dk.solesurvivor-第17节

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prised　him。　If　Rose　could　fall　more　than　four　miles；　smash　unchecked　into　Colorado　rock；　and　walk　away　。。。　Unreason　overruled　facts　and　logic。　A　brief；　sweet　madness　stripped　off　the　armour　of　indifference　in　which　he'd　clothed　himself　with　so　much　struggle　and　determination；　and　into　his　heart　surged　something　like　hope。
　　He　went　into　the　store。
　　The　cashier's　counter　was　to　his　left。　A　pretty　Korean　woman　in　her　thirties　was　clipping　packages　of　Slim　Jim　sausages　to　a　wire　display　rack。　She　smiled　and　nodded。
　　A　Korean　man；　perhaps　her　husband；　was　at　the　cash　register。　He　greeted　Joe　with　a　ment　about　the　heat。
　　Ignoring　them；　Joe　passed　the　first　of　four　aisles；　then　the　second。　He　saw　the　auburn…haired　woman　and　the　child　at　the　end　of　the　third　aisle。
　　They　were　standing　at　a　cooler　full　of　soft　drinks；　their　backs　to　him。　He　stood　for　a　moment　at　the　head　of　the　aisle；　waiting　for　them　to　turn　toward　him。
　　The　woman　was　in　white　ankle…tie　sandals；　white　cotton　slacks；　and　a　time…green　blouse。　Michelle　had　owned　similar　sandals；　similar　slacks。　Not　the　blouse。　Not　the　blouse；　that　he　could　recall。
　　The　little　girl；　Nina's　age；　Nina's　size；　was　in　white　sandals　like　her　mother's；　pink　shorts；　and　a　white　T…shirt。　She　stood　with　her　head　cocked　to　one　side；　swinging　her　slender　arms；　the　way　Nina　sometimes　stood。
　　Nine…ah；　neen…ah；　have　you　seen　her。
　　Joe　was　halfway　down　the　aisle　before　he　realized　that　he　was　on　the　move。
　　He　heard　the　little　girl　say；　'Please；　root　beer；　please？'
　　Then　he　heard　himself　say；　'Nina；'　because　Nina's　favourite　drink　had　been　root　beer。　'Nina？　Michelle？'
　　The　woman　and　the　child　turned　to　him。　They　were　not　Nina　and　Michelle。
　　He　had　known　they　would　not　be　the　woman　and　the　girl　whom　he　had　loved。　He　was　operating　not　on　reason　but　on　a　demented　impulse　of　the　heart。　He　had　known；　had　known。　Yet　when　he　saw　they　were　strangers；　he　felt　as　though　he　had　been　punched　in　the　chest。
　　Stupidly；　he　said；　'You。　。　。　I　thought。。　。　standing　there。。。'
　　'Yes？'　the　woman　said；　puzzled　and　wary。
　　'Don't　。。。　don't　let　her　go；'　he　told　the　mother；　surprised　by　the　hoarseness　of　his　own　voice。　'Don't　let　her　go；　out　of　your　sight；　on　her　own；　they　vanish；　they're　gone；　unless　you　keep　them　close。'
　　Alarm　flickered　across　the　woman's　face。
　　With　the　innocent　honesty　of　a　four…year…old；　piping　up　in　a　concerned　and　helpful　tone；　the　little　girl　said；　'Mister；　you　need　to　buy　some　soap。　You　sure　smell。　The　soap's　over　that　way；　I'll　show　you。'
　　The　mother　quickly　took　her　daughter's　hand；　pulled　her　close。　Joe　realized　that　he　must；　indeed；　smell。　He　had　been　on　the　beach　in　the　sun　for　a　couple　of　hours；　and　later　in　the　cemetery；　and　more　than　once　he'd　broken　into　a　sweat　of　fear。　He'd　had　nothing　to　eat　during　the　day；　so　his　breath　must　be　sour　with　the　beer　that　he　had　drunk　at　the　shore。
　　'Thank　you；　sweetheart；'　he　said。　'You're　right。　I　smell。　I　better　get　some　soap。'
　　Behind　him；　someone　said；　'Everything　all　right？'
　　Joe　turned　and　saw　the　Korean　proprietor。　The　man's　previously　placid　face　was　now　carved　by　worry。
　　'I　thought　they　were　people　I　knew；'　Joe　explained。　'People　I　knew。　。　。　once。'
　　He　realized　that　he　had　left　the　apartment　this　morning　without　shaving。　Stubbled；　greasy　with　stale　sweat；　rumpled；　breath　sour　and　beery；　eyes　wild　with　blasted　hope；　he　must　be　a　daunting　sight。　Now　he　better　understood　the　attitude　of　the　people　at　the　bank。
　　'Everything　all　right？'　the　proprietor　asked　the　woman。
　　She　was　uncertain。　'I　guess　so。'
　　'I'm　going；'　Joe　said。　He　felt　as　if　his　internal　organs　were　slip…sliding　into　new　positions；　his　stomach　rising　and　his　heart　dropping　down　into　the　pit　of　him。　'It's　okay；　okay；　just　a　mistake；　I'm　going。'
　　He　stepped　past　the　owner　and　went　quickly　to　the　front　of　the　store。
　　As　he　headed　past　the　cashier's　counter　toward　the　door；　the　Korean　woman　worriedly　said；　'Everything　all　right？'
　　'Nothing；　nothing；'　Joe　said；　and　he　hurried　outside　into　the　sedimentary　heat　of　the　settling　day。
　　When　he　got　into　the　Honda；　he　saw　the　manila　envelope　on　the　passenger's　seat。　He　had　left　twenty　thousand　dollars　unattended　in　an　unlocked　car。　Although　there　had　been　no　miracle　in　the　convenience　store；　it　was　a　miracle　that　the　money　was　still　here。
　　Tortured　by　severe　stomach　cramps；　with　a　tightness　in　his　chest　that　restricted　his　breathing；　Joe　wasn't　confident　of　his　ability　to　drive　with　adequate　attention　to　traffic。　But　he　didn't　want　the　woman　to　think　that　he　was　waiting　for　her；　stalking　her。　He　started　the　Honda　and　left　the　shopping　centre。
　　Switching　on　the　air　conditioning；　tilting　the　vents　toward　his　face；　he　struggled　for　breath；　as　if　his　lungs　had　collapsed　and　he　was　striving　to　re…inflate　them　with　sheer　willpower。　What　air　he　was　able　to　inhale　was　heavy　inside　him；　like　a　scalding　liquid。
　　This　was　something　else　that　he　had　learned　from　passionate　Friends　meetings：　For　most　of　those　who　lost　children；　not　just　for　him；　the　pain　was　at　times　physical；　stunning。
　　Wounded；　he　drove　half　hunched　over　the　steering　wheel；　wheezing　like　an　asthmatic。
　　He　thought　of　the　angry　vow　that　he　had　made　to　destroy　those　who　might　be　to　blame　for　the　fate　of　Flight　353；　and　he　laughed　briefly；　sourly；　at　his　foolishness；　at　the　unlikely　image　of　himself　as　an　unstoppable　engine　of　vengeance。　He　was　walking　wreckage。　Dangerous　to　no　one。
　　If　he　learned　what　had　really　happened　to　that　747；　if　treachery　was　indeed　involved；　and　if　he　discovered　who　was　responsible；　the　perpetrators　would　kill　him　before　he　could　lift　a　hand　against　them。　They　were　powerful；　with　apparently　vast　resources。　He　had　no　chance　of　bringing　them　to　justice。
　　Nevertheless；　he'd　keep　trying。　The　choice　to　turn　away　from　the　hunt　was　not　his　to　make。　pulsion　drove　him。　Searching　behaviour。
　　　
　　At　a　K…Mart；　Joe　purchased　an　electric　razor　and　a　bottle　of　aftershave。　He　bought　a　toothbrush；　toothpaste；　and　toiletries。
　　The　glare　of　the　fluorescent　lights　cut　at　his　eyes。　One　wheel　on　his　shopping　cart　wobbled　noisily；　louder　in　his　imagination　than　in　reality；　exacerbating　his　headache。
　　Shopping　quickly；　he　bought　a　suitcase；　two　pair　of　blue　jeans；　a　grey　sports　coat…corduroy；　because　the　fall　lines　were　already　on　display　in　August…underwear；　T…shirts；　athletic　socks；　and　a　new　pair　of　Nikes。　He　went　strictly　by　the　stated　size；　trying　nothing。
　　After　leaving　K…Mart；　he　found　a　modest；　clean　motel　in　Malibu；　on　the　ocean；　where　later　he　might　be　able　to　sleep　to　the　rumble　of　the　surf。　He　shaved；　showered；　and　changed　into　clean　clothes。
　　By　seven…thirty；　with　an　hour　of　sunlight　left；　he　drove　east　to　Culver　City；　where　Thomas　Lee　Vadance's　widow　lived。　Thomas　had　been　listed　on　the　passenger　manifest　for　Flight　353；　and　his　wife；　Nora；　had　been　quoted　by　the　Post。
　　At　a　McDonald's；　Joe　bought　two　cheeseburgers　and　a　cola。　In　the　steel…tethered　book　at　the　restaurant's　public　phone；　he　found　a　number　and　an　address　for　Nora　Vadance。
　　From　his　previous　life　as　a　reporter；　he　had　a　Thomas　Brothers　Guide；　the　indispensable　book　of　Los　Angeles　County　street　maps；　but　he　thought　he　knew　Mrs。　Vadance's　neighbourhood。
　　While　he　drove；　he　ate　both　of　the　burgers　and　washed　them　down　with　the　cola。　He　was　surprised　by　his　own　sudden　hunger。
　　The　single…story　house　had　a　cedar…shingle　roof；　shingled　walls；　white　trim；　and　white　shutters。　It　was　an　odd　mix　of　California　ranch　house　and　New　England　coastal　cottage；　but　with　its　flagstone　walkway　and　neatly　tended　beds　of　impatiens　and　agapantha；　it　was　charming。
　　The　day　was　still　warm。　Heat　shimmered　off　the　flagstones。
　　With　an　orange…pink　glow　growing　in　the　western　sky　and　purple　twilight　just　sliding　into　view　in　the　east；　Joe　climbed　two　steps　onto　the　porch　and　rang　the　bell。
　　The　woman　who　answered　the　door　was　about　thirty　years　old　and　pretty　in　a　fresh…faced　way。　Although　she　was　a　brunette；　she　had　the　fair　plexion　of　a　redhead；　with　freckles　and　green　eyes。　She　was　in　khaki　shorts　and　a　man's　threadbare　white　shirt　with　the　sleeves　rolled　up。　Her　hair　was　in　disarray　and　damp　with　sweat；　and　on　her　left　cheek　was　a　smudge　of　dirt。
　　She　looked　as　if　she　had　been　doing　housework。　And　crying。
　　'Mrs。　Vadance？'　Joe　asked。
　　'Yes。'
　　Although　he　had　always　been　smooth　about　ingratiating　himself　with　an　interviewee　when　he　had　been　a　reporter；　he　was　awkward　now。　He　felt　too　casually　dressed　for　the　serious　questions　that　he　had　e　to　ask。　His　jeans　were　loose；　the　waistband　gathered　and　cinched　with　a　belt；　and　because　the　air　was　hot；　he'd　left　the　Sports　coat　in　the　Honda。　He　wished　he'd　bought　a　shirt　instead　of　just　T…shirts。
　　'Mrs。　Vadance；　I　was　wondering　if　I　could　speak　with　you…'
　　'I'm　very　busy　right　now…'
　　'My　name's　Joe　Carpenter。　My　wife　died　on　the　plane。　And　my　two　little　girls。'
　　Her　breath　caught　in　her　throat。　Then：　'One　year　ago。'
　　'Yes。　Tonight。'
　　She　stepped　back　from　the　door。　'e　in。'
　　He　followed　her　into　a　cheery；　predominantly　white　and　yellow　living　room　with　chintz　drapes　and　pillows。