My Sister's Voice (28 page)
Authors: Mary Carter
The air rushed back into Monica’s body, most of it going to her head. She was sure she looked stupid with the huge grin on her face, but she couldn’t stop smiling. Mike stepped away from the tree and took Monica’s hand. Then pulled Monica closer, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. “There’s nothing to feel bad about,” Mike said. “And despite what just happened—God, that was great, wasn’t it? Despite that, Ms. Daredevil, we are going to take this slow. Very, very slow.” As if wanting to be included, Snookie ran over and made circles around Monica, wrapping the leash around her legs, like securing a victim for a plank walk.
“We gotcha,” Mike said, pulling her toward him. “We gotcha.”
Chapter 30
H
e slapped her square on the forehead. Lacey hadn’t been expecting this, and she jerked back more from shock than from actual pain. His large lips were moving; she could tell he was shouting from the spit flying out of his mouth. She wanted to wipe it off her face, but she was afraid he was going to hit her again. He pushed her away, and she stumbled as the next person was offered up to him. This time it was an old woman in a wheelchair. Two assistants helped her stand. Lacey watched with her mouth open; he hit her too, and he flicked water in her face. Lacey whipped her head around to Margaret.
e slapped her square on the forehead. Lacey hadn’t been expecting this, and she jerked back more from shock than from actual pain. His large lips were moving; she could tell he was shouting from the spit flying out of his mouth. She wanted to wipe it off her face, but she was afraid he was going to hit her again. He pushed her away, and she stumbled as the next person was offered up to him. This time it was an old woman in a wheelchair. Two assistants helped her stand. Lacey watched with her mouth open; he hit her too, and he flicked water in her face. Lacey whipped her head around to Margaret.
“He hit me,” she signed. Margaret shook her head no. Lacey stomped her foot on the floor and pointed at the man dressed in a long, white robe. Then she started toward the man, her fist curled and poised to punch. Margaret grabbed her and pulled her back to the front bench. Lacey knew who was responsible for this. It was the new woman. The one who came on Wednesday nights. She’d seen her whispering with Margaret, the two of them constantly glancing over at Lacey. The next thing she knew, she was in church.
“He’s a healer,” Kelly Thayler told her that night. Lacey finger-spelled the word back to Kelly; she didn’t understand what it meant. “He was supposed to make you hearing,” she said. “Are you sure you can’t hear anything? Not even a little bit?” Lacey stretched her neck until her ears were sticking out. She tried hard to hear something. Finally she brought her neck back in and shook her head no.
“Why are you crying?” Lacey asked.
“Because I was going to be next,” Kelly said. “If he made you hearing, he could’ve made me a leg.”
“I hate him,” Lacey said. “I don’t want to hear.”
“Well, I want a new leg,” Kelly said. “Like a starfish. If a starfish loses a leg, it grows one back. Did you know that?” Lacey did not know that. But now that she did, she intended to rip the leg off the next starfish she saw to see if it was true.
“It’s her fault,” Lacey said. She imitated the woman with the frizzy hair and big nose who’d been coming on Wednesday nights. Then she got up, stuck her chest out, and waddled across the room in imitation of the woman. Kelly laughed and laughed.
“I have an idea,” Lacey said, giving Kelly the look. Lacey always had an idea. Kelly didn’t look happy about it, but Lacey knew she’d go along with it. She always did.
The next Wednesday, Lacey begged Margaret to take her to church again. Margaret narrowed her eyes at Lacey.
“No,” she said. Lacey knew this was what Margaret would say. Luckily, she waited until the woman with frizzy hair was back, listening to every word.
“I want to be healed,” Lacey signed. As promised, Kelly interpreted for her. Lacey knew Kelly had said the right words, for the woman clasped her hands in front of her face and smiled. Lacey felt a pinch on the soft part of her underarm, Margaret’s signal that she was going to let her have it later, but Lacey didn’t care. This time it was going to be worth it.
Kelly sat in the front row where Lacey could see her. This time when the man hit her, Lacey was ready. She stumbled back from the blow. This time when his mouth moved, she knew he was shouting—“Be healed!” Lacey took a deep breath and hoped everyone would understand her voice. She’d never used it in public before.
“I can hear,” she said. “I can hear!” Although she couldn’t hear the gasps, she could see their faces. Oh, to see their faces! All of them had their mouths open to one degree or the other, and some were starting to moan and cry. Lacey glanced at Kelly.
“Car,” Kelly signed. Lacey pointed to the front door of the church.
“I hear a car!” Lacey said. People leapt to their feet! The man who hit her suddenly grabbed her and hugged her. She hated having her face smashed into his thick white robe. She struggled. She pulled back and looked at Kelly again.
“I hear a woman’s scream!” she said. The entire room was applauding, leaping to their feet. Those in line who could walk started to sway, or dance with each other. Lacey looked at Kelly again. Lacey didn’t even question what Kelly signed next, what did she know about hearing?
“I hear a fart!” Lacey said even louder than before. She’d never seen faces fall so quiet so fast. She looked to Kelly again, but Margaret had reached her first and was dragging her out of the church. The man in the robe was shouting at her again, his spit flying farther than ever before. Margaret tightened her grip on Lacey’s arm. There would be bruises. Lacey looked at the ceiling, where everyone looked when they talked about God, and treated the crowd to a parting shot. “Thanks for nothing,” she said.
“No,” Kelly said. “I’m too old to go along with your schemes.” Lacey answered her with nothing but a smile and the look. “Just out of curiosity. What are you planning on doing?”
“Teaching her a lesson,” Lacey said. “Like old times.”
“I don’t understand you,” Kelly said. “We kidnapped a cat and dug through garbage to find your sister. Now that you have her, you want to get rid of her. Why?”
“I wanted to meet her. I didn’t want her to crawl into my skin and stay there.”
“She quit her job and moved to Philadelphia just to be close to you.”
“And you think that’s a good thing? It’s insane! She’s stalking me.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“Remember when you were studying to become an interpreter, they did that exercise with you where you wore earplugs and had to see what it felt like to be Deaf?”
“Yes,” Kelly said. “We had to go to a restaurant and shopping mall like that. When people realized we couldn’t hear them, they either started yelling at us like we were eighty years old, or treated us like we were retarded—sorry.”
“I think it’s time Monica got a little taste of it,” Lacey said.
“And then what? It’s going to make her even more sympathetic—I don’t get it.”
“You’ll see.”
It was strange being with her group of four other students, sitting in a diner with earplugs, unable to speak to each other except for the little signs they knew, plus gestures. Monica had already had a glimpse of how Lacey was treated in the hearing world, so the awkwardness of the waiter didn’t throw her. One of the other girls kept trying to ask Monica something but the only sign she understood her using was “sister.” Finally, the girl ripped out a piece of paper, something they were told not to do, and wrote:
You grew up with a Deaf twin. Why didn’t you learn sign language?
You grew up with a Deaf twin. Why didn’t you learn sign language?
What was she supposed to say? She’d promised Lacey she wouldn’t tell anyone about their past. She shouldn’t have even told her she had a Deaf twin, but it just slipped out one day.
We had our own language,
Monica wrote. As she wrote it, she had the strangest feeling it was true. Was this a memory, or was she extrapolating? After all, it was a common myth that identical twins made up their own language. She’d since read that twins often picked up each other’s mispronunciation of words, so what sounded like a foreign language to outside ears was actually English, just slightly mispronounced in a way only the two of them understood. But since Lacey was Deaf, it wouldn’t have worked out that way for the two of them. Had they made up their own signs? Monica wished she knew; she wished she could remember. Remembering might be the breakthrough she needed to get close to Lacey.
Monica wrote. As she wrote it, she had the strangest feeling it was true. Was this a memory, or was she extrapolating? After all, it was a common myth that identical twins made up their own language. She’d since read that twins often picked up each other’s mispronunciation of words, so what sounded like a foreign language to outside ears was actually English, just slightly mispronounced in a way only the two of them understood. But since Lacey was Deaf, it wouldn’t have worked out that way for the two of them. Had they made up their own signs? Monica wished she knew; she wished she could remember. Remembering might be the breakthrough she needed to get close to Lacey.
One of the Deaf volunteers suddenly came up to their table. She signed clearly and slowly so the students could understand.
“Time for part two of our game,” she said. “Everyone will have an individual task to perform as a “Deaf” person. Some of you will have to run to the grocery store, some of you will have to ask a stranger for directions, and so on. I’m going to pass out these slips of paper with your assignments. At our next class you’ll have to talk about your experience. Good luck!”
Monica looked at her assignment.
Meet with Susan, a puppy breeder. Pick up two puppies and take them to their new homes.
That should be easy. The breeder lived in a part of Philly that Monica had never been to, but thanks to her GPS she was at the house in no time.
Meet with Susan, a puppy breeder. Pick up two puppies and take them to their new homes.
That should be easy. The breeder lived in a part of Philly that Monica had never been to, but thanks to her GPS she was at the house in no time.
It was weird not listening to the radio on the way there, but other than that, so far, Monica wouldn’t have much to share with the class about her experience. Susan lived in a modest Victorian, on the outskirts of the city. Monica could hear dogs barking in the background, even through her earplugs. She rang the doorbell, and waited. A petite woman with slicked-back gray hair answered the door. She waved at Monica. Monica waved back. It was obvious Susan thought Monica was really Deaf. She was being overly friendly, lots of smiling and several “pats” on the shoulder. She led Monica down a hall that smelled like dog and into a back room where puppies ran amuck in a small bedroom cordoned off by a baby gate.
The woman clapped her hands and most of the puppies came running. One stayed in the corner chewing on a stuffed cat. The woman scooped one of the puppies up, the sweetest little chocolate Lab Monica had ever seen. Monica kissed the puppy and placed it in a carrier box she’d been told to bring. Then the woman walked over to the lonesome puppy in the corner, still chewing away on the stuffed cat. When she touched him, the puppy jumped a little. This was also a Lab, smaller than the other, with a reddish tint to its little coat. She picked this puppy up and brought it to Monica. Then the woman said something. Monica couldn’t read her lips. Monica shook her head to indicate she didn’t understand. The woman kept pointing to the puppy’s ears and then back at Monica. Monica finally brought out her pad and pen. The woman set the second puppy in a carrier and took the pen.
Did they tell you this puppy is deaf?
No.
The family is only going to take one puppy,
the woman wrote.
Here’s the address. You will have to bring back the puppy they don’t choose.
the woman wrote.
Here’s the address. You will have to bring back the puppy they don’t choose.
It was a setup. Monica knew that. The question, she thought to herself as she sat in the car with the pair of puppies, was what to do about it. She wanted to quit on the spot, but that was exactly what Lacey wanted her to do. Well, Lacey had misjudged her. Somehow she’d found out that Monica was taking the class. It must be that Deaf Grapevine that Monica heard so much about—news apparently traveled fast in Deaf Culture. Still, why rub this in her face? It wasn’t Monica who put Lacey up for adoption; didn’t she get that?
Then there would be the added humiliation of standing up in front of the class and telling her experience. She could hear herself now. The loving, wealthy family picked the hearing puppy so I had to take the deaf puppy back. What kind of twisted canine Sophie’s choice was this? The puppies whined in agreement from the backseat. Monica yanked the earplugs out of her ears and cranked the radio. Then, she started the car and drove them home.
“I’m sorry,” Monica said for the fourth or fifth time. The puppies were going on the second straight hour of whining.
“Just let them out,” Mike said. “At this point I’ll take peace and quiet over pissing and chewing.”
“I’ll take them outside first,” Monica said. “And give them access to my things to chew.” She threw a coat over her pajamas and slipped on her shoes. “I’ll look for my own place in the morning,” she said. Snookie growled from underneath the couch.
“Are you sure you really want three dogs?” Mike said.
“She’s testing me,” Monica said. “And I don’t intend to fail.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Monica.”
“It doesn’t feel that way. I grew up with everything. She grew up—”
“Don’t start. She has a perfectly good life.” The puppies wriggled so hard in her arms, Monica almost dropped them.
“It’s like trying to hold a goldfish,” Monica said. “I’d better get them outside.” Mike grabbed a jacket from the hook near the door. “You don’t have to,” she said.
“Come on, Snookie,” Mike called. Snookie poked his head out from underneath the couch. “Snookie want a cookie?” he said. Monica laughed. Snookie raced out and led the way outside.
Chapter 31
T
he girls were in a good mood, on the kind of day that made all the other days seem worth it. They were jabbering away, singing some sort of song they’d heard on the radio that morning. Lacey, especially, loved music. She would immediately start dancing and humming whenever a tune came on that struck her fancy. In the middle of the breakfast table sat a blue plastic horse for Lacey and a blue plastic cow for Monica, birthday presents from Aunt Grace. The girls were turning three. It was hard for Katherine to believe. Why in the world would Aunt Grace give them different presents when Katherine had made it clear it would cause trouble?
he girls were in a good mood, on the kind of day that made all the other days seem worth it. They were jabbering away, singing some sort of song they’d heard on the radio that morning. Lacey, especially, loved music. She would immediately start dancing and humming whenever a tune came on that struck her fancy. In the middle of the breakfast table sat a blue plastic horse for Lacey and a blue plastic cow for Monica, birthday presents from Aunt Grace. The girls were turning three. It was hard for Katherine to believe. Why in the world would Aunt Grace give them different presents when Katherine had made it clear it would cause trouble?
She was doing it, Katherine knew, to spite her. So far, Monica had been eyeing the horse, but she had yet to make a fuss. Maybe, just maybe, Monica was outgrowing her obsession that everything be absolutely equal when it came to her twin. Maybe it was just as Katherine thought, it was a phase. Maybe she was right to stop therapy, ignore Dianne’s warning—
Very unhealthy, possibly dangerous—
A three-year-old—dangerous. And yes, Dianne chronicled stories of toddlers who had become physically violent with their siblings, but those children were abused or mentally ill. Her children were perfectly normal. And unless you were a twin yourself, how could you judge the closeness?
Separate the twins. That was the actual suggestion. A trial separation. Monica might get violent. It was ridiculous. Watching them now, on a day like today, Katherine knew she’d made the right decision. The girls had finished their breakfast and were getting antsy.
“Down,” Lacey said, kicking her feet. “Down.”
“Down,” Monica said, kicking her feet. “Down.”
“Outside,” Lacey said.
“Outside,” Monica said. Katherine lifted the girls out of their chairs and set them down. Lacey reached for her toy horse. Monica lunged for it. Lacey held it to her chest. Monica cried. Katherine handed Monica her cow. Monica threw it across the room. Lacey handed her the horse. Monica’s tears stopped immediately. Katherine walked across the room and handed Lacey the cow. Lacey took it with a smile on her face; Monica scowled from across the room.
“Outside,” Lacey said.
“Outside,” Monica said.
Someone was pounding on the front door. Snookie was barking, the puppies whining. Monica opened one eye and stared at the clock. It was six
A.M.
She rolled out of bed, put on her robe, and tried to hush Snookie, who was by now completely out of his mind. Monica threw open the front door to find Lacey standing there with Susan, the puppy breeder.
A.M.
She rolled out of bed, put on her robe, and tried to hush Snookie, who was by now completely out of his mind. Monica threw open the front door to find Lacey standing there with Susan, the puppy breeder.
“I can hear them,” the woman said the minute Monica opened the door. She was yelling loudly and pointing at her ear. “I want my puppies back,” the woman said to Monica. “It was just a class assignment. You weren’t supposed to keep them!”
Monica shrugged. She didn’t bother speaking clearly or gesturing. Lacey glared at her. It surprised even herself that she didn’t care if Lacey was angry with her. She almost welcomed it.
“Come in,” she said to the woman. “They’re all yours.” The woman ran in and scooped up the puppies. Monica stood staring at Lacey.
“That was a lousy trick,” Monica said. She spoke the words clearly, but made no attempt to gesture or sign. Lacey crossed her arms and glared. Monica was sure Lacey had a million things to say to her. Was she angry Monica was living with Mike? She was suddenly weary with the weight of how difficult it was to communicate. The few sign language classes she had taken made it all the harder. She could produce a few signs for sure, but whenever anyone signed back to her, she was lost. Susan barreled past them with the puppies, got into her car, and drove away. Lacey continued to stand and stare.
“Go home,” Lacey signed. Monica understood.
Mike came up behind Monica. “Hey,” he said rubbing his eyes. “What’s up?”
Lacey put her arm around Monica and pointed at Mike.
“Want to do us both?” she clearly voiced.
“Lacey,” Monica said.
Lacey jerked away from Monica.
“Go home,” she said again.
Mike stepped in. He pointed at Monica and then himself.
“Roommates,” he said slowly and clearly.
“It’s none of her business,” Monica said.
“What?” Lacey said.
Monica pointed at Mike, then at herself.
“None of your business,” she enunciated as clearly as she could.
“Monica,” Mike said. “Please don’t drag me into this.”
“Can you give us some privacy, Mike?” Monica said. Mike shook his head, but left.
“You’re my sister,” Monica signed. “We’re twins.” Like that, the cloak of anger Monica wore evaporated. She didn’t know what to say or do anymore. But she knew she couldn’t imagine life without Lacey. This was the person she was supposed to be closest to in the world. How could Lacey not know that? How could she treat her like a total stranger, or even worse, an enemy?
“Please,” Monica signed. “Please.” Lacey signed something back. It took several tries, but Monica finally got it.
“What do you want from me?” Lacey had said.
Monica had too many words. She had the words but not the signs.
I want a sister. I want you to love me. I want to know everything I’ve missed in your life. I want to go on vacations with you. I want pictures with you to put on my fridge. I want to be the maid of honor at your wedding. I want to be Aunt Monica to your children. I want to hang one of your paintings in my apartment. I want to talk every day. I want to make up for lost time. I want to go back to when we were kids. I want never to be separated from you. I want you to forgive me. I want you to forgive our mom and dad. I want you to meet them. I want you there to make putting up with them easier. I want you to have to shoot cans in the woods with the Colonel. I want you to receive a million e-mails from our mother and put up with her constant worrying. I want to talk to you about sex, love, religion, and politics. I want a real life with you. I just want a real life.
I want a sister. I want you to love me. I want to know everything I’ve missed in your life. I want to go on vacations with you. I want pictures with you to put on my fridge. I want to be the maid of honor at your wedding. I want to be Aunt Monica to your children. I want to hang one of your paintings in my apartment. I want to talk every day. I want to make up for lost time. I want to go back to when we were kids. I want never to be separated from you. I want you to forgive me. I want you to forgive our mom and dad. I want you to meet them. I want you there to make putting up with them easier. I want you to have to shoot cans in the woods with the Colonel. I want you to receive a million e-mails from our mother and put up with her constant worrying. I want to talk to you about sex, love, religion, and politics. I want a real life with you. I just want a real life.
But Monica didn’t say any of that. She only knew how to sign: “I want.”
“Go home,” Lacey said.
But she didn’t have a home, not anymore. Mike made it clear he didn’t want to get in the middle. Maybe he wanted a break from her and Snookie.
What would Lacey do if she were me?
Monica thought. She took Snookie to doggy day care and got on an Amtrak train headed for New York City. It was less than two hours away and the ticket was affordable. She walked around Times Square, taking in the crowds and the lights, wondering if she should move here, really could lose herself in the city. She saw a man playing a guitar in his underwear. Good for him, he was living his life. Monica wondered what it would feel like to be him as she watched him, wondered what all those eyes would feel like on her. She thought about her canoe trip with Lacey, how they took off their bras and flung them into the water. But this man was playing the guitar. She didn’t have a guitar.
What would Lacey do if she were me?
Monica thought. She took Snookie to doggy day care and got on an Amtrak train headed for New York City. It was less than two hours away and the ticket was affordable. She walked around Times Square, taking in the crowds and the lights, wondering if she should move here, really could lose herself in the city. She saw a man playing a guitar in his underwear. Good for him, he was living his life. Monica wondered what it would feel like to be him as she watched him, wondered what all those eyes would feel like on her. She thought about her canoe trip with Lacey, how they took off their bras and flung them into the water. But this man was playing the guitar. She didn’t have a guitar.
Maybe she should join him anyway. Strip down to her panties, stand next to him, and play the harmonica. She didn’t know how to play the harmonica, but she figured she could fake it. Wouldn’t that be something. It would certainly be daring. It would certainly be taking a chance. Is it something her twin would do? Probably not; she couldn’t hear music. Monica kept forgetting her sister was Deaf. Lacey told her to go home. Lacey didn’t want anything to do with her.
Was she wearing clean underwear? Clean enough to be stared at by strangers? It probably didn’t matter she didn’t even have a harmonica. She thought of Joe reading about her standing naked in the middle of Times Square. She could imagine her mother’s face too. How would they know it was her and not Lacey? She could strip naked, get photographed, and give her name as Lacey Gears. She could commit a crime and tell them she was her sister. She’d read about this, twins once, was it in the nineteen-forties? One of them committed a crime, a murder, Monica thought, but she couldn’t remember exactly. They arrested one twin, who then accused the other. They had the same exact fingerprints, identical DNA, and they couldn’t figure out which one was the guilty party, so they had to let them both go—
Lacey and Monica aka Bonnie and Clyde! But her sister didn’t even want to be with her, let alone break the law with her, did she? Or would that have been appealing to her daredevil sister? If Monica got arrested, who would be her one phone call? If she called Lacey, would she come?
Stealing wasn’t for her. Exhibitionism out too. She could go to a club and pick up a strange man. Pretend to be her sister. Pretend to be Deaf so she wouldn’t have to talk to him. She wondered if Mike would miss her. She probably should have left him a note. Monica started walking, wondering what little caper she would pull off as Lacey. Maybe there was an art contest she could enter. Maybe she could apply to grad school.
Maybe she had a painting talent she wasn’t aware of. She could test it out. Conduct an experiment. Twin discovers identical hidden talent. There had to be an art store nearby. She started investigating the crowd, looking out for anyone whom she considered “artistic” to ask where she could find paint. She was in luck. He was a very nice young man, a boy, but he showed her the way. Minutes later she stood in front of oils, and acrylics, and watercolors. It was too much. She felt dizzy.
That’s where she saw it. A can of spray paint. It was the right thing to buy, she knew it. Graffiti artist, that was her, could be her, she knew it. And one color would not do; she needed a rainbow at her fingertips. First she picked up a can of black. Then gold and silver. Purple, pink, blue, yellow, red. She felt so happy. She was alive, she was almost swooning. Lacey Gears, graffiti artist—
Where did she get the last name Gears? Yet another mystery, another question, another family lie. Her arms were stuffed with paint cans. She liked the clinking sound they made as she wrestled them to the counter. She tried to imagine what she would paint. Maybe something simple. Maybe just:
Lacey was here.
Lacey was here.
Whoever she was, she thought as she watched the clerk punch in number after number, the bill doubling, then tripling, she wasn’t Monica. Monica didn’t spray paint anything. Should she climb up a bridge? Spray paint a trestle. The side of a building? Should she practice first? Yes, otherwise how would she find out if she was any good? Practice made perfect.
Lacey stopped mid-brush.
Monica needs you.
It was clear as day, and it was a voice. Lacey could hear a voice. She tried to ignore it and focus on the eyes of the Siamese cat, but she couldn’t get rid of the voice. What was this? Guilt? What had she done that was so bad?
Go home,
she’d said.
Go home.
Monica needs you.
It was clear as day, and it was a voice. Lacey could hear a voice. She tried to ignore it and focus on the eyes of the Siamese cat, but she couldn’t get rid of the voice. What was this? Guilt? What had she done that was so bad?
Go home,
she’d said.
Go home.
There were worse things she could have said. She was probably doing Monica a favor. Encouraging her to get back to her life, her fiancé, her book tour. But Monica hadn’t gone home; Lacey could feel that too. What the hell was this? Some kind of psychic link with her twin? She didn’t want that. She didn’t believe in that.
Go home.
Lacey saw it in color. Big, splashy, billboard color.
Go home.
She took out her BlackBerry. She texted Monica.
Lacey saw it in color. Big, splashy, billboard color.
Go home.
She took out her BlackBerry. She texted Monica.
Are you okay?
That should do. Monica dropped her cans of paint at her feet. She didn’t care what the building was. It was enough that it had a smooth, gray surface area in which to spray. Now that she was here, however, she saw the flaw in her plan. She was too close to the building. She would need to be about twenty feet in the air and farther away. How was she going to work under these conditions? If she tried to back up, she’d be standing in the middle of the street. There were too many people about. They were stopping and staring at the pile of cans at her feet, whispering. They were wondering who she was, what she was going to paint. Nobody suspected the pretty woman of potential vandalism. She was obviously an artist for hire. Besides, who in their right mind would spray paint a building in broad daylight unless they had permission to do so?
But just like her experience with the Naked Cowboy, she was choking. When it came right down to it, she couldn’t do it. She picked up her paint cans one by one, stopping, dropping, squatting, scooping the cans back up until she had them all safely in her arms. This wasn’t the right building; she would walk on, find something a little more private, out of the way. Perhaps she needed to wait until dark. She could hear her phone ringing, but her hands were too full to fish in her purse. She started walking.
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