Insight Page 3

  She’d given her approval of the house based on some fuzzy photos on the realtor’s Web site. It seemed nice enough. Spacious rooms with several built-in window seats, high ceilings with crown molding throughout, and a few other nice architectural details. And Derek had promised things looked even better in person. “It’s move-in ready, babe. The whole place has been painted your favorite creamy white, and there’s new carpet in the bedrooms. Oh, and you’ll love the hardwood floors in the main rooms. It’s practically a mansion.”

  “Are you sure it’s not too much? I feel a little guilty spending so much, especially when I’m not going to be working.”

  “You deserve it,” he said. “Besides, we need to get accustomed to some of the luxuries of life so heaven won’t be such a shock.”

  She’d laughed and let him prattle on, still in deep persuasion mode, knowing how reluctant she was to leave her beloved Windy City behind.

  Now, she dialed their new home number again, this time leaving a brief message. He’d printed off a map from the Internet and sketched in a rough route for her to follow. She pulled it out of her purse now. The town was so tiny she could probably just drive up and down each narrow street until she came to the house.

  She drove another half mile, trying to decipher street signs in the dusky light. She was surprised to look up and see a patchwork of green wheat fields and plowed earth on one side of the street and woods on the other. Even if their house was clear across town, they practically lived in the country.

  Olivia turned the car around in someone’s driveway, stopped to study Derek’s map by the dim dome light, then started back down Main. Two blocks south and there it was—Glenwillow Road. The street sign was covered by a low-hanging elm branch, just beginning to bud. She turned right and found herself in a charming neighborhood of older homes with perfectly coiffured lawns and tidy landscaping.

  She could see why Derek was so excited. She slowed the car to a crawl and bent over the steering wheel to check house numbers. 227, 229, 333… There it was. 335. The Realtor’s sign was still planted in the front yard, a bold SOLD slashed across its face.

  She turned into the driveway, peering up at the house through her bug-speckled windshield. She tooted her horn, excitement rising in her. If the inside of the house was as promising as the exterior, she could hardly wait to get her hands on it. She had to hand it to Derek. He’d picked a winner. A foreign emotion washed over her and she realized that she couldn’t wait to see her husband. She’d missed him. A good sign. Maybe there was hope for them after all.

  She tapped the horn again with the ball of her hand. Where was he? The driveway curved around to a double garage at the back of the house. She followed it and parked by the back entrance. There was a light on in one of the back rooms. That would probably be the kitchen.

  Turning the key in the ignition, she opened the car door and was met by an amazing, almost eerie silence. No horns blaring, no sirens, no distant clatter from the El. This was going to be culture shock in a big way. How would she ever sleep in such utter silence?

  She gathered her purse and bags from the front seat and went around to open the trunk. She thought Derek had brought her a key to the front door the weekend after he closed on the house, but she didn’t have a clue where she’d put it. Hopefully he was home.

  Juggling a stack of boxes and bags from the trunk, she rang the back doorbell with her elbow. A long minute went by. She tried again. Nothing. Groaning, she set her load down on the concrete patio and tried the door.

  The knob turned easily and the door swung open.

  “Derek?” She stepped into a small mudroom and called again. Her pulse quickened. What if she had the wrong house? She peeked around the corner into the kitchen. “Derek? You home, babe?”

  The kitchen was brightly lit, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the fire-engine red teakettle with its distinctive dent sitting on the stove. Derek’s tea-stained UIC mug was beside the sink. At least she knew she was in the right place.

  She put her bags down on the tile floor and walked through the large dining and living rooms, flipping on lights as she went. She roamed from room to room, viewing the house the way she evaluated a client’s space when she did her first walk-through on a job. Her exhilaration escalated. She loved the house. And Derek was right. The paint and carpet were nearly new and exactly what she would have chosen herself. The hard part was done and she could concentrate on the decorating touches that would make the house her own. Their own.

  Her mind reeled with ideas, visualizing window treatments and color schemes that would make the most of the home’s architecture. The wooden floor in the guest room was in need of refinishing, and she made a mental note to consider a faux marble paint treatment she’d used with great success in a client’s house last year.

  As she’d guessed, Derek had arranged the furniture in the living room—if you could call his rigid rows of chairs and sofas “arranged”—and he’d set up their bed in the master bedroom. There were still boxes to be unpacked in each room, but he’d done the hard stuff, and the house itself looked great.

  “Derek?” He must have run to the store. Or maybe he’d decided to go in to work this afternoon and just lost track of time.

  She finished a quick tour of the house and unloaded the last of their belongings from her car.

  She puttered around the house, scooting an overstuffed chair and ottoman to a new position in the living room and unpacking a few boxes. In spite of the fact that it was her own belongings she was pulling out of the pasteboard cartons, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was in somebody else’s house.

  Every few minutes she checked the clock Derek had hung in the kitchen—too high on the wall, she noticed. He might be efficient, but the man had no sense of design. An hour passed, then two, and still no Derek. His car wasn’t in the garage, and he wasn’t answering his cell phone or the phone at Parker & Associates.

  She shivered, remembering too many nights in Chicago when he was supposedly “at work,” yet couldn’t explain why he didn’t answer his office phone.

  But he’d changed. She knew he had. She wouldn’t have followed him to this Podunk town in the middle of nowhere if she didn’t believe that with all her heart.

  She dialed both numbers one more time and left messages. Maybe he’d misunderstood what time she was leaving the city. But she was sure he expected her tonight because she remembered him talking about having to skip the Sunday night church service so he’d be there when she arrived.

  Maybe he’d changed his mind and gone to church services after all. They’d attended church sporadically before Derek’s affair. But even after going through counseling and getting grounded in a new church, they’d never gone on Sunday night. But Derek had been invited to this one—Community Something-or-other—by coworkers and had really connected. He could have at least left her a note.

  Exhausted from the drive, she curled up on the sofa. She’d just rest her eyes until Derek got home.

  She awoke with a start, feeling groggy and disoriented. The kitchen clock had ticked past nine p.m. The irritation she’d felt earlier turned to genuine concern. Something was wrong.

  She rummaged through the kitchen drawers until she found the phone book. The entire thing was no thicker than her address book, and the only map it contained was printed in such a microscopic font it was worthless.

  She didn’t have a clue who to call. This wasn’t exactly the kind of thing you called the police about. A flush of shame coursed through her as she remembered the first time Derek hadn’t come home from work and she’d done just that. The policewoman she’d spoken to had gently suggested the possibility of an affair, and Olivia had been foolish enough to be insulted by the accusation.

  Six weeks later, the truth came out.

  No. She would not call the police.

  She flipped through the yellow pages and the church listings caught her eye. She ran her finger down the column. Cornerstone Community Fello
wship. That was it. Tentatively—not sure what she would say if anyone actually answered the phone at this hour of the night—she dialed the number.

  The phone rang half a dozen times before it sent her to a voice mail labyrinth. She placed the receiver in its cradle and covered her face with her hands. Lord, what should I do? Her stomach churned. Oh, please…please, God. Don’t let this be the start of another— She couldn’t finish the thought, even in her prayers.

  She grabbed her purse and dug for her car keys on her way out the back door. Her house key still hadn’t turned up, so she didn’t dare lock the door behind her. She hoped this town was as crime-free as Derek claimed it was.

  And she hoped this new beginning in a new town wasn’t the beginning of the end for them.

  Chapter 4

  Street lamps lit the rows of landscaped yards like a Thomas Kinkade painting as Olivia drove through the eerie quiet of the neighborhood. But when she turned onto the highway off Main Street, an inky blackness enveloped her. Derek had said the Parker & Associates offices were outside the city limits, but she wasn’t sure which direction. At least if she saw his car there, she’d know he was at work. But why wasn’t he answering his phone?

  She turned on her cell phone and started to dial 411 for directions before realizing she didn’t have a signal. Great.

  Taking a guess, she headed north on the highway. She drove for what seemed like miles without meeting another car and without seeing anything that looked like a prosperous business. When the road turned into a two-lane and snaked through a wooded area, she turned the car around in some farmer’s drive and headed back into Hanover Falls.

  She swung by the house, finding everything just as she’d left it, the windows dark and no sign of Derek’s car. She backed out of the drive and headed to the other end of town.

  Just past the city limit sign, she spotted a dozen or so cars clustered around a tiny greasy spoon diner. Somebody there would know where Derek’s office building was.

  She slowed the car and turned into the circle drive, parking in front of the building beside a row of cars. This must be the only place open in Hanover Falls.

  The wind had picked up, and it flapped at her hair while she fought with the heavy door. Inside, raucous music played on a jukebox and a table of teenagers hovered over a large pizza.

  An elderly couple stood at the cash register paying their bill. Olivia stepped to the side, waiting to speak to the cashier, who apparently was also the hostess. After she handed the couple their receipt, the girl grabbed a menu and came around from behind the counter. “We’re only serving drinks and dessert now. We close at ten—”

  “Oh, no…” Olivia put up a hand. “I’m not staying. I just wondered if you could tell me how to get to Parker & Associates. It’s an engineering firm…”

  The cashier eyed her. “You must be a reporter.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Oh. Guess not.” The girl shrugged. “Sorry. I just thought…well, I’ve never seen you around here and the place has been swarming—”

  “Do you know where Parker & Associates is?” Olivia worked to keep her voice even.

  “I know where it was.”

  “Was?”

  The cashier’s eyes scrunched up and she cocked her head to one side. “You didn’t hear about what happened?”

  “No…” The word came out in a tight whisper.

  “Oh, man, there was a huge explosion out there this afternoon. Something about a gas leak. This place was crawling with reporters earlier.” She gave a smirk. “Most exciting thing that’s happened around here in a long time.”

  Olivia sucked in a panicked breath and stared at the girl. “Was anybody…hurt?”

  “I saw both the ambulances go by—that was probably about five o’clock. I heard one of those reporters say some guy got hurt, but he didn’t think nobody got killed. That place is closed down Sundays, so nobody was in the—” She stopped abruptly and bent to look into Olivia’s face. “Hey, are you okay?”

  “Where…where would they have taken the—the one who got hurt?”

  She shrugged. “The hospital—here in the Falls, I guess. Unless they airlifted him somewhere else. But I didn’t hear no helicopter. Did you know him?”

  Olivia reached out and clutched the girl’s arm. “Where is the hospital?”

  “Get back on the highway and head that way.” She pointed through the plate glass. “There’s a bunch of signs that tell you where to turn.”

  She nodded curtly and wheeled. Pushing past a small cluster of late diners, she shoved open the door and raced for her car.

  The headlights caught a flash of blue surrounding the white H on the sign, and Olivia turned where the arrow directed. In a trance-like state, she followed the road, glancing constantly to the right, willing the next hospital sign to materialize.

  “Oh, God, please don’t let it be Derek. Please let him be okay.” One prayer followed on the other’s heels as the realization sank in. It was him. It had to be. There was no other explanation for him not meeting her at the house. Not answering her calls. Still, she hoped against hope. And she prayed.

  Maybe he’d heard about the accident and had gone to help out. That was something Derek would do. Especially the “new” Derek. The thought sent her hopes soaring and caused a warm, intense affection for her husband to well up inside her. But just as quickly that hope was dashed against the realization that Derek would have called her. He knew what time she was scheduled to get into town. If there were any way in the world, he would have let her know what was going on.

  The signs led her on the winding highway that encompassed the town, and finally she saw the sprawling complex and the simple, lighted sign proclaiming Hanover Falls Medical Center.

  She took the exit and turned on to the broad drive. The road forked. Her eyes darted between the signs and at the last second, she swung the car hard to the left toward the emergency room.

  Parking in a space designated for the handicapped, she left the car unlocked and sprinted to the entrance.

  The waiting room was empty.

  The woman sitting at the nurse’s station looked up as Olivia approached. Her name badge read Dorothy Berwyn, RN. “May I help you?”

  “I’m looking for my…husband.” The word opened the dam and she choked out the rest. “There was some kind of accident—an explosion out at Parker & Associates and I think my husband—”

  The nurse slid her chair back and came around the desk. “What’s his name?”

  Olivia told her.

  “Yes. He’s here.” The woman breathed out a stream of air. “Thank God they finally found you.”

  “Is…is he all right? Can I see him?”

  The nurse turned sharply and studied her for a moment. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but then turned to the phone on the desk. “Let me call his doctor and let him know you’re here. Then you can see your husband.”

  The woman seemed calm and unrushed as she dialed and spoke briefly with someone.

  A flood of relief coursed through Olivia. Derek must be all right or they would have said something. They would surely be rushing her to the emergency room if he was critical.

  A few minutes later, she followed Nurse Berwyn down the tiled hall, their footsteps matching in a steady cadence.

  But instead of leading her to a patient’s room, the nurse led her to a small sitting room off one of the main waiting rooms. She held the door and motioned for Olivia to have a seat. “The doctor will be with you in just a few minutes, Mrs. Cline.”

  The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead sounded like howling wind. She wanted to cover her ears, block it out. But she sat rigid, her hands clasped in her lap. Time crawled until the door finally opened and a tall white-coated man stepped into the room. He had a stethoscope looped around his neck and carried a metal clipboard against his hip.

  He nodded and took a chair adjacent to Olivia. “Mrs. Cline, I’m Dr. Patton. I don’t know what you’ve been told about
your husband’s condition, but I’ll start from the—”

  “I don’t know anything at all.” She held her hands out to him and her voice climbed an octave. “I went looking for him and when I stopped to ask directions to his office they told me about some explosion. What happened? Is Derek going to be okay?”

  The man listened, his bushy eyebrows raised, then heaved a breath that smelled of stale cigarette smoke. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew.” He folded his hands on his lap. “Apparently your husband was in the building at the time of the explosion. He was apparently thrown free of the fire that resulted, but the impact severely injured him, his brain. In effect, it caused what we term brain death.”

  Olivia gasped and grabbed the arms of the chair. “What is…the prognosis?”

  “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Cline. But your husband didn’t make it.”

  “I…I don’t understand.” Her hands began to tremble.

  “Your husband is on a respirator.” The doctor launched into an explanation about cranial nerves not responding and something about the interruption of the blood supply to the brain. “We’ll do a series of neurologic tests to ascertain irreversibility of his condition, but…” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, not meeting her eyes.

  Olivia couldn’t wrap her mind around the technical terms he tossed out. “But…if there’s no hope, why is he on life support?”

  “We’ve kept your husband on the ventilator because he had a card in his personal effects requesting to be an organ donor. The ventilator insures that his organs remain viable. But it’s only his physical body that is functioning. I’m sorry, Mrs. Cline, there is no brain activity and we have no reason to hope—”

  “No!” She covered her face with palms that were damp with perspiration. Swaying from side to side, she tried desperately to make the pain stop.

  Dr. Patton reached out to touch her elbow. “I’m sorry. I can only imagine how difficult this is for you. But you need to understand that your husband’s condition is irreversible. There is no hope for recovery.”