very pale,
as if her skin were caked with flour. She didn't move, just stood stiffly in the flurry of snow, hands in her coat pockets, watching.
Jon squinted, pulled the blind down and cupped his hands to his eyes, pressing his nose to the cold glass.
The window ... she was watching the window, his window! Just standing there as if she were unaware of the snow or the ice cold wind
... staring. At him!
"But what did the doctor say about the blood clot?" Mom asked, drumming her fingers noisily on the tabletop. "Did he say it could--
Jon," she interrupted herself again, "Jon-athon! Leave the blinds alone." Into the phone again: "Did he say it could be fixed?"
Jon ignored her.
The girl still had not moved.
A truck rolled slowly across the lot and in front of the girl and Jon waited several seconds for it to pass.
The girl was gone.
His back stiffened, eyes darting left to right, but he couldn't find her. Where could she have gone? Only seconds had passed, not
enough time for her to completely disappear. Unless she'd hunkered down behind a car...
The blinds rattled as Jon pulled them down further and craned his head around to look in both directions along the front wall of the
restaurant and Mom hissed," Will you stop it!"
He pulled away from the window as she returned the receiver to her ear. "Of course David's there already, Janice, he flew. It's a
couple hours from L.A. by plane. He's a lawyer. When I'm a lawyer with my own TV commercials, I'll fly, too, okay? Look, just get off it.
What about Dad? How's he doing?"
Jon watched her; when she was staring at her coffee and chewing on a thumbnail, he knew she was too distracted to notice, so he
tugged the blind down again and--cried out, clamping a palm over his mouth. The blind slapped back into place.
A white narrow face against the window. Full lips curled into a closed-mouth smile. And eyes ... wide, smiling eyes ... warm eyes ...
sparkling...
With her hand covering the mouthpiece, lips pulled back over clenched teeth, Mom rasped, "What the hell is wrong with you? Huh?
Your little sister is behaving better than you!"
"I-I'm, I-I wuh-was--"
"Well, stop it." Pulling her hand from the receiver: "Okay, sorry, Janice. Just the kids. Look, when you talk to Dad, would you tell him
we'll be there as soon as possible? And tell Mom ... tell her I love her. Okay?"
Jon's hands were trembling from the jolt. Sitting across from him, Cece was busy tearing up her napkin; beside him, Dara was
engrossed in the menu. Neither of them had noticed. Mom was still talking, very quietly now, so quietly that he couldn't make out her
words above the noise of the restaurant.
He lifted his hand slowly and his finger quivered as he hooked it over the blind and very cautiously pulled it down.
The face was still there, but this time, it wasn't a surprise.
It was the girl he'd seen standing across the lot. She gave him a sly, playful smile and tilted her head forward a bit so that she was
looking up at him through long eyelashes. Her frail white hand rose slowly and doubled into a fist, then her long, slender index finger
extended and curled ... extended and curled ... beckoning.
Jon dropped the blind again, but only for a moment. When he peeked out, her arms were folded and her eyebrows were raised high.
She mouthed silently, I'm waiting...
He slapped Cece's thigh. "Move."
"What?"
"I wanna get out."
"H' come?"
"I just want to, that's all, c'mon."
"Where are you going, Jon?"
He turned to his Mom, still on the phone, and said, "I just don't want to sit anymore. I wanna walk around."
"What do you want to eat?"
"I'm not hungry."
"Well, you better eat now, because I don't know when--"
"A cheeseburger. Order a cheeseburger for me."
"Where are you going?"
"Urn, just to see what Doug's doing." When Cece moved, he scooted out of the booth, crossed the restaurant and hurried through the
crowded corridor to the front entrance, then went outside into the cold...
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CHAPTER 4
The hunger had been growing since he'd started driving at dusk.
So had the weakness.
The hunger began in his throat; the very first hint that he would have to feed soon was a harsh dryness in the back of his throat. A bit
later, his skin became sensitive and he began to tremble just a little. After a while, his eyes began to water and burn and he looked as
if he'd been crying. Then the chill set in; his body always felt cold to the living, but if he went too long without feeding, he began to feel
cold and was soon shivering. His lips swelled and cracked. His skin began to flake. He'd never gone beyond that, but he was sure
that, if he did, he would lose consciousness and, eventually, die.
Again and forever.
The weakness had started about four months ago. Actually, when he thought about it, he realized it had probably started before that,
but he'd only noticed it four months ago. At first, he'd thought perhaps he was not feeding enough, or maybe he was doing something
else wrong; his understanding of his condition was still limited. But even when he doubled his portions, the weakness persisted: a
gradually growing heaviness in his arms and legs and a decrease in what had, for a while, been an amazing boost in his physical
strength. Later, it had begun to show in his face. Added to the unhealthy pallor were heavy pockets of flesh that sagged beneath his
deep set eyes; his cheeks sank in further and further beneath his cheekbones over time, as if his face were deflating. His hair began
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