Never Too Late

182 Pages·2006·0.61 MB·English

by  Robyn Carr

Praise for the novels of
ROBYN CARR
“Jenniferisa beautifullydrawncharacter whose interior journeyiswonderfultobehold.”
—Romantic TimesBOOKclub onRunaway Mistress
“Thisisone author whoprovesa Carrcanfly.”
—Book Reviewer onBlue Skies
“RobynCarrprovidesreaders[with]a powerful,thought-provokingworkofcontemporaryfiction.”
—Midwest Book ReviewonDeepinthe Valley
“Aremarkable storyteller…”
—Library Journal
“Awarm,wonderfulbookabout women’sfriendships,love andfamily.Iadoredit!”
—SusanElizabethPhillipson
The House onOlive Street
“Adelightfullyfunnynovel.”
—Midwest Book ReviewonThe WeddingParty
Also by ROBYN CARR
RUNAWAYMISTRESS
BLUE SKIES
DOWNBYTHE RIVER
JUSTOVER THE MOUNTAIN
THE WEDDINGPARTY
DEEP INTHE VALLEY
THE HOUSE ONOLIVE STREET
Watchfor ROBYNCARR’snext novel
ComingFebruary 2007
ROBYN CARR
Never Too Late
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ThisbookisdedicatedtoDenise andJeffNicholl,
withdeepaffectionandheartfelt thanks.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
One
C
lare drove throughthe Marchraintothe house that hadbeenhers,the house she left whenshe separated
fromher husband,andshe felt a little guilty.Her tripwasanotherof those nighttime foragesfor thingsshe
missed,somethingshe onlydidwhenshe knewRoger wasgoingtobe away.At least thistime she’dbrought a
birthdaycardtoleave behind.
Maybe she wastooeasyonRoger,astheirson,Jason,maintained.Herleniencyalsodismayedhersisters.
Maybe she shouldtrytobe tougher,lesstractable.Maybe everyone wasright—he didn’t deserve it andshe
wasa fool.
TodaywasRoger’sfortiethbirthday,andshe felt a little sorryforhim.He wasclearlyhavinga problemwith
aging,assomeone like Rogerwould.He’dsaidasmuch.SoClare,beingthe accommodatingalmost-ex-wife
that she was,hadofferedtomake himdinnerfor hisbirthday.It wouldgive Rogera chance tospenda little
time withJason,whichRogerverymuchwantedevenif Jasondidnot.But Rogersaidhe hadtobe out of
townonbusiness,holedupina hotelalone aftersome boringmeeting.
It wasprobablyforthe best that the dinnerhadn’t worked—Jasonwasstillsoangry. She hadforcedJasonto
signthe card,andwouldleave it onthe breakfast bar forRogertofindwhenhe got backtotown.She had
wantedJasontocome alongtonight,but it turnedout that signingthe cardwasasfarashe couldgo.
Right before droppingJasonoff at hisfriendStan’shouse forthe night,he hadsaid,“You’re goingtoget
backwithhim,aren’t you?” There hadbeensuchvitriolinhistone,she didn’t even dare torespond.Which
onlyledhimtoaccuse,“You are!”
“No!” she hadinsisted.She hadsaidit asstronglyandfirmlyasshe could,adding, “But Ithinkit wouldbe
goodforallof us,especiallyyou,ifwe just get along.”
“Idon’t want toget alongwithhim! Ihate him!”
Oh,howthat causedhergut toclench.
Roger hadbrought it uponhimself.Inhisnaiveté he’dimaginedthat hisadulterywouldbe a secret fromhis
sonforever; that Clare wouldbe the onlyone hurt byhisactions.He’dreallyscrewedupwithJasonandit
wasa pity.For bothofthem.
Jasonwasfourteen.Just buddingintomanhood,strugglingwithpuberty,frecklesgivingwaytopimples,his
overlytall,big-footedformganglyandawkward.Andhe was,tosaythe least,pretty touchy.Take one
irritable teen,one self-centeredandadulterousfather,mix,watchexplosionina matterofseconds.
Aplethora ofresponseshadsprungtoher mind,but she squelchedthem.She hadsome experience withthese
comebacks,andknewtheydidn’t workanyway. Youmight not alwayshate him.Nomatter what youmight
think,he doesn’t hate you.He screwedup,he knowsit,andhe’ssorry,Jason.
Clare didn’t care that Jasonwasmadat Roger—Rogerdeservedit.But thishate. Thiswasn’t good.She didn’t
want hersontobe inpain.SowhenJasonhadrefusedtoevengobythe house withher todropoff the
birthdaycard,she hadsaid,fine.I’lldoit.Nobigdeal.I’lldropyouat Stan’sonthe way.Calllater,before
youfallasleep.If youthinkofit.
Clare admiredher oldhouse asshe pulledintothe drive—it wasa fine-looking,two-storybrick,carriage
lightsshiningat the three-port garage andaroundthe walktothe front door.She sat inthe car,gazingat it,
thinking.Thinkinghowmuchshe missedit.
ThiswasherfourthseparationfromRoger.She thought it wouldget easier,since the reasonnever changed.
Roger washabituallyunfaithful.Thistime whenClare caught himwithsomeone else,she haddecidedtobe
the one toleave.She thought she’dfinallyhadenough.She waspushedsofarthat she didn’t evenwant to
stayinthe house she hadsharedwithhim,thoughshe lovedthe spaciousfour-bedroomhome.She thought a
freshstart woulddohergood,but thishadbeenharderthanshe expected.She hadlaboredovereverydetail
ofthe interior,havingdone allthe decoratingherself,andit waslike partingwith anoldanddear friend.
Right oncue,Rogerhadimmediatelystartedmakingnoisesabout wantinghisfamilybackanda chance,one
last chance, tostart hislife overandmake amendswithClare andJasonandallthe peripheralpeople
woundedbyhisbehavior.
“I’mabout tobe forty,Clare,andit’sprettytraumatic,” he hadsaid.“Don’t think Idon’t knowwhat I’ve
done,howstupidI’ve been.I do.AndI’mgoingtoprove toyouthat Icanchange.I’mgoingtoget help.I’m
incounselingnow.”
“Idon’t thinkIhave one more chance inme,” she hadreturned.“AndevenifI did,myfamilydoesn’t.Our
friendscan’t eventake anymore.”
“That’syourdoing,” he hadshot back.“Youhaven’t beenable tokeepevenourmost private problemsto
yourself!”
Well,that wastrue.But ifRogerthought that washardonhim,he ought totrybeingher.Once people knew
what he’ddone,theycouldn’t believe she’dtakenhimbackagain.Andagain.Andagain.Their
recriminationshadrunfromastonisheddisbelieftowhat felt like a crushinglackofrespect.Needlesstosay,
the people she lovedmost hadallbut givenuponher.Inthisrelativelysmalltown of onlyfifteenthousand,
she wassure everyone knew.
Andwhyhadshe cavedinandtakenhimback,anyway?Because there were thingsabout Roger.He was
handsome,funnyandveryoftenkind-hearted.He wasgenerousanda wonderfuldancer. There were timesin
herlife whenshe’dbeenshattered—like whenher motherdiedandher little sister,Sarah,hadplummeted
intoa frighteningdepression—andRoger hadbeencompletelythere for her.He’dalwaysbeena good
providerandwhile not a dotingfather,he lovedJason.He’dneverbeena coachorBoyScout leader,but
he’denjoyedhisson’sgamesandachievements.Truthfully,Rogeronlyhadone screwup—it just happenedto
be about the biggest one available.
She just couldn’t seemtoget past the notionthat thiswasallher fault.Herinabilitytomake hermarriage
work; herfailure toleave it.She couldn’t keephimfromstrayingandshe couldn’t seemtokeepherselffrom
lettinghimbackin.She wasn’t sure iftryingtokeepthe familytogether hadbeena goodthingforJason,or
the opposite.Clare just couldn’t win.
She hadofficiallymovedout three monthsago,right afterChristmas,andintoa town house the perfect size
for herselfandherson.She hadtakenonlywhat she needed,but overtime she transferredmore of herthings.
She retrievedtheminsmallincrementsondaysandnightslike this,whenRogerhadsaidhe’dbe awayfrom
the house.Ifhe noticedthe linencloset orkitchengettingemptier,he never mentionedit.Tonight she wasin
pursuit ofa Bundt pan,slowcooker,herfavorite red-trimmeddishes,the kitchenrugfrominfront ofthe sink
anda bunchof Williams-Sonoma dishtowels.Leavingthe cardonthe breakfast barwouldgive her secret
away,but that wasallright.It wastime Rogerfiguredthisout.Time tomake thissplit officialwiththe bigD.
Witha sigh,she turnedoffthe engine andsteppedout intothe colddrizzle.She pulledthe collarof herjacket
uparoundherneckandshivered—possiblyfromthe cold,orfromthe prospect of steppingbackintothe
house she loved.Clare wasa little surprisedthat the house alarmwasn’t set,but thenRogerhadnever
worriedabout thingslike that inthisnice little town.The onlylightswere those built intothe wallsofthe
foyerandhall,but that wasallshe needed.She kneweveryinchofthe house; she’d obsessedoverevery
countertop,cupboard,baseboard,floorcovering.She’djust gostraight tothe kitchen,propthe cardonthe
breakfast bar, get herthingsandgohome.Nolingering.Nolookingaround.Seeingthe house perfectlytidy
alwaysdepressedhera little.It waskindofhardtosee Rogergettingalongsowell,especiallygivenallhis
protestingthat he neededherbackinhislife.
Thishouse,after all,hadbeenherdomain.Allthe more reasontoleave it inthe past andstart over.
She hearda squeakandfroze.Acreakingfloorboardupstairs?Herheart pounded.Wassomeone inthe
house?Aburglar?Thenshe heardanothernoise,kindoflike that high-pitchedmoanthe waterpipesmade
whenthe backyardfaucet wasturnedon.She thought about bolting.Thenshe heardit again,louder.This
time it wasfollowedbyanundeniablyfemale giggle.
The sonofa bitch!
She wasenragedonsomanylevels,but starbillingwent tothe fact that she hadaskedJasontocome with
her!MyGod,howmuchcounselingwouldit have takentoget himpast this?
She crept upthe stairswithout makinga soundandsawthe slit oflight comingfromthe masterbedroom; the
double doorswere just slightlyajar.She peekedinside andsawthe longslimbackof a blonde ridingRoger.
The womanrockedbackandforthwhile beneathher Rogermoaned.The womangiggledagain.At the foot of
the bedwasa wine bucket withanopenedbottle stickingout of it; onthe bedside table,twoglasses.
She gentlypushedthe dooropenandstoodthere,watching.She clearedherthroat.It tooka moment for them
torealize theywere nolongeralone.The womanglancedoverher shoulder,spiedClare anddivedoff Roger
andunderthe sheets.She onlyglimpsedherbut at least she wasn’t someone Clare knew.ThankGod.
Roger,at a disadvantage,struggledtoprophimselfuponhiselbows.“Clare…”
She walkedtowardthe bed.“How’sthat boringoldbusinesstripgoing,Rog?”
“Clare,it wascancelled.At the verylast—”
“Oh,shut up,Roger,” she yelled.
“But Clare,we’re separated,andIfigured—”
She pluckedthe wine bottle out of the bucket,tossedit onthe carpet andliftedthe bucket fullofmeltingice
andwater offitsstand.She dousedRogerandcompany.He wasliftedoff the bedwith a yelpof painandthe
womanunder the sheetsscreamed.
Clare turnedandfledthe house,deliberatelyleavingthe front door standingopen,hopingthere hadjust been
anescape fromthe zooandseverallionsandtigerswere loose inthe neighborhood.Ormaybe a serialkiller
wouldbe passingbyandsee a prime opportunity.
She jumpedinthe car andscreechedout ofthe driveway,changedgearsandzoomeddownthe street.And
she cried.
She didn’t crybecause she lovedhimsomuch,but ratherbecause she wassobloodysickofbeinghumiliated
like this.Whenwouldshe learn?
Despite the fact that Rogerhadnodiscretionwhatsoever,thiswasthe first time she’dactuallycaught himin
the act.She’dfoundevidence,like hotelcharges,receiptsfor giftsnot giventoher.There hadbeenstrange
phone messagesandthere wasthat time a womanhadcalledandbeggedClare tofree him.Once confronted,
he’dalwayscome clean.He wasa charmer,a flirt,a philanderer anda lousyliar.
She’daskedhimmore thanonce whyhe didn’t just embrace bachelorhood.“Seriously,Roger—whynot just
be single?Youact like it anyway.Just goforit.Knockyourselfout.”
Thenhe wouldhanghisheadandsay,withpathetic sincerity,“Because Ilove you,Clare.I’ve alwaysloved
you.IknowI’mscrewedup,but Ijust don’t thinkIcanget beyondthiswithout you.”
She hit the steeringwheelinblindfury.That’swhenshe sawthe flashinglightsin herrearviewmirrorand
lookeddownat the speedometer.Damnit all,she wasspeeding.
She sloweddownandpulledtothe curb,thenshe let herheaddropandshe fellapart,cryingpainfultears.
Familiartears.
It wasa fewminutesbefore the officer’sflashlight shone intothe windowandhe tappedlightlyonthe glass.
She loweredit andlookedupintothe handsome face ofanovergrownboywhowore a paternalfrown.“Got
anappointment?” he asked.
She wipedthe tearsoff hercheeks.“I’msorry,” she said,thoughevenasshe saidit she knewhe wasn’t
lookingforanapology.“Iwasangryandcareless.Abadcombination.”
“Angry,carelessanddeadisanevenworse combination.”
“Ifoundmyhusbandinbedwithanotherwoman,” she blurted.There,she’ddone it again.Rogerwasn’t the
onlyone withnodiscretion.She just couldn’t keephermouthshut.
“Whoa,” saidthe police officer.He shinedthe flashlight onherface.“He must be crazy,” he said.
“We’re separated,” she added.“I walkedright intoit.Ishouldhave beensmarter.Ishouldhave known.”
“I’mgoingtoneedtosee your driver’slicense andregistration.”
“Sure,” she said.She fumbleda little,but got the paperstogetherandhandedthemout the window.“Proof of
insurance,too.”
He lookedat the documents.“Are youdrunk?” he asked.
“No.But I’mnot goingtokidyou.I’mgoinghome tofixa nice bigone.”
He hada dazzlingsmile.Wonderfuldimples.Good-lookingguy,she thought.“Hey,if Iweren’t onduty,I’d
buyyouone.” He handedbackher stuffandsaid,“Look,Idon’t knowanythingabout thismanofyours,but
you’re a beautifulwomanandit wouldbe a damnshame ifyougot yourselfkilledonaccount of himbeinga
loser.Knowwhat Imean?”
“Yes,” she saidcontritely.
“Thinkyoucanmake it home safely?Stopat stopsigns,drive slowly,allthat?”
She nodded,confused.“Aren’t yougoingtogive me a ticket?”
“Ithinkyou’ve beenthroughenoughtonight.Don’t you?”
“But Ithought once youstarteda ticket,youhadtofinishit.”
“I’ve alwayswonderedwhypeople thinkthat,” he said.Againthat smile.“I’mthe police—I candowhat I
want.Goon.Be careful.Anddon’t punishthe bastardbyhurtingyourself.”
“Ofcourse you’re right,” she said,surprisingherselfwitha weaklaugh.
“Ofcourse I’mright.Icouldtellinthirtyseconds,youhave a lot tolive for.Drive safely.”
He went backtohiscar andshe put hersingear.She signaled,lookedaroundandcarefullyedgedawayfrom
the curb.She wasonlyfive minutesfromhome.He followedher,she noticedwithsome amusement.She
came tothe traffic light andstoppedonthe red.She gave hima little wave inthe rearviewmirror,but
couldn’t tellif he returnedthe gesture.The light turnedgreenandshe cautiouslyenteredthe intersection.
Andthe lightswent out.
SamJankowskiwent backtohissquadcar.Whew,he thought.What a dish.Ifhe’dmet her anywhere else,
he’dhave askedherout.Evenwiththe tears,that wasone good-lookingwoman.She wasa little olderthan
he,but he likedthat.The womenhe wasaccustomedtodatingtendedtobe younger,oftenimmature anda
little flighty.He likeda womanwhohadliveda little.Awomanwhowasclearonwhat she wantedandwhere
she wasgoing.Clare Wilson,five foot four,one hundredandeighteenpounds,brownhair,greeneyes,stupid
ex-husband.
She pulledawayfromthe curb,blinkerandall,andhe movedoffright behindher.She stoppedat the traffic
light onthe cornerandwhenit turnedgreen,proceededintothe intersection.Then, fromout ofnowhere,
bam!AnSUVranthe light andbroadsidedher,shovinghercarallthe wayacrossthe intersectionintothe
light pole.“HolyJesus,” he said.
He lit upthe squadandmovedintothe intersectionbehindthe collisiontostopany approachingtraffic.He
keyedthe radioattachedtohisbelt while jumpingout ofthe car.“Control,DP-thirty-five,rollmedical.Ihave
a 401at the intersectionof WinstonandMontgomery.”
“Copy.Ihave themenroute.”
“Canyoucopyfortwoplates?” he asked,ashe went tothe trunkforflares.
“Copy.”
“MaryNora Paulsevensixnine,” Samsaid,repeatingClare’slicense plate frommemoryashe rantowardthe
collision.Ayoungwomanwasgettingout ofthe SUV.“Ma’am,” he called,“please get out ofthe intersection
ifyoucan.Standonthe sidewalk.” He lit andthrewdowna flare.
“Mybaby,” the womancried.
“Control,advise medicalwe have aninfant inthe vehicle.”
“Copy.”
“Copyplate UnionZebra Henrytwotwonine.” He went tothe woman,whowaslookingin the backseat.The
rearwindowswere intact,the babywascrying,a goodsign,andthe brokenglassofthe windshieldwas
containedinthe front of the vehicle.“Ma’am,leave the babyinthe carseat untilmedicalarrives.”
“Ihave topickhimup,” she saidina panicked,shakenvoice.
“It’sbetter ifyoudon’t move him.”
He lit andtossedanother flare.“Ma’am!” He heardsirens.“Leave the babyforparamedicstoexamine
before movinghim.” He rantothe trunkforhisfire extinguisher,thentoClare Wilson’slittle,destroyed
Toyota.There didn’t seemtobe a fire,but he’dbe ready.
The driver’sside wascrushedagainst the light pole,which,thankfully,hadn’t brokeninhalf.The right side
wasdestroyedbythe SUV.He couldn’t get toher,but he couldlookinthe driver’swindow.Herhandsstill
grippedthe steeringwheel,herheadlollingtothe side.She moaned.He reachedthroughthe brokenglassand
tookherleft handintohis.“Clare,” he said.“Canyouhearme?”
“Uhh,” she moaned,eyesclosed.
Godalmighty,he thought.Thisisbad.Bad.He heldherhand.“Trynot tomove,Clare.Just try.It’sgoingto
be okay.”
“Jason,” she said.
“Be still,Clare,” he said.
“Mike.Mike!”
“Shh,” he said.One ofthose must be the ex,he thought.
He wasmovedawayfromthe wreckbyparamedics,sohe backedupandwent intothe intersection,directing
traffic.It tooka longtime for themtoremove the SUV,pullthe Toyota awayfromthe pole,andthenit
requiredthe JawsofLife toremove herfromthe car.He heardher screamastheyput her onthe stretcher
andthe soundrippedthroughhimlike a knife.
Afterthe ambulance tookheraway,he askedthe fire captain,“She goingtobe allright?”
“Idon’t know.Her vitalsare iffy.Yousee it?”
“Iwasright behindher.She hada greenlight.The SUVranthe red.I’llput it inmyreport.” Andthen,he
thought,I’llcallthe hospital.
Clare waswanderingaroundina fogsothickit washardtomove her limbs.She wasn’t sure if she evenhad
hereyesopen.There seemedtobe a dimlight inthe distance andshe didallshe couldtomove towardit,but
it wasdifficult.She felt asif she were restrained.Somethingwaspullingat her.
There wasa figure comingtowardher,a shadow.Asit neared,the light behindit brightenedandhe came into
view.She gaspedasshe recognizedMike,the love ofherlife,stillwearingthat AirForce flight suit he’dhad
onnineteenyearsago.He stoppedseveralfeet infront of her andtreatedhertoone ofthose bright smiles
that just made her melt.“Mike!” she gasped.“Oh,Mike!Iknewyou’dcome back!”
“Hi,Clare.”
“Oh,God,” she said,weeping,tryingtoreachforhim.
But he didn’t come closer.Hishandswere plungedintohispocketsandhe kept hisdistance but he lookedso
perfectlyat home,at peace.“Youhave togoback,Clare.Youhave thingstodo.”
“Iwant tobe withyou!AllI’ve ever wantedwastobe—”
“Ican’t stay,andneithercanyou.I’llsee younext time.” Andhe turnedhisbackonher andbegantowalk
backintothe fog.
Terrifiedoflosinghima secondtime,she screamed.At first nothingcame out,then onlythe weakest groan.
Whenshe triedtoreachout tohim,tofollowhim,she wasprevented.The force that heldherwasfilledwith
fearandangerandthoughshe triedtoescape it,it heldher fast.
Soshe screamedagain—but hadnovoice.
The fogbegantothin,thenlift.Alight wasbeginningtopenetrate fromabove andshe struggledagainst it,
pinchingher eyesclosed.The powerthat wasdrawingher awayfromMike wassojagged,sorawwith
emotion—not pleasant at all—that she begantothrashinprotest.Thenhereyessuddenlypoppedopenand
there above herwasthe face ofherson.
“Mom!” he said.“Oh,Mom!”
Jasonwasinstantlypushedaway,out ofherline ofvision,while people inscrubsmovedinandtookover.A
womanwasinjectingsomethingina tube that dangledabove her,the surface she waslyingonwasbeing
jostledanda manwasshouting,“CT’spositive.Give her a hundredmicsoffentanylandsendherupstairs,
stat.”
Andthe worldwent darkagain.
The next time,she woke froma dreamlesssleepandlookedupintothe face of her oldersister,Maggie.
Nothingwasevermore beautifultoher; Maggie alwaysmade herfeelsafe,evenwhenshe waschewingher
out for something.She triedtosmile,but wasn’t sure she hadsucceeded.
“We’re allhere,Clare,” Maggie said.“Dad,Sarah,Jason,Bob.But we’re not goingto crowdaroundyour
bed.”
Clare triedtoexplainthat she’dseenMike,but onlya gutturalsoundescaped.
“Don’t trytotalk.You’re goingtobe fine,but there willbe pain.Just let themdrugyouout of yourmindand
trytosleep.BobandI willtake care ofJason.We’llbe here.”
That woman,whoshe nowknewmust be a nurse,wasfiddlingwithhertubesagain,and thensleepcame.The
tube wasmagic.
She wasinandout fromthenon,havingnoidea ofthe lengthoftime inbetween.Once she lifteda handto
see howmuchhernailshadgrown,wonderingifit hadbeendaysor weeks,but theylookedthe same.She
became increasinglyaware ofpain,inherthroat,back,pelvis,gut,legs.
The last thingshe couldrememberwasnot gettinga speedingticket.Hadshe done somethingwrong?she
wondered.
The painwasterrible,but just asterrible wasnot havinganyidea whyshe washere. She openedher eyesand
there wasMaggie again.Maggie wassobusy—toobusytobe sittingaroundthe hospitalforhours.Orwasit
days?
“Hey,’bout time,” Maggie said.
Herhandrose shakilytoherneck.“Ugh.Mythroat.”
“Iknow.It’sfromthe intubation.Here,have a little sipof water.”
The coolliquidwaswelcome but swallowingwasveryhard.“What?What?” she asked.
“Acar accident,Clare.Doyourememberanything?”
She shookherhead.
“Yougot broadsidedinanintersection.Yourinjurieswere the worst—youlost yourspleen andyour pelvisis
cracked.You’re luckytobe alive.”
“Oh,God,” she moaned.
“You’re goingtomake a fullrecovery,but it’snot goingtobe aneasyroad.”
“Whohit me?” she wasable toask.“Drunkdriver?”
Maggie shookherhead.“Nothingascut-and-driedasthat.AyoungwomaninanSUVwasfussingwithher
babyinthe car seat while herlight wasgreen.Whenshe lookedbackat the road,it wasredandyouwere in
the intersection.”
“Oh,God,” she said,closinghereyes.“The baby?”
“They’re bothokay—baby’sfine,Mama hada fewbruises.She hadthe SUV.Your Toyota istoast.Theyhad
touse the JawsofLife toget youout.Youdon’t remember anything?” Clare shookherhead.“Well,your
headisallright,soIguessit’sjust a stroke ofluckthat youcan’t remember.”
Clare noddedoffagainandwhenshe woke Maggie wasstillthere,holdingherhand.She stoodfromthe chair
she’dbeenusingandleanedoverthe bed.Seeingher there made Clare feelsocherished.Maggie,a lawyer,
wife andmotherkept a killerschedule.She couldn’t imagine that she’djust dropeverything.“Have youbeen
here long?”
“Just a fewhours.Today.”
“Youdon’t have tostay,” Clare whispered.
“I’mgoingtoleave soon,” Maggie said.“I just wantedtobe sure you’re back.”
“DidIalmost die?” she asked.
“Idon’t knowabout that,but yourinjurieswere definitelylife threatening.Isthe painterrible?”
It was,but she shookher head.“Roger?” she asked.
Maggie got a lookonher face asifshe wantedtospit somethingout.“He’sbeenhere.Doyouwant me to
leave wordthat youwant tosee him?”
She shookherhead.“Iwant himtostayaway.”
Maggie obviouslycouldn’t resist a satisfiedsmile,but allshe saidwas,“Sure.”