Her breath caught as the washroom door opened again. She started forward instinctively, then drew back as the other man walked out, his face florid and sweaty. He started past her.
"Pardon me," she said.
The man kept moving. Jean hurried after him and touched his arm, her fingers twitching at the feel of the hot, damp cloth.
"Excuse me," she said.
The man turned and looked at her with dull eyes. His breath made her stomach turn.
"Did you see my-my husband in there?"
"Huh?"
Her hands closed into fists at her sides.
"Was my husband in the washroom?"
He looked at her a moment as if he didn't understand her. Then he said, "No, ma'am," and turned away.
It was very hot in there, but Jean felt as if she'd suddenly been submerged in a pool of ice water. She stood numbly watching the man stumble back to his booth.
Then she found herself hurrying for the counter, for the man who sat drinking from his water-beaded bottle of beer.
He put down the bottle and turned to face her as she came up.
"Pardon me, but did you see my husband in the washroom before?"
"Your husband?"
She bit her lower lip. "Yes, my husband. You saw him when we came in. Wasn't he in the washroom when you were there?"
"I don't recollect as he was, ma'am."
"You mean you didn't see him in there?"
"I don't recollect seein' him, ma'am."
"Oh this-this is ridiculous," she burst out in angry fright. "He must have been in there."
For a moment they stood looking at each other. The man didn't speak; his face was blank.
"You're-sure?" she asked.
"Ma'am, I got no reason to lie to you."
"All right. Thank you."
She sat stiffly at the counter staring at the two sandwiches and milk shakes, her mind in desperate search of a solution. It was Bob-he was playing a joke on her. But he wasn't in the habit of playing jokes on her and this was certainly no place to start. Yet he must have. There must be another door to the washroom and-
Of course. It wasn't a joke. Bob hadn't gone into the washroom at all. He'd just decided that she was right; the place was awful and he'd gone out to the car to wait for her.
She felt like a fool as she hurried toward the door. The man might have told her that Bob had gone out. Wait till she told Bob what she'd done. It was really funny how a person could get upset over nothing.
As she pulled open the screen door she wondered if Bob had paid for what they'd ordered. He must have. At least the man didn't call after her as she went out.
She moved into the sunlight and started toward the car, almost closing her eyes completely to shut out the glare on the windshield. She smiled to herself thinking about her foolish worrying.
"Bob, wait till I-"
Unreasoning dread pressed her insides into a tight knot. She stood in the pounding heat and stared into the empty car. She felt a scream pushing up in her throat. "Bob-"
She started running around the side of the cafe looking for the other entrance. Maybe the washroom was too dirty; maybe Bob had gone out a side door and couldn't find his way around the shed that was attached to the cafe.
She tried to look through one of the shed's windows, but it was covered with tar paper on the inside. She ran around to the back of the cafe and looked out across the wide, empty desert. Then she turned back and looked for footprints, but the ground was as hard as baked enamel. A whimper started in her throat and she knew that in a few seconds she was going to start crying.
"Bob," she murmured. "Bob, where-?"
In the stillness she heard the front screen door slap in its frame. Abruptly she started running up the side of the cafe building, heart hammering excitedly. Stifling heat waves broke over her as she ran.
At the edge of the building she stopped suddenly.
The man she'd spoken to at the counter was looking into the car. He was a small man in his forties, wearing a spotted fedora and a striped, green shirt. Black suspenders held up his dark, grease-spotted pants. Like the other man he wore high-top shoes.
She moved one step and her sandal scuffed on the dry ground. The man looked over at her suddenly, his face lean and bearded. His eyes were a pale blue that shone like milk spots in the leathery tan of his face.
The man smiled casually. "Thought I'd see if your husband was waitin' on you in your car," he said. He touched the brim of his hat and started back into the cafe.
"Are you-" Jean started, then broke off as the man turned.
"Ma'am?"
"Are you sure he wasn't in the washroom?"
"Wasn't no one in there when I went in," he said.
She stood shivering in the sun as the man went into the cafe and the screen door flapped closed. She could feel mindless dread filling her like ice water.