Her current predicament, living with a version of her husband that happened to be a complete bastard who didn't remember her, ensured that Cathy was doing a lot of walking as of late. As it turned out, borrowing the truck (or now the Charger, apparently) wasn't as easy as it had once been. With a scowl, she reminded herself that a vehicle was a necessity, and she needed to make time to do the shopping when it came to one of her own.
As she passed the storefront to an arts supply shoppe, she caught herself doing a double-take. She had almost given up on looking for Clary, assuming that no-news was good news, given that there seemed to be a correlation between those who were missing and the most normal of lives that had been doled out. Instead, her focus had become research, determined that they find some way to beat this.
It took her a moment to recognize the girl standing by the window as Clary, given the shape she was in, but finally the spark of recognition set it.
Along with no small amount of guilt. Obviously, she had been wrong.
"Hey! Clary!" Quickening her pace to catch up with her, Cathy stopped short of pulling her into a relieved hug. She couldn't hide the concern on her face, nor did she want to. The pitch of her voice dropped to a confidential murmur. "Sweetheart, what happened? Are you okay?"
Chances were good that she didn't know her, but at the moment, that didn't matter.