I shrunk back against the brick wall, trying to hide Tommy under my wet jacket.
The driver did not look in my direction as he turned off the headlights and sat in the dark car.
The clock on the bank across the street showed ten past seven.
Then twelve past seven.
My fingers were starting to feel numb, and I could no longer feel my toes inside my wet shoes.
“Evelyn is just circling the block,” I whispered into Tommy’s damp hair.
He did not move, and his breathing felt slower than it had when we were standing under the pharmacy awning.
I looked at the high glass windows of the Golden Spoon again.
Inside, a waiter in a white shirt was pouring water from a shiny silver pitcher into a tall glass.
The people at the tables were laughing, their faces pink and warm under the hanging brass lamps.
None of them were wearing wet wool coats or standing in the dark.
