I'll Be Seeing You

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Authors: Mary Higgins Clark
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was time to put an end to it.
    She lifted the suitcase from the bed and placed it next to the others. From the foyer, the faint click of a turning lock reached her ears. She jammed her hand against her mouth to muffle a scream. He wasn’t supposed to come tonight. She turned around to face him.
    â€œHelene?” His voice was polite. “Weren’t you planning to say goodbye?”
    â€œI . . . I was going to write you.”
    â€œThat won’t be necessary now.”
    With his right hand, he reached into his pocket. She saw the glint of metal. Then he picked up one of the bed pillows and held it in front of him. Helene did not have time to try to escape. Searing pain exploded through her head. The future that she had planned so carefully disappeared with her into the blackness.

    At four A.M. the ringing of the phone tore Meghan from sleep. She fumbled for the receiver.
    A barely discernible, hoarse voice whispered, “Meg.”
    â€œWho is this?” She heard a click and knew her mother was picking up the extension.
    â€œIt’s Daddy, Meg. I’m in trouble. I did something terrible.”
    A strangled moan made Meg fling down the receiver and rush into her mother’s room. Catherine Collins was slumped on the pillow, her face ashen, her eyes closed.Meg grasped her arms. “Mom, it’s some sick, crazy fool,” she said urgently. “Mom!”
    Her mother was unconscious.
17
    A t seven-thirty Tuesday morning, Mac watched his lively son leap onto the school bus. Then he got in his car for the drive to Westport. There was a nippy bite in the air, and his glasses were fogging over. He took them off, gave them a quick rub and automatically wished that he were one of the happy contact lens wearers whose smiling faces reproached him from poster-sized ads whenever he went to have his glasses adjusted or replaced.
    As he drove around the bend in the road he was astonished to see Meg’s white Mustang about to turn into her driveway. He tapped the horn and she braked.
    He pulled up beside her. In unison they lowered their windows. His cheerful, “What are you up to?” died on his lips as he got a good look at Meghan. Her face was strained and pale, her hair disheveled, a striped pajama top visible between the lapels of her raincoat. “Meg, what’s wrong?” he demanded.
    â€œMy mother’s in the hospital,” she said tonelessly.
    A car was coming up behind her. “Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll follow you.”
    In the driveway, he hurried to open the car door for Meg. She seemed dazed. How bad is Catherine? he thought, worried. On the porch, he took Meg’s house key from her hand. “Here, let me do that.”
    In the foyer, he put his hands on her shoulders. “Tell me.”
    â€œThey thought at first she’d had a heart attack. Fortunately they were wrong, but there is a chance that she’s building up to one. She’s on medication to head it off. She’ll be in the hospital for at least a week. They asked—get this—had she been under any stress?” An uncertain laugh became a stifled sob. She swallowed and pulled back. “I’m okay, Mac. The tests showed no heart damage as of now. She’s exhausted, heartsick, worried. Rest and some sedatives are what she needs.”
    â€œI agree. Wouldn’t hurt you either. Come on. You could use a cup of coffee.”
    She followed him into the kitchen. “I’ll make it.”
    â€œSit down. Don’t you want to take your coat off?”
    â€œI’m still cold.” She attempted a smile. “How can you go out on a day like this without a coat?”
    Mac glanced down at his gray tweed jacket. “My top-coat has a loose button. I can’t find my sewing kit.”
    When the coffee was ready, he poured them each a cup and sat opposite her at the table. “I suppose with Catherine in the hospital you’ll come here to sleep

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