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“He's gone!” she cried. His window was up and her voice did not reach the car, but he could read her lips and see her trembling hands.
Gone? What did she mean by gone?
Shawn stared, uncomprehending, his grip on the phone slackening. Elisabeth was holding out the phone, saying something, but he couldn't hear her.
Then he saw a figure running toward them from down the street, wearing some kind of flapping garment, sliding precariously in the icy slush on the pavement. It was Christine, in a bathrobe and slippers.
“Shawn!” she called, a high, desperate squeak in her voice. She, too, was holding a phone in one hand, waving it frantically.
The world is crazy, he thought. What the hell? We're all three of us out in the Thanksgiving cold, waving our phones at each other. Crazy!
He fumbl
