FOUR

Approximately three hours after the kidnapping of three-month-old James Techer, Kelly Fienman rode in the car with Charles Fitzsimmons toward David and Amy Techer’s house. The motion of the car, simple things like taking a corner, made Kelly nauseous and she had to wonder if she had come back to work too early. It had been a month since she’d had her colostomy bag removed and her scar—a minor mark compared to the hideous incisions that had accompanied her first operations—was still tender.

Yet it was not so much her outside that disturbed her as her insides. She did not have a whole lot of intestines left. Her digestion was weaker than an infant’s. She could get sick just smelling food, and she had to wonder if she would always be this way.

“How are you doing?” Charlie asked, glancing over.

She nodded. “Great. Good to be out of the house.” Not that she had been in her real home in months. Good old Tony had taken it when he had filed for divorce, along with her daughter. He had explained the logic: there were two of them and only one of her. Anna could not leave her neighborhood friends. Lying in a hospital bed at the time of his explanation, the mathematics had not impressed Kelly. She believed there were in reality not two of them, but three. Tony’s new love had already moved in.

“You look like shit,” Charlie said.

“Shit is not a word you want to use with me since I just had my shit bag removed a few weeks ago.” She shook her head. “I can’t get rid of the smell of that thing.”

“You smell fine.” Charlie paused. “And I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I just don’t think you should be trying to save the world before you’ve got your strength back.”

“Did it occur to you that I might never get my strength back?”

“Kelly, you’re going to be all right. You just need time is all.”

“Do you know what I had for breakfast this morning? White rice, without butter or spices. I had rice for dinner last night. I’ll have applesauce for lunch this afternoon, with a glass of water. There are six foods I can eat without getting sick. Did you know the acid ate away a portion of my pancreas? I might never be able to digest anything fun again. No pizza, no ice cream, no steak, no popcorn. What do you think of that? Could you live that way? Would you want to live that way?”

“You’re alive, and after what you went through, you shouldn’t be. You’re a lucky lady.”