Chapter 8
Valerie was already at the breakfast table outdoors when Olivia showed up,
wearing dark glasses and a pink sundress over a matching bikini. Valerie was wearing a
darker pink one, and smiled to see her twin. Their four friends had already eaten and
gone ashore to shop before they left for their next destination. Frank, Seth and Peter’s
stepfather, was reading the newspaper. Peter showed up, looking jovial, while Olivia
ate her oatmeal, and said a vague hello without looking at Peter, and Valerie’s motherin-law,
Katherine, joined them, wanting to know more about their next location.
“Seth is talking to the captain about it now,” Valerie said pleasantly. Katherine
wasn’t maternal, but she was a perfectly decent person, although Valerie could tell that
she was self-involved, as Seth had said.
“What time do we leave here?” Katherine asked, as the steward set down a plate of
waffles she’d ordered in front of her. “I want to go ashore one more time. There’s a
bathing suit I didn’t buy yesterday, and I want it.”
“They’ll go with you whenever you want,” Valerie promised. They were all being
waited on hand and foot, it was going to be hard to go back to reality afterward.
She turned her attention to her sister then, who ate half the oatmeal, and then sat
back in her chair. She felt Valerie tap her knee under the table, and she was looking at
her pointedly. Olivia raised an eyebrow with a quizzical expression, and felt Valerie
slip something under her napkin, and looked down to see what it was. It was the lace
thong Olivia had been wearing the night before and had lost on the way back to her
cabin. She had realized it while she was getting dressed in the morning, and hoped that
no one would know it was hers if they found it. She glanced at Valerie, who was staring
at her with a question in her eyes. Olivia slipped the black lace thong into her bag, and
smiled at her sister innocently. Valerie gazed at her pointedly, and cornered her when
they left the breakfast table and were alone.
“What is that about?” she asked Olivia in a whisper.
“Nothing. Tequila. No big deal. We went swimming off the boat last night after
everyone went to bed.”
“Naked?” Valerie asked with interest, almost sure Olivia was lying. She always
knew when she was. Olivia was a terrible liar.
“Yeah, no big deal. He’s seen it all before. He was so drunk, he didn’t even notice.”
“Oh my God, you’re lying to me,” Valerie said as she stared at her. “Do you like
him?” She was desperate to know, and they never kept secrets from each other. “I told
you he’s nice.” She wanted Olivia to like him. She loved the idea that she and her twin
might be with brothers.
“He’s fine. He’s your brother-in-law. We’re just being friendly and getting to know
each other.”
“How friendly, losing-your-thong-on-the deck friendly, midnight-swim friendly, or
more?”
“Don’t get excited, Val. We’re not attracted to each other.” Olivia felt like Pinocchio
saying it to her, and Valerie would know.
“You’ve never lost your underwear hanging out with a guy you weren’t attracted to
before,” Valerie said suspiciously. Olivia didn’t want her hovering, or pushing her and
Peter, or making more of it than it was. They didn’t even know themselves yet, except
that they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, as demonstrated by the sexathon the
night before. Peter saw them talking to each other from further down the deck and
wondered what it was about, and then Seth joined them, explaining their route to
Valerie, and Olivia went downstairs to get her phone. She said she had forgotten it in
her cabin. Peter followed her down a crew staircase a minute later when no one was
watching. He let himself into her cabin, so no one would see him at her door. Olivia
looked up, startled, in her short pink sundress, and looked even more beautiful to him
than she had the night before.
“What are you doing here?” she asked in surprise, whispering. “One of the maids
will see you, they’re doing the cabins.” He quickly turned and locked the door and
crossed the room to where she was standing, as a smile dawned in her eyes.
“You look incredible,” he said, and kissed her, and a moment later, the sundress was
on the floor, and her bikini a minute later, and she stood in all her naked glory.
“I forgot my thong on the deck last night,” she said breathlessly, as he kissed her and
pulled her toward the bed. “Valerie suspects. I told her we went swimming,” she said
and then forgot about it as he laid her down and put his head between her legs, and a
few minutes later his bathing suit was off and he entered her, as she tried not to make
any noise. It was over faster than they expected, and she looked up at Peter with a grin.
They were having fun with their secret love affair. Peter didn’t see how they could hide
it for long. “We have to go,” Olivia said, and they took a quick shower together and put
their clothes back on. “I told Valerie I’d be right back.”
He kissed her one last time and slipped out the door of her cabin, and Olivia found
her sister having a cup of coffee with Seth, looking relaxed.
“What took you so long?” she asked Olivia.
“I couldn’t find my phone,” Olivia said blithely.
“Maybe you forgot that on deck too,” Valerie said with a raised eyebrow that Seth
didn’t notice.
“Very funny. I left it in the purse I wore last night. Ready for some sun?” Valerie
kissed Seth, and the two sisters went to the top deck to the sunbeds and stretched out.
“Do you think we should call Mom now?” Valerie asked her.
“She just arrived in Paris this morning. Give her time to settle in. You know how
she is when she arrives anywhere. She likes to get everything put away immediately,
and she won’t have her bearings yet. I hope the house is decent.”
“She should have stayed at a hotel anyway,” Valerie said. “She can always move if
she needs to, or go home. I still think it’s crazy, her being there alone, not knowing
anyone, in a strange house for two weeks. I don’t know why you suggested it to her.
She’ll be miserable and lonely.”
“I suggested it because it’s too depressing for her to just sit there at home without
us. Maybe this is what she needs, something new and different. She hasn’t gone
anywhere since Robert died, and she never travels now, or goes away alone, even for a
weekend. She’s fifty, for God’s sake, not eighty, and now we’re gone. Who knows,
maybe she’ll meet a handsome Frenchman,” Olivia said, lying on the sunbed with her
eyes closed, talking to her sister, and thinking of Peter.
“Don’t be ridiculous. That’s not Mom’s style. What would she do? Pick him up on
the street?” Valerie snapped at her.
“Destiny intervenes sometimes,” Olivia said mysteriously.
“You watch too many series on TV. And on those shows the hot guy always kills the
woman, or tries to.”
“There’s a cheering thought.” Olivia smiled.
“We should call her later. She’s going to be lonely in a strange house. After two
days of shopping she’ll go home. I’ll bet you she’s in New York by New Year’s Day,
and back at her desk.”
“I hope not,” Olivia said. “That would be sad for her. I hope she stays.”
“Well, just don’t lose your thong again. You’re going to give Peter the wrong
impression, and that’s not fair.”
“I’ll try to remember,” Olivia said chastely, grateful that her sister’s eyes were
closed and she couldn’t see the grin on her twin’s face.
—
Halley unpacked all her hanging clothes, after she made a cup of coffee and had
another look around the house. It was beautiful and the owners had fabulous taste. She
was surprised that they were renting it for three months while they were away. It wasn’t
the kind of house people usually rented to strangers, but it was through a very high-end
realtor, and even two weeks was expensive. But she had decided to follow Olivia’s
advice and do something crazy and fun and out of character, and she had a feeling that
Robert would have approved. Being alone for the holidays, once she knew the girls
weren’t coming home, was just too depressing. It reminded her of her lonely youth with
no family to spend it with. She was alone now, but being in Paris made it special.
The house had a warm, inviting feeling. It didn’t seem scary or ominous, other than
the creepy-looking guardian, but she didn’t need to interact with him. The housekeeper
had left her croissants and orange juice for breakfast, and salami, cheese, and a baguette
for a snack, and some macarons.
She finished unpacking in the master dressing room, had some of the salami and
cheese for lunch, and thought about calling the girls, but it was still early for them, so
she sent them both a text, and one to Millie, to say that she had arrived safely and the
house was lovely. She had even noticed Porthault sheets on the bed, and felt silly for
having brought some of her own towels with her. The house was luxuriously appointed,
impeccably neat, and well stocked. It was better than the Ritz, and well worth what
she’d paid for it. This wasn’t camping, it was heavenly extravagance, and the treat she
had hoped it would be.
After lunch, she decided to walk through the Tuileries Garden, which she always
liked, and from there to the Faubourg St.-Honoré, where a lot of the best shops were.
She walked along, window-shopping, feeling very sophisticated and glamorous, in
Paris for the holidays. She was glad that her solitary Christmas was behind her, it had
too many echoes of the distant past, which her daughters didn’t know about. She only
had New Year’s Eve to get through now. It had never meant much to her, and she and
Robert liked to stay home on New Year’s Eve. They toasted each other and watched
movies on TV. That was festive enough for her, and cozier than getting all dressed up
and going out to a party, which was never as much fun as one hoped. She didn’t feel
cheated being alone on New Year’s Eve. Christmas was another story, but that was over
now, and she’d made it through, and kept busy, getting ready for her trip.
The Christmas decorations on the Faubourg St.-Honoré were still up, and beautiful,
as they were on the Champs-Élysées, all lit up with red lights and electrical falling
stars. It was only two days after Christmas, and her driver had told her that the
decorations on the Avenue Montaigne were particularly elegant this year. She didn’t
call him for her window-shopping on the Faubourg. She wanted to walk, and enjoy the
feeling of being in Paris. It was a car service the realtor had recommended to her, which
she intended to use when she needed to, if she went farther afield, or when the weather
was bad. But it was a sunny winter day, and she loved being out on her own.
She came back to the house after a few hours, as it started to get dark, and as she
approached, she saw the guardian standing at his window. Their eyes met for a second
and he glowered at her. He was clearly unhappy that she was there, and wanted her to
know it. She understood but she didn’t care. That was between him and the owners of
the house, his bosses. She was an innocent, uninvolved party who had rented the house
and intended to enjoy it, whether he liked it or not.
She had no way of knowing how long he had worked there, and if he felt proprietary
about strangers in the house, but she intended to take good care of it. With her in
residence, there would be no wild parties, drunken gatherings, or damage for him to
deal with. She was a trouble-free tenant for two weeks and he could glare at her all he
wanted or stare at her from his apartment. He seemed harmless but strange, an angry
person, bitter about his life. She couldn’t guess how old he was, maybe somewhere in
his late forties or fifties. He was thin, and she could see that he had powerful arms when
he helped with the luggage. There was a noticeable tension about him. Maybe he was
mentally deranged, but she wasn’t afraid of him. It took more than that to frighten her.
She had given him a tip when he helped with the bags and he didn’t thank her, so he was
rude as well, and ungrateful. Maybe he had a grudge against Americans, or women in
general. In any case, he wasn’t a problem, in his own apartment, and she was safe in the
house.
The twins called her that night and she told them all about the house and how much
she loved it. The neighborhood was perfect and lively. It was easy to get to all her
favorite places on foot. The house was comfortable and warm and cozy. It was even
prettier than in the photographs, and the girls were reassured when they hung up.
“See, I told you it would be good for her,” Olivia said smugly, and Valerie looked
unconvinced. She hated to be wrong.
“This is the honeymoon phase, she just got there. If anything goes wrong, she’ll freak
out and be on the first plane home, and have wasted the time and the money.”
“Nothing’s going to go wrong,” Olivia said firmly. She wanted it to be a success for
her mother, and happy memories in the making, to replace the sad ones of losing Robert.
Halley had been so subdued for the last three years, and Olivia knew she was upset
about her birthday. “What could go wrong?” she said to Valerie.
“Anything. A broken tooth, the flu, a cold. She could trip on the sidewalk and hurt
herself. A leak in the house, no heating, rodents. I don’t know, but things happen and
there’s no one to help her deal with it.”
“She said there’s a caretaker. Don’t be so negative.” Valerie’s litany of possible
disasters annoyed her. She refused to be happy about her mother’s little adventure, and
expected everything to go wrong. Olivia wanted it to be perfect for her, and at first
report it sounded like it was, and Olivia was thrilled, and refused to let her sister put a
damper on it.
—
The second day in Paris started out even better than the first. It was another glorious
sunny winter day. It was cold but there was no wind. Halley went for a long walk, all
the way from the house to the Avenue Montaigne, where the rest of the luxury brand
shops were. Chanel, Dior, Celine, Prada, Fendi, Bottega Veneta, Valentino, and others.
She went on foot again, and stopped at all the shops she liked best. She lingered at each
of them, tried on some things, sweaters, a pale blue wool Chanel jacket and perfect
jeans, some ballet flats, a hat at Dior. She inched her way along, bought a gray cashmere
sweater at Celine and tried on a duffel coat and patent leather boots. It was like playing
dress-up, and she loved it. She missed the girls, but after the first few shops, she
realized that no one was telling her what she couldn’t buy, what looked too young, what
wasn’t the right look for a woman her age. They were harsh critics at times, especially
Valerie, who didn’t wear playful clothes herself. Olivia always accused her twin of
dressing like a lawyer, and Valerie expected Halley to dress like a mother. Halley chose
a wild shocking pink sweater at Gucci with butterflies all over it. She wasn’t sure
where she’d wear it or with whom, but it made her happy, so she bought it, and
flowered sneakers to go with it. Halley smiled when she paid for them, and
compensated with a very chic black Chanel jacket that was more her style. It was nice
to feel free and young, and be doing something different for a change. She wasn’t editing
a manuscript, or meeting a deadline, or buying what her daughters said she should and
already had ten of in her closet. This was her moment, and she was enjoying it fully.
Sometimes, no matter how much she loved them, she needed not to be a mother, and to
just be herself. It was a new experience for her. She had been on full-time-mom duty for
twenty-seven years, and was serious about it. She never took a day off, had her cell
phone on every night in case they had a problem and needed her. Valerie had Seth now,
but Olivia was alone. And if she had an emergency, who would she call? Halley had
been mother and father to them all their lives, and that hadn’t changed now that they’d
grown up.
Sometimes, they needed her more than ever. She was always at the ready to help, on
call, like the reserves in case there was a war. But for this one brief moment in Paris,
Halley was doing something for herself. She felt mildly guilty about it, but was enjoying
it anyway. Her only regret was that she had brought her big Hermès alligator Birkin bag
out shopping with her, because it had everything she might need, credit cards, passport,
wallet, cash, her hairbrush if she tried on a sweater and messed up her hair, the keys to
the house, the realtor’s folder that she kept in her bag in case she needed his number.
She’d forgotten to take her magazines out, and the bag weighed a ton as she walked
along, but she didn’t want to just slip a credit card into her pocket to go shopping. What
if she lost it? And she’d brought her passport in case she needed ID.
She walked past a busy restaurant halfway down the Avenue Montaigne. She still
had more shops she wanted to see, of brands she liked. She was hungry, but more than
that she was thirsty. There were women having lunch on the terrace of the restaurant,
and men having business lunches, tables for two with couples, a few bigger groups of
young people wearing extreme fashion, and several young women wearing heavy
makeup and miniskirts with brightly colored alligator Birkins on their arm. Halley
didn’t know how they’d paid for them, but she could guess. There was a small empty
table on the terrace that beckoned to her, and she decided that she wouldn’t be
conspicuous as a single older woman. She didn’t want to look desperate, and she
looked chic enough in a black coat, black jeans, and heels, with her big vintage Birkin.
She had a New York look about her, and blended right in as she approached the maître
d’ and pointed to the table in the sunshine. A man came up behind her wearing a stylish
black suit and turtleneck with a black coat over his arm. He asked for a table, but she
had gotten there first, so the maître d’ escorted her to one, and settled the man nearby.
He looked at Halley admiringly, and she ignored him, putting on her dark glasses. She’d
had the glasses forever and loved them, a brand that no longer existed. They made her
look glamorous as she sat on the terrace, enjoying the warmth of the sun.
She ordered crab salad and a virgin Bloody Mary, and almost giggled as she sat
there. She wished that the girls could have seen her. Olivia would have been proud of
her, going to a trendy restaurant alone in Paris. This was what she had come to Paris for,
a little glamour, not just to revisit the Louvre. She put her shopping bags with her
morning’s purchases under the table, which left barely enough room for her alligator
Birkin. She took time eating lunch, she had the whole day to herself, with no reason to
rush. The stores would be open until seven, and she had hours more to shop. She
ordered an espresso after lunch, with a dollop of whipped cream on top, which tasted
sinful, and sat sipping it slowly.
The man who had arrived at the restaurant right after her, who was seated at a table
nearby, finished his lunch before she did, and walked past her when he left. He wended
his way through the crowd of people arriving and leaving. Halley saw someone bump
into him, and he dropped his coat for an instant, picked it up gracefully, apologized for
standing too close and smiled at her, and then made his way out of the restaurant and
left. It was such a beautiful day that he didn’t bother to put his coat on, and he
disappeared into a cab. He was attractive and well dressed, and had smiled at her
admiringly.
Halley was having fun checking out what the women were wearing, old and young,
fashionable and flashy, trendy, long blond hair, jet black hair with gelled spikes, the men
in leathers and suedes, in very expensive motorcycle boots, most in designer sneakers,
and alligator shoes. She had a second espresso and asked for the check. She didn’t
expect it to be a cheap lunch, and it wasn’t, but it was worth it for the show as well as
the delicious crab salad. She reached down for her bag to get out her wallet with the
credit cards. She groped under the table, and all she found were the shopping bags with
her morning purchases. Her Birkin had obviously slipped behind them. She finally
looked under the table to locate it and didn’t see it. She pushed the shopping bags aside,
and still couldn’t find it. She got up, walked around the table, moved the tablecloth
aside for a better view. Her bag wasn’t there. She felt her breath catch. She thought
someone must have moved it, and looked around to see if it was on a chair at a nearby
table, but still didn’t see it. She panicked for a minute. She had never lost a bag before,
but she knew there had to be a reasonable explanation. A bag that size and that unusual
didn’t just disappear. She would have seen it if someone walked out with it. And
everyone in the restaurant, or close to her, was wearing Birkin bags, newer and flashier
than hers. She felt totally lost and the maître d’ came over to her to see what was wrong.
She was standing next to her table with a confused expression.
“Is there a problem, madame? May I help you?” he asked her in English. And in the
stress of the moment, she forgot her college French, and answered him in English.
“My bag…I can’t find it…this is crazy. It has to be here somewhere…” She was
turning in circles, and felt like a crazy person looking for her lost bag. He caught the eye
of a nearby server in a tight short black leather skirt, with dyed black hair piled on her
head, in thigh-high boots, and told her in rapid French what had happened. He asked her
several questions and she shook her head. She hadn’t seen anything unusual happen. He
handed her Halley’s shopping bags, and took a small flashlight out of his pocket with a
powerful beam. He looked under all the neighboring tables as Halley watched him. She
felt sick as he looked at her and shook his head. He took her arm then, and spoke to her
in a low voice.
“Look closely as we walk around. If you see your bag, tell me. Sometimes we have
customers we don’t know, though we know most of them, and women take bags they
want sometimes. It has happened before. Your bag was alligator, yes?” She nodded. She
felt like she was in a bad movie, a French thriller, and she followed him throughout the
restaurant, looking under tables with his torch, and scrutinizing every customer and
handbag. When they had finished, he turned to her with a dismayed expression. “I
believe your bag has been stolen, madame.” It obviously had been but that made no
sense to Halley.
“But I didn’t see anything, or feel anything. The bag is huge, I would have seen
someone walk out of the restaurant with it.” She thought of the few minutes when she
had closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun, it could have happened then, but the
thief would have had to be lightning quick to get the bag and run out of the restaurant
with it, and people would have seen him or her do it.
“These are professionals who do these things, madame. They are not amateurs, and
they are very good at it. We see it in this neighborhood all the time. This is where they
come for the expensive merchandise they steal, and sell all over Europe and in Asia.
Your bag will disappear very quickly.” He wasn’t reassuring.
“What do I do?” Halley felt suddenly helpless, as though someone had stolen her
most precious possession, and she had no recourse. And in the bag she had her passport,
money, credit cards, and a million little trinkets and treasures she had just thrown in.
The keys to the house she was renting, and the address, and the realtor’s folder. Within
seconds, if he rifled through the bag, the thief would know where she lived and have
access to the house.
“You must go to the police immediately. I will have someone take you. But first we
will look at our security video. Perhaps we will see something.” He was being very
helpful, and the waitstaff were chattering among themselves and nodding, telling each
other what had occurred. It wasn’t the first time. But it was always unpleasant. They felt
sorry for the American it had happened to. She looked shocked and disoriented. Some
women screamed and had hysterics. One customer had lost an alligator tote bag her
Chihuahua had been asleep in. Fortunately, the thief had abandoned the dog on the
sidewalk and kept the bag, and the woman had nearly fainted, and screamed when they
brought the dog back. She never saw the bag again and didn’t care.
Halley followed the maître d’ to the back office, while someone else took his place
at the entrance to the restaurant. She followed him in, and they sat down at a monitor on
a desk. He entered a code, entered the approximate time they were guessing it had
happened, and the video started as Halley entered the restaurant, was led to her table
and sat down. And the man who had come in right behind her was taken to his. The
maître d’ sped up the video then, and they saw the same man pay, stand up, leave his
table, and approach her to pass her table and leave the restaurant. Halley was paying no
attention and drinking her coffee, as someone appeared to bump into him. If she looked
closely, she could see that the man in the black suit and turtleneck had dropped his coat
artfully next to Halley’s table, stooped quickly to pick up the coat, just a fraction of a
second longer than it should have taken, gathered up his voluminous coat over his arm,
and headed straight out of the restaurant after a brief smile at Halley. He hailed a cab on
the street the minute he was clear of the restaurant and disappeared.
“Was it him?” she asked after seeing the video. You couldn’t see her bag on the
screen.
“It was when he dropped the coat,” the maître d’ said knowingly. He had seen it
done before. “He scooped up your bag under it. The coat was only a device to hide
whatever he stole today. It could have been you or any woman in the restaurant.” There
must have been forty or fifty Birkin bags there that day, and he chose hers. It was totally
rotten luck for her. “The bag was under the coat on his arm when he left.” He took the
tape out of the machine to show the police, but the ruse wouldn’t be new to them either.
It was standard procedure, and the pros knew exactly what kind of restaurant to go to,
and with the outdoor terrace and the good weather, there was more activity and chaos
than usual right after Christmas. It had worked to the thief’s advantage. And he’d even
had lunch while deciding which bag to steal. He was very well dressed, like all the
other diners, in order to blend in. There was nothing remarkable or ominous about him.
He had looked very relaxed while he ate and chose his prey. “He must have seen your
bag when he walked in behind you,” the maître d’ suggested.
“It’s an unusually large size,” she said, sorry she had worn it that day.
“He’ll get an excellent price for it, in Spain or Italy or Germany. There’s a market
for them in Liechtenstein, I’ve been told, and a big market in Asia and Africa. It will be
out of the country by tomorrow,” the maître d’ told her, and her heart sank. “You should
go to the police now.” He spoke to a waiter who had been watching the security film
from a little distance. He told him to take her to the police station, and one of the
servers called a cab.
“Oh my God,” Halley said, suddenly mortified, “I can’t pay for lunch. I have no
money.”
“Your lunch is complimentary, madame. We are very sorry this happened here. It
does happen a great deal in this neighborhood, to tourists and to Parisians. These
thieves are very good at what they do. Your passport?” he asked her.
“It was in the bag. Everything I have with me is in that bag.” She felt overwhelmed
by a wave of panic as she thought of everything in the bag, and she was fighting back
tears. Nothing like it had ever happened to her. It was a terrible feeling of helplessness
and vulnerability, which wasn’t like her. She felt violated and afraid.
“He may throw the contents away on the street, and someone will return your
passport to the embassy. You must cancel your credit cards right away.” She nodded and
then her eyes widened again.
“My phone!”
“He will probably sell that. Do you have an application to locate the phone?” he
asked hopefully. She shook her head.
“I didn’t think I’d ever need it. I’ve never lost a phone. My daughters have. I never
do. Until now.” She felt as though she had been stripped naked of every essential
element she needed, especially while abroad, and her identity.
“Would you like to make a call or send a text on my phone?” the maître d’ offered
kindly.
“Yes, I’m so sorry…if you don’t mind.” She sent a single text to Millie, her
assistant. “It’s Halley. Bag stolen, please cancel credit cards immediately. Going to
police now. Don’t tell girls. Will buy new phone. Love, H.” She was normally so
efficient, she wasn’t careless, and she hated dramas and helpless women. But she felt
like one now. The thief had stolen everything she needed to function normally in Paris
or anywhere. She had no money to pay for anything, no credit cards, no passport, and no
phone. She couldn’t even get on a plane and go home without a passport. And the thief
had the keys and address of the house. He could rob it while she was out.
She felt dazed as she walked out of the restaurant. The servers handed Halley her
shopping bags and apologized again, as she and one of the waiters got in a cab to go to
the nearest commissariat de police, or police station.
Two of the servers and the maître d’ watched her leave and wished her luck. She
apologized again for not being able to pay for her lunch, and they sympathized with her
over the loss of her bag.
She sat in the cab, fighting back tears, trying to be brave. She didn’t ask where they
were going. She didn’t care, and aside from everything else the thief had taken with it,
she loved the bag, and she knew the maître d’ was right. She would never see it again.
She felt small and violated and scared, and hadn’t felt that way in years. It was a
familiar feeling and the hallmark of her childhood. She was shocked by how quickly
that sensation surfaced from the past. She felt helpless and stripped of her identity as
they drove to the police station, with no one to help her, in a foreign country and a
language she didn’t speak well. And she suddenly felt like a lost child in a dangerous
world where she was alone. The feeling was one she had forgotten and it came back in
a rush now, and was every bit as vivid and terrifying as it had been when she was a
defenseless child.
