I'll Walk Alone Read Online Free Page B

than all of them. “You read better than most seven-year-olds, Matty,” she told him. “You’re really smart. And it’s because of me that you’re so smart. You’re really lucky.”
    In the beginning, the boy didn’t feel lucky at all. He would dream of being wrapped up in a warm, fuzzy robe with Mommy. After a while he couldn’t exactly remember her face, but he still remembered how he felt when she hugged him. Then he would start to cry. But after a while the dream stopped coming. Then Glory bought soap and he washed his hands just before he went to bed, and the dream came back because the way the soap made his hands smell was the way Mommy smelled. He remembered her name again and even the feeling of being wrapped with her inside her robe. In the morning he took the soap back to his room and put it under his pillow. When Glory kept asking him why he did it, he told her, and she said it was okay.
    Once he wanted to play a game and hide from Glory, but he didn’t do that anymore. Glory raced up and down the stairs calling his name. She was really mad when she finally looked behind the couch and found him. She shook her fist in his face and said not to ever, ever, ever do that again. Her expression was so angry that he was really scared.
    The only time he saw other people was when they were driving in the car, and that was always at night. They didn’t stay long in any place and wherever they stayed, there weren’t other houses around them. Sometimes Glory would take him out in the back of the house and play a game with him and take his picture. But then they would move to another house, and Glory would make a new secret room for him again.
    Sometimes he would wake up after Glory had locked him in his room at night and hear her talking to someone. He wondered who it was. He could never hear the other voice. He knew it couldn’t be Mommy because if she was in the house, she would definitely come upstairs to see him. Whenever he was sure someone was in the house, he would hold the soap in his hand and pretend it was Mommy.
    This time the door of the closet opened almost right away. Glory was laughing. “The owner of this place sent over the guy from the security system to make sure it works. Isn’t that a riot, Matty?”

7

    A fter Josh told Zan about the airline charge to her credit card, he suggested they check all the other cards in her purse.
    Bergdorf Goodman had new purchases of expensive clothing charged to her account, clothing that was in her size, but that she knew nothing about.
    “On this day of all days,” Josh muttered as he notified the store to cancel the card. Then he’d added, “Zan, do you think you can handle this appointment alone? Maybe I should go with you?”
    Zan promised she would be okay, and promptly at eleven o’clock she was standing at the door of the office of Kevin Wilson, the architect of the stunning new apartment building overlooking the Hudson River. The door was partially open. She could see that the office was a makeshift space on the main floor of the new building, the kind an architect would keep for convenience to observe the progress of an ongoing project.
    Wilson’s back was to her, his head bent over the papers on the table behind the desk. Were they Bartley Longe’s drawings? Zan wondered. She knew his appointment had been earlier than hers. She knocked on the door and Wilson, without turning around, called out for her to come in.
    Before she reached his desk, Wilson swiveled around in the chair, stood, and pushed his glasses up on his head. Zan realized that he was younger than she expected, certainly not more than midthirties. With his tall, lanky frame, he looked more like a basketball player than an award-winning architect. His firm jaw and keen blue eyes were the most prominent features in his ruggedly handsome face.
    He extended his hand. “Alexandra Moreland, glad to meet you and thank you for accepting our invitation to submit design plans for our