Carolina Moon

of Hope. I didn’t let myself think of her.”
    “You had a right to your own life, Tory.”
    “That’s what I told myself. God knows that’s what I wanted more than anything else in the world. My own. I’d gone back to see my parents during that period, partly out of obligation. Partly, too, because things never seem as bad as they were when you’re away from them. I suppose I thought that since I felt so … normal, that I could have a normal relationship with them.”
    She paused, shut her eyes. “But mostly I went back because I wanted to show them what I’d made of myself despite them. Look at me: I have nice clothes, a good job, a happy life. So there.” She gave a weak laugh. “I failed on all three levels.”
    “No, they did.”
    “Doesn’t matter. I guess I was a little off balance because of the visit even after I got back to New York. Then one day after work, not long after that, I went by the market. Picked up a few things. I don’t even remember exactly. But I took my bag home and started to put everything away.”
    She looked down at her water, clear water in a clear glass. “Then I was standing there in that tiny kitchen, with the refrigerator open and a carton of milk in my hand. A carton of milk,” she repeated, her voice hardly a whisper. “With a picture of a little girl on the side. Karen Anne Wilcox, age four. Missing. But I wasn’t seeing the picture, I was seeing her. Little Karen, only she didn’t have blond hair like in the picture. It was brown and cut nearly short as a boy’s. She was sitting in a room by herself playing with dolls. It was February, but I could see the sky out her window. Pretty blue sky, and I could hear the water. The sea. Why, Karen Anne’s in Florida, I thought. She’s at the beach. And when I came back to myself, the milk carton was on the floor with the milk spilling out of it.”
    She drank again, then set the glass aside. “I was so angry. What business of it was mine? I didn’t know this girl, or her parents. I didn’t want to know them. How dare they interfere with my life that way? Why should I have to be involved? Then I thought of Hope.”
    She rose, walked to the window. “I couldn’t stop thinking about her, about the little girl. I went to the police. They thought I was just one more lunatic, passed me off, rolled their eyes while they spoke very slowly, as if I were stupid as well as crazy. I was embarrassed and angry, but I couldn’t get the child out of my head. While two of the detectives were interviewing me, I lost my temper. I said something to one of them about how if he weren’t so damned closed-minded he’d listen instead of worrying how much the mechanic was going to hose him for over the transmission job.
    “That got their attention. Turned out the older one, Detective Michaels, had his car in the shop. They still didn’t believe me, but now I worried them. The interview turned into more of a grilling. They kept pushing and pushing, and my nerves were fraying. The younger one, I guess he was playing good cop, he went out and got me a Coke. He brought back this plastic bag. Evidence bag. Inside were mittens. Bright red mittens. They’d found them on the floor of Macy’s, where she’d been snatched while her mother was shopping. At Christmas. She’d been missing since December. He tossed them on the table, like a dare.”
    She remembered his eyes. Jack’s eyes. The hardness in the beautiful green brilliance of Jack’s eyes.
    “I wasn’t going to pick them up. I was so angry and ashamed. But I couldn’t help it. I picked up the bag, and I saw her so clear, in her little red coat. All the people crowded in, trying to buy presents. The noise. Her mama was right there at the counter, working on picking out a sweater. But she wasn’t paying attention, and the little girl wandered off. Just a few feet. Then the woman came and scooped her right up. She bundled her close, so close and tight, and pushed through people and right out the door. No one paid any attention. Everyone was busy. She told Karen to be very quiet because she was taking her to see Santa Claus, and she walked very fast, down the avenue very fast, and there was a car waiting. A white Chevrolet with a dented right fender and New York plates.”
    She let out a sigh, shook her head. “I even had the plate number. God, it was all so clear. I could feel the bite of the wind as it whipped down the street. I told them all that, told them what the woman