on taking Hayden? Or - she hadn't had a baby when she started on the trip? That didn't make any sense.
Shaking my head, I realized I'd plowed into men's wear. I slipped a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt into the cart. They were smaller than Martin's usual, but I hoped no one would think of noticing. Probably Rory also needed underwear, but I'd be damned if I'd pick it out. I tucked the "no clothes for Hayden" thought into a side pocket of my mind, to pull out and reexamine later. While I was in the men's section, I was lucky enough to run into our closest neighbor, Clement Farmer. He was staring dubiously at a rack of silk boxer shorts. Clement was a small man, almost bald, with a few wisps of white hair over his ears. He had a red complexion, and very white even teeth, which made him look overall like a Christmas elf.
"I told Padgett I saw a car pulling out of your drive the other night," Clement said, without any preliminaries.
"Is that so?"
"Yes, it was a dark red car with Ohio plates."
Regina's car.
"Who was in it?" I asked, dreading the answer.
"Two people. I couldn't see the driver very well, but the passenger was a dark-haired young woman."
Sounded like Regina.
I was in more of a hurry than ever to get home and tell Martin. I thanked Clement for telling me (though I wondered why he hadn't called us on the phone) and asked him to feed Madeleine for us while we were gone. She hated to be checked into the vet's almost as much as the vet's staff hated to see her coming.
"Sure!" Clement agreed, obviously pleased. He was the only person I'd ever met who seemed to genuinely like Madeleine. "Think she'll need a brushing?" "Oh, I'm sure it wouldn't hurt." I'd made one person happy today, anyway. I loaded my purchases into Martin's Mercedes, stopped by the filling station to top up the tank. Home again, this time to find the dishes done and in the drainer; Rory watching television in our den (still, or again); and Hayden continuing his nap. Martin was packing in his usual efficient pattern, and I noticed he'd gotten out his extreme-cold-weather gear that he seldom needed in Lawrence ton.
It seemed grossly unfair that Hayden slept when he was alone with Martin.
I told Martin what Clement Farmer had seen the night before.
"So she's a hostage, if it was Regina Clement saw," he said. "Could be, Martin." I wondered how he'd gotten that out of the story I'd told him, but shook my head and decided not to pursue it. I thought of sharing my wonderment about the lack of provision for Hayden with Martin, but he looked so distracted I decided I'd be wasting my breath. I turned and went downstairs. I sat at the kitchen table studying the directions on the can of formula powder. I read them over and over, determined not to do Hayden harm with my ignorance. I assembled everything I'd need, down to the same pan I remembered Regina using. I had a hard time believing I'd talked to Regina while she prepared formula right here in this kitchen, less than twenty-four hours before. While I waited for the water to boil, I called John's hospital again, talked to my mother once more, found out John was out of the room having a test. Our telephone persisted in its curious silence. I did get a call or two from older friends of my mother's, asking about John; but other than our priest Aubrey no one seemed to want to know how Martin and I were handling our own little corner of Craig's tragedy. I wondered forlornly at that, but then I decided that no one knew quite what to say.
A brusque rap at the back door made me look up sharply while I was sealing bottles of formula to put in the refrigerator. I'd made enough to last us the trip to Ohio, I estimated, having no idea what I'd do if I'd figured wrong. Could you buy formula ready to serve? I hadn't remembered to check while I was at the store. I was so lost in worries about feeding Hayden that it took me a second to realize I was happy to see my friend and former employee Angel Youngblood, and to translate that happiness into a smile. Only the fact that Angel was preceded by a huge bulge kept