The Silver Kiss by Annette Curtis Klause Page A

see how you could get lost. When I saw all those policemen, I was really worried. Please don’t wander off like that.”
    They began to walk again, and Simon followed. The child looked around as if he felt something. Simon let more distance come between them.
    â€œWe’ll have to bundle you up better tomorrow, when we go to school. That was a nasty burn. Your poor skin. It’s so delicate.”
    The boy didn’t seem to be paying any attention to her, but looked all around him as if seeking something.
    â€œThat was a long nap you took today,” the woman continued. “Mrs. Cohen said she could hardly wake you. What a sleepyhead you are. You should sleep at night, like a good boy. Maybe some hot milk will help tonight.”
    The child grimaced. The first sign that he had heard. They turned the corner.
    â€œI’ve bought some yummy liver for dinner. You like that, don’t you?”
    Simon let them go. The boy was well occupied now. He would check again later.
    Simon wandered the streets. He looked in at the all-night Laundromat, but it was deserted. Eventually he went to the 7-Eleven. He sat on a wall outside and watched the people come and go.
    Teenagers screamed up in worn but well-loved cars, to grab a six-pack and a package of Marlboros. A husband hurried in for next morning’s milk and left with a
Playboy
carefully secreted under his overcoat. Young men discussed The Game, in the light of windows plastered with signs touting ninety-nine-cent hot dogs, then slid off intothe night in new machines. A drunk argued over the change from his five-dollar bill, mistaken lout. A girl pleaded with someone at the pay phone outside and stamped her feet either with cold or frustration, he couldn’t tell.
    He made up stories about them—what he might say to them if he deigned to talk, where they might go. The multicolored, overpriced stock became the scenery on his stage, and he was the only audience.
    Sometimes he drifted in and out of now, reminded of previous stories he had seen or been a part of. On one such time, drifting into focus again, he saw the back of a girl with long dark hair at the counter. Zoë, he thought hopefully. But she turned, and it wasn’t her.
    When she left, he followed her anyway, out into the night. Nowhere else to go.

7

Zoë
    Z oë was awakened by the phone ringing. It went on and on. When her father didn’t answer, she got up groggily and made her way to her parents’ bedroom. The door was open and the bed unmade. She picked up the phone. It was her father, and she was momentarily confused. Then she remembered with the rush of full awakening. He had been called away, late last night, to the hospital.
    â€œHi, Zo,” he said. “You did get back to sleep, then?”
    â€œYes.” She flushed guiltily at having to answer that way.
    â€œMom’s not too good, I’m afraid. I’m going to stay here, but don’t you come down, okay? There’s nothing you can do right now. Listen, I’ll call you after school, or this evening, and let you know how she is.”
    He thinks I’m useless, she thought, because I froze when Mom was sick. “Will she be all right?”
    â€œYeah, she’ll be fine.”
    Liar, she thought. “Are you coming home later?”
    â€œMaybe not. I’ll let you know.”
    â€œDad, if she’s feeling better tomorrow—”
    â€œI don’t think I can talk about that right now. One thing at a time. Okay?”
    There was always an excuse to keep her away. “Okay,”
    Zoë muttered. Left out again. She clenched the phone tight.
    â€œThere’s a good girl. Take care.”
    â€œBye,” she said, and the phone clicked off. She slammed the receiver down.
    In the quiet she heard her clock-radio’s alarm going off in her room. It was too late to go back to bed now; she had to get ready for school. She went to shut off the awful music.
    Zoë