23 Minutes by Vivian Vande Velde Page B

remembers. So it’s kind of hard to prove.”
    â€œI can imagine,” Daniel says. Then, seeing her don’t-talk-down-to-me look, adds, “The hard-to-prove bit.”
    â€œUh-huh,” Zoe says. She watches him taking all this in, then adds, “I’m not on any prescription meds.”
    He asks, “Are you supposed to be on any prescription meds?”
    â€œNot at the moment. I gave up trying to convince people. It was just easier that way. So, no more meds, and visits with a psychiatrist only once a month.”
    â€œAnd you’re telling me this …?”
    â€œBecause something bad has happened. Something very, very bad. I’ve been trying to change it.”
    Daniel, clever young man that he is, catches on. “Which iswhere—or, rather, when —we met before? How you learned my name?”
    But even though he’s said it, she suspects he doesn’t believe it.
    â€œWe both know that my knowing your name does not prove we’ve met. All sorts of ways I could have learned that. So what I’d like you to do is come up with a secret word or phrase that has meaning only to you.” She can tell he’s not following. Before he can ask, she says, “I don’t mean your computer password or social security number.” The last thing she needs is for him to suspect she’s trying a scam. “And I don’t mean something you make up here and now. Maybe something from your past. Something that—next time I see you—when I say it, you’ll know there’s no way I could be familiar with that word or phrase or idea except by your telling me.” She sighs. “You don’t understand.”
    â€œNo kidding,” he tells her.
    â€œIt’s not that I’m asking you to give me a word that will help you remember me. I’m asking for a word that only has meaning to you, so if a stranger comes up to you and says that word, you’d …” She drifts off, thinking the whole thing is hopeless.
    â€œThe stranger being you?”
    She nods, but he sits back in his chair and she can tell he’s done humoring her.
    â€œOne more minute,” she says. “I’m not asking you to tell me right now.”
    â€œZoe …” Daniel shakes his head. “I wish I could help you, I really do—”
    â€œThere’s a man across the street, even now, as we speak,” Zoe says all in a rush, “robbing the bank.”
    That’s gotten him focused again.
    He’s looking out the window, although he can’t make out what’s going on inside the bank any more than she could.
    Outside the bank, however, Zoe sees that this time, finally, the woman with the stroller has reached her car, parked in front of the bank. She has turned on the engine to warm the car, and has gotten her child unstrapped from the stroller. She is now half-in/half-out of the backseat of the car as she works to fasten the toddler into his car seat, while the stroller—and her lower half—continues to get rained on.
    It must be almost 1:39. Then it won’t be up to Zoe anymore.
    â€œI don’t know the man,” she assures Daniel. “It’s not that I overheard plans or anything like that. But I was in the bank the first time it happened. And so were you.”
    Daniel stands up, as though he feels compelled to be doing something but has no idea what that should be.
    â€œWhat time is it?” Zoe asks.
    Daniel looks surprised she needs to ask—as though everyone in the world has a cell phone—but he checks his. “One thirty-seven. When you say—”
    Zoe interrupts, knowing she only has about a minute and a half before this twenty-three minutes will close to her. “Never mind,” she says.
    Let Daniel think she’s a grade-A crazy. The robber has not shot anyone, and she is going to assume he will not. Of course, someone could get killed at minute twenty-four, and then