Accident

In one tragic moment everything changed.

Her daughter's life.

Her marriage.

Her world.ACCIDENTA novel of courage

PRAISE FOR

DANIELLE STEEL“STEEL IS ONE OF THE BEST!”—Los Angeles Times“THE PLOTS OF DANIELLE STEEL'S NOVELS TWIST AND WEAVE AS INCREDIBLE STORIES UNFOLD TO THE GLEE AND DELIGHT OF HER ENORMOUS READING PUBLIC.”—United Press International“Ms. Steel's fans won't be disappointed!”—The New York Times Book Review“Steel writes convincingly about universal human emotions.”—Publishers Weekly“One of the world's most popular authors.”—The Baton Rouge Sun

PRAISE FOR DANIELLE STEEL'S ACCIDENT“BOUND TO DELIGHT STEEL'S FANS!”—Publishers Weekly“TOUCHING, SATISFYING …SUNG … IN PERFECT TUNE.”—Booklist“INSPIRING …POWERFUL …[an] ultimately triumphant tale.”—Lincoln Journal (Ga.)“A DEFINITE PAGE-TURNER!”The Sandersville Progress (Ga.)“ENGAGING …[WILL] KEEP YOU UP HALF THE NIGHT! [Steel] does her homework and creates lives narrated realistically.”—Lexington Herald-Leader (Ky.)“POWERFUL … ACCIDENT IS STEEL'S BEST-WRITTEN NOVEL.”—The Rockdale Citizen (Ga.)“A PAGE-TURNING PLEASURE!”—Southern Pines Pilot (N.C.)A MAIN SELECTION OF

THE LITERARY GUILD

AND

THE DOUBLEDAY BOOK CLUBa cognizant original v5 release october 23 2010

Books by Danielle Steel

JOURNEY MESSAGE FROM NAM THE HOUSE ON HOPE DADDY STREET STAR THE WEDDING ZOYA IRRESISTIBLE FORCES KALEIDOSCOPE GRANNY DAN FINE THINGS BITTERSWEET WANDERLUST MIRROR IMAGE SECRETS HIS BRIGHT LIGHT: FAMILY ALBUM The Story of Nick Traina FULL CIRCLE THE KLONE AND I CHANGES THE LONG ROAD HOME THURSTON HOUSE THE GHOST CROSSINGS SPECIAL DELIVERY ONCE IN A LIFETIME THE RANCH A PERFECT STRANGER SILENT HONOR REMEMBRANCE MALICE PALOMINO FIVE DAYS IN PARIS LOVE: POEMS LIGHTNING THE RING WINGS LOVING THE GIFT TO LOVE AGAIN ACCIDENT SUMMER'S END VANISHED SEASON OF PASSION MIXED BLESSINGS THE PROMISE JEWELS NOW AND FOREVER NO GREATER LOVE PASSION'S PROMISE HEARTBEAT GOING HOME Visit the Danielle Steel Web Site at: http://www.daniellesteel.com

DELL PUBLISHING

To Popeye,

who is always there

when it matters,

for the big things,

and little ones.

Every hour,

every moment

of every day,

I will always love you.

With all my heart

and love,d.s.

CHAPTER 1

It was one of those perfect, deliciously warm Saturday afternoons in April, when the air on your cheek feels like silk, and you want to stay outdoors forever. It had been a long, sunny day, and driving across the Golden Gate Bridge at five o'clock, into Marin, it took Page's breath away as she looked across the water.

She glanced over at her son, looking like a small blond replica of her, beside her, except that his hair was sticking up straight where his baseball cap had been, and there was dirt all over his face. Andrew Patterson Clarke had turned seven the previous Tuesday. And just sitting there, relaxing after the game, one could feel the strength of the bond between them. Page Clarke was a good mother, a good wife, the kind of friend anyone would be grateful for. She cared, she loved, she worked hard at whatever she did, she was there for the people who meant something to her, she was artistic in ways that always amazed her friends, she was unconsciously beautiful, and fun to be with.

“You were great this afternoon.” She smiled over at him, one hand briefly leaving the wheel to ruffle the already tousled hair. Andy had the same thick, wheat-colored blond hair that she did, the same big blue eyes, and creamy skin, only his was well dusted with freckles. “I couldn't believe that ball you caught in the outfield. Looked like a home run to me.” She always went to his games with him, and his school plays, and on field trips with his class and his friends. She did it because she loved it, and she loved him. It was obvious when he looked at her that he knew it.

“It looked like a homer to me too.” He grinned, showing gums where both of his front teeth had been until recently. “I thought Benjie would get to home base for sure.” He chortled mischievously as they reached the Marin County side of the bridge. “…but he didn't!”

Page laughed along with him. It had been a nice afternoon. She wished that Brad could have been there, but he played golf with his business associates every Saturday afternoon. It was a chance to relax and catch up with what they were all doing. It was rare for him to spend Saturday afternoons alone with her anymore. And when he did, there was always something else they had to do. Like Andy's games, or one of Allyson's swim meets, which always seemed to be held in the most godforsaken places. Either that, or their dog cut her paw, the roof leaked, the plumbing fell apart, or some other minor emergency had to be taken care of. There were no lazy Saturdays anymore, there hadn't been in years. She was used to it, and she and Brad stole whatever moments they could, at night when the kids were asleep, between his business trips, or on their rare weekends away together. Finding time for romance in busy lives was quite a feat, but somehow they managed to do it. She was still crazy about him, after sixteen years of marriage and two kids. She had everything she wanted, a husband she adored, and who loved her, a secure life, and two wonderful children. Their house in Ross wasn't elaborate, but it was pretty and comfortable, it was in a nice area, and with her constant puttering and knack for improving things, Page had made it really lovely. Her years as an art student and an apprentice set designer in New York hadn't served her much, but she had used her talents in recent years to paint beautiful murals for herself and friends. She had done a spectacular one at Ross Grammar School. She had turned their home into a place of real beauty. Her paintings and murals and artistic touch had turned an ordinary little ranch house into a home that everyone admired and envied. It was all Page's doing, and all who saw it knew that.

She had painted a baseball game in full swing on one wall of Andy's room as his Christmas present the previous year, and he really loved it. For Allyson, she had done a Paris street scene the year she'd been in love with all things French, and later a string of ballerinas inspired by Degas, and more recently she had turned Allyson's room into a swimming pool with her magic touch. She had even painted the furniture in trompe l'oeil to match it. The reward was that Allyson and her friends thought the room was “really cool,” and Page was “wow …really rad …she's okay,” which were high marks from the fifteen-year-old set.

Allyson was a sophomore in high school. Looking at them, Page was always sorry she hadn't had more children. She had always wanted more, but Brad had been adamant about “one or two,” with the emphasis on one. He had been crazy about his little girl, and didn't see why they needed any more children. It had taken seven years to convince him to have another. That was when they moved out of the city, and into the house in Ross, when Andy was born, their little miracle baby, she called him. He was born two and a half months premature, after Page fell off a ladder doing a Winnie-the-Pooh mural in his bedroom. She had been rushed to the hospital with a broken leg, and she was already in labor. He had been in an incubator for two months, but in the end, he was absolutely perfect. She smiled, remembering it sometimes, how tiny he had been, how terrified they had been that they might lose him. She couldn't imagine surviving it, although she knew she would have … for Allyson, and Brad, but her life would never have been the same without him.

“Feel like an ice cream?” she asked as they took the Sir Francis Drake turn-off.

“Sure.” Andy grinned again, and then laughed as she looked at him. It was impossible not to laugh at that big gummy grin.

“When are you going to get some teeth, Andrew Clarke? Maybe we ought to buy you some false ones.”

“Naww …” He smiled, and then chuckled.

It was fun being alone with him, usually she had a earful of kids driving home from the game, but today one of the other mothers had done the honors, and she had gone to the game anyway, because she'd promised. Allyson was spending the afternoon with her friends, Brad was playing golf, and Page was caught up with all her projects. She was planning another mural for the school, and she had promised to take a look at a friend's living room and see what she'd recommend, but there had been nothing really pressing.

Andy had a double scoop of Rocky Road in a sugar cone, with chocolate jimmies, and she had a single scoop of coffee-flavored frozen yogurt, the nonfat kind that fooled you into thinking you were doing something really sinful. They sat outside together for a while, as Andy's ice cream got all over his face and dripped on his uniform, which Page said didn't matter. Everything had to be washed anyway, so what harm was there in a little ice cream. They watched people come and go, and enjoyed the warmth of the late afternoon sun. It was a gorgeous day, and Page talked about going on a picnic on Sunday.

“That would be neat.” Andy looked pleased as the Rocky Road finally engulfed the tip of his nose, extending all the way to his chin, as Page felt overwhelmed with love for him as she watched him.

“You're cute …you know that? I know I'm not supposed to say stuff like that, but I think you're terrific, Andrew Clarke …and a great baseball player to boot …how did I ever get so lucky?”

He grinned again, even more broadly, and the ice cream was absolutely everywhere, even on her nose, as she kissed him.

“You're a great guy.”

“You're okay, too …” He disappeared into his ice cream again, and then looked up at her with a question. “Mom …?”

“Yeah?” Her yogurt was almost gone, but his Rocky Road looked as though it was going to go on melting and dribbling and oozing forever. Ice cream had a way of growing in the hands of small children.

“Do you think we'll ever have another baby?”

Page looked surprised by the question. It wasn't the kind of thing boys usually asked. Allyson had asked her that several times. But now, at thirty-nine, she didn't think so. It wasn't that she felt too old, or was, given the ages people had babies these days, but she knew she'd never talk Brad into another child. He always insisted that all of that was behind him.

“I don't think so, sweetheart. Why?” Was he worried or just curious? She couldn't help but wonder.

“Tommy Silverberg's mom had twins last week. I saw them when I went to his house. They're pretty cute. They're identical,” he explained, looking impressed. “They weighed seven pounds each, that's more than I weighed.”

“It sure is.” He had weighed barely three, thanks to his early appearance. “I'll bet they are cute. But I don't think we'll be having twins …or even one …” Oddly enough, she felt sad as she said it. She had always agreed with Brad, out of loyalty to him, that two children was a perfect family for them, but there were still times when, out of the blue, she found herself longing for another baby. “Maybe you should talk to Dad about it.” She teased.

“About twins?” He looked intrigued.

“About another baby.”

“It would be fun …kind of …they look like a lot of trouble though. Everything at Tommy's was a mess, they had all this stuff everywhere …you know, like beds and baskets …and swings, and there were two of everything … his grandmother was there helping, she cooked dinner, and she burned it. His dad did a lot of yelling.”

“Doesn't sound like much fun to me.” Page smiled, imagining the scene of total chaos surrounding the arrival of twins in a home where they were already poorly organized and had two other children. “But the beginning can be like that, till you get the hang of it.”

“Was everything a mess like that when I was born?” He finally finished the ice cream and wiped his mouth on his sleeve and his hands on the pants of his baseball uniform as Page laughed while she watched him.

“No, but you sure are a mess now, kiddo. Maybe we'd better get you home and get all that stuff off you.”

They climbed back into her station wagon, and headed home, chatting about other things, but his questions about the baby seemed to stay with her. For a moment, there was an old familiar pang of longing. Maybe it was just the warm, sunny day, or the fact that it was spring, but she suddenly wished that there would be other babies … romantic trips …more time with Brad …lazy afternoons in bed, with nowhere to go, and nothing to do except make love to him. As much as she loved her life, there were times when she wished she could turn the clock back. Nowadays, her life was so full of car pools, and helping with homework, and PTA, she and Brad only seemed to catch each other on the fly, or at the end of an exhausting day. And in spite of all that, there was still love and desire …but never enough time to indulge it. It was time that they never had enough of.

They pulled into their driveway a few minutes later, and Page noticed Brad's car as Andy gathered up his things. She looked over at him proudly. “I had a good time today,” she said, still warm in the afternoon sun, and her heart full of all she felt for him. It had been one of those special days when you realize just how lucky you are, and are grateful for every precious moment.

“So did I …thanks for coming, Mom.” He knew she didn't have to, and he was glad she came anyway. She was good to him, and he knew it. But he was a good boy, and he deserved it.

“Anytime, Mr. Clarke. Now go tell Dad about that famous catch. You made history out there today!” He laughed and ran into the house, as she picked up Allyson's bicycle sprawled across the walkway. Her roller blades were leaning up against the garage, and her tennis racket lay on a chair just outside the kitchen door with a can of balls she had “borrowed” from her father. She had obviously had a busy day, and as soon as Page walked into the house, she saw her on the kitchen phone, still wearing her tennis clothes, her long blond hair in a French braid, her back turned to her mother. She was concluding some plan, and then hung up and turned to face her. She was a beautiful girl, and it still startled Page sometimes when she saw her. She was so striking looking, and she seemed so mature. She had a woman's body, and a young girl's mind, and she was always in motion, in action, in mid-plan. She always had something to say, tell, ask, do, somewhere she had to be, right now, two hours ago, this minute …she really had to! She had that look on her face now, as Page rapidly shifted gears from the easy roll of being with Andy. Allyson was more intense, more like Brad, always on the move, on the go, thinking ahead to what she wanted to do next, where she had to be, and what was important to her. She was more intense than Page, more focused, not as kind, or as gentle as Andy would be one day. But she was a bright girl with a fine mind and lots of good ideas and good intentions. Every now and then her common sense went astray, and occasionally she and Page would get into a roaring fight over some typically teenage mistake she'd made, but eventually Allyson usually made sense, and calmed down enough to listen to her parents.

At fifteen, none of her antics were very surprising. She was trying her wings, testing her limits, trying to figure out who she was going to be, not Page, or Brad, but herself, someone entirely different. In spite of her similarities to them, she wanted to be her own woman. Unlike Andy, who wanted to be just like his dad, and was actually so much like Page. In Allyson's eyes, he was just a baby. She had been eight when he was born, and she thought he was the cutest thing she'd ever seen. She had never seen anything as tiny. Like her parents, she was scared that he would die just after he was born, but there was no one prouder than Allyson when he finally came home. She carried him all around the house, from room to room, and whenever Page couldn't find him, she knew she'd find him in Allyson's bed, snuggled up to her, like a live doll. Allyson had been head over heels in love with him for years. And even now, she secretly indulged her little brother, buying him little treats and baseball cards, and occasionally she even went to his baseball games, although she hated baseball. But most of the time she was even willing to admit that she loved him.

“How'd you do today, runt?” She always teased him about how little he had been when he was born, but he was actually tall for his age now, and bigger than many of his classmates.

“Okay,” he said modestly.

“He was the star of the game,” Page explained. Andy blushed and walked away, to find his father, as Page called out a vague hello in the direction of their bedroom. She wanted to get dinner started before she went in to see her husband. “How was your day?” she asked her oldest child as she opened the refrigerator. They had no plans to go out that night, and it was so warm, she was thinking about making a picnic dinner or having Brad do a barbecue for them in the garden. “Who'd you play tennis with?”

“Chloe, and some other kids. There were some kids from Branson and Marin Academy at the club today. We played doubles for a while, and then I played Chloe. After that, we went swimming.” She sounded unimpressed. She led a golden California life. To her it was no miracle, she always had, she'd been born there. For Brad from the Midwest, and Page from New York, the weather and the opportunities still seemed magical, but not to these children. To them it was a way of life, and sometimes Page envied them their easy beginnings. But she was also glad for them, this was exactly the life she wanted for her children. Easy, safe, healthy, comfortable, secure, protected from anything that could sadden or harm them. She had done everything she could to guarantee all of that for them, and she enjoyed watching them thrive and flourish.

“Sounds like a pretty good day. Do you have any plans for tonight?” If she didn't, or if Chloe came over to hang out with her, maybe she and Brad would go to a movie and Allyson could babysit. If not, it was no big thing if they had to stay home. She and Brad had made no special plans for that evening. It would have been nice to sit outdoors in the warm night air, talk and relax, and have an early evening. “What are you up to?”

Allyson turned to her nervously, with that look that said, you're about to ruin my whole life if you don't let me do what I've been planning to do all day. “Chloe's dad said he'd take us to dinner and a movie.”

“Okay. It's no big deal. I was just asking.” Allyson's face immediately relaxed, and Page smiled as she watched her. They were so predictable sometimes, and growing up still looked as though it was so painful. Even in a normal, happy home, every moment, every plan was fraught with anguish. It clearly wasn't easy.

“What movie?” Page put some meat in the microwave to defrost it. She was going to make something simple.

“She didn't say. There are about three movies I want to see, and I still haven't seen Woodstock,they're playing it at the Festival. Her dad's taking us to dinner at Luigi's.”

“Sounds like fun. It's nice of him to do that.” Page pulled out some potato chips, and started to make the salad, as she glanced over her shoulder at her daughter. She was so beautiful, sitting perched on a stool at the kitchen counter. She looked like a model. She had huge brown eyes, like Brad's, her mother's golden hair, and a complexion that turned the color of honey the moment she saw the sun. She had long, shapely legs and a tiny waist. It was no wonder people stopped to stare at her, especially men lately. Page said to Brad sometimes that she wished she could put a sign on her that said she was only fifteen. Even thirty-year-old men turned to look at her in the street. She looked easily eighteen or twenty. “It's awfully nice of Mr. Thorensen to spend his Saturday night taking you girls out.”

“He has nothing else to do,” Allyson said, sounding fifteen, and Page laughed. Teenagers certainly brought one back to earth and reminded one of one's failures and misfortunes.

“How do you know?” His wife had left him the year before and right after the divorce, she had taken a job with a theatrical agent in England. She'd offered to take their three children with her, and put them in English boarding schools. She was American herself, but she thought the English school system was a lot better than anything here, but Trygve Thorensen had no intention of giving them up, and kept them with him. Sadly, after twenty years of suburban life, she was so sick and tired of being chauffeur, maid, and tutor to her children that she'd been willing to give it all up. Everything. Trygve, the kids, her whole life in Ross. She hated all of it. As far as Dana Thorensen was concerned, now it was her turn. She'd tried to tell him all along, but Trygve just didn't hear her. He wanted it to work so badly that he refused to see her anger and desperation.

They'd all been pretty badly shaken up when she left, and Page was shocked at her leaving her kids, but apparently it had all been too much for her for a long time. And everyone in Ross had always been impressed by how well Trygve managed his children, and how much he did with them. He was a free-lance political writer, and worked out of his home. It was a perfect setup for him, and unlike his wife, he never seemed to tire of his parental responsibilities and obligations. He had taken them on with the good humor and warmth he was so well known for. It wasn't easy, he admitted from time to time, but he was managing fine, and his kids seemed happier than they had in years. He seemed to find time for his work while the kids were in school, and late at night after they went to bed. And in the hours that they were around, he seemed to do everything with them. He was a familiar figure to all their friends, and well liked by most of them. It didn't surprise Page at all that he had offered to take a bunch of them to the movies and dinner at Luigi's.

His two boys were college age now, and Chloe and Allyson were the same age. Chloe had just turned fifteen at Christmas, and she was as pretty as Allyson, although very different. She was small, with her mother's dark hair, and her father's big blue Nordic eyes and fair skin. Both of Trygve's parents were Norwegian, and he had lived in Norway until he was twelve. But he was as American as apple pie now, although his friends teased him and called him the Viking.

He was an attractive man, and the divorcees of Ross had been greatly encouraged by his divorce, and somewhat disappointed since then. Between his work and his kids, he seemed to have no time at all in his life for women. Page suspected that it wasn't so much a lack of time, as a lack of confidence or interest.

It was no secret that he had been deeply in love with his wife, and everyone also knew that in her desperation, she had been cheating on him for the last couple of years before she left him. She'd been something of a lost soul, and married life and monogamy were more than she could cope with. Trygve had done all he could, counseling, and even two trial separations. But he wanted so much more than she had to give. He wanted a real wife, half a dozen kids, a simple life, he wanted to spend their vacations going camping. She wanted New York, Paris, Hollywood, or London.

Dana Thorensen had been everything Trygve wasn't. They had met in Hollywood while they were scarcely more than kids. He had been trying his hand briefly at writing scripts, fresh out of school, and she had been a budding actress. She loved what she did, and hated it when he asked her to move to San Francisco. But she also loved him enough to try it. She tried to commute for a while, tried some repertory work with ACT in San Francisco. But none of it worked out for her, and she missed her friends, and the excitement of L.A. and Hollywood, and even working as an extra. She got pregnant unexpectedly, and Trygve surprised her by insisting on marrying her, and after that everything went downhill pretty quickly. She wound up playing a part she had never wanted. And when Bjorn, their second child, was born with Down syndrome, it was too much for her, and somehow she seemed to blame Trygve. She knew she didn't want more kids, she wasn't even sure she wanted to be married. And then Chloe came, and blew everything, as far as Dana was concerned. From then on, in her eyes, her life became a nightmare. Trygve tried to do all he could, and his political articles in The New York Times, and assorted magazines and foreign journals, were doing well by then. He managed to support all of them. But all Dana wanted was out. For more than half their marriage, she could barely be civil to him. All she really wanted was her freedom. And all Trygve wanted was to make it work. And he irritated Dana even more by being the perfect father. The impossible dream, married to the wrong woman.

He was patient, kind, always happy to include other children in their plans. He took groups of children camping and fishing with him, and was a major force in organizing the Special Olympics, at which Bjorn excelled, much to everyone's delight, except Dana's. She couldn't relate to any of them, even when she tried. And Bjorn was, in her eyes, the ultimate shame and disappointment. In the end, she was a woman whom no one liked, an angry soul, raging at a fate that others thought wasn't so bad. Her children were wonderful, even Bjorn with his special sweetness. And Trygve was a husband most women envied. But it came as no surprise when Dana began having frequent affairs. She seemed not to care who knew what she did, especially Trygve. In truth, she really wanted him to end it.

When she left him finally, everyone was relieved, except Trygve, who had allowed himself to drift slowly downstream for years, trying to pretend that it wasn't really as bad as it seemed. He told himself lies that only he believed, “…she'll get used to it … it was difficult for her to give up her career …leaving Hollywood had been so hard on her …marriage was harder for her than most, because she was so creative …and of course, Bjorn had been a terrible shock to her….” He had made every possible excuse for her for twenty years, and couldn't believe it when she finally left him. Much to his surprise it was like the end of a constant pain. And even more surprising to him, he had absolutely no desire to try again and risk the same pain with someone else. He realized now just how bad it had been. He couldn't imagine marrying anyone again, or even a serious relationship. At first, he wouldn't even consider dating. All the women he knew in town seemed like vultures, waiting for fresh prey, and he had no intention of becoming their next victim. He was actually very happy alone, with his children, for the moment.

“He hasn't had a girlfriend, not a real one, since Chloe's mom left, and that was over a year ago. He just spends all his time with the kids, or writing about politics, but he does that at night. Chloe says he's writing a book now. But he likes going out with us, Mom. He says so.”

“Lucky for all of you. But one of these days he might find someone a little more …ah …shall we say, mature, to spend his time with?” She smiled, as Allyson shrugged. She couldn't imagine him wanting to do anything else. For most of her life, Trygve Thorensen had made himself totally available to his children. It never occurred to her that he did it, not only because he liked them, and wanted to be with them, but also because he was avoiding the emptiness of a bad marriage.

“Besides, he likes to be with Bjorn. Mr. Thorensen is teaching him to drive.”

“He's a decent guy.” Page finished washing the lettuce and found a bowl to put it in, as Allyson helped herself to the potato chips. “How is Bjorn, by the way?” She hadn't seen him in a long time. He was less severely afflicted with the disease than some, but still he had marked limitations.

“He's great. He plays baseball every Saturday, and now he's gone nuts over bowling.” It was amazing to think about it. How did one even begin to cope with a situation like that? In a way, she could understand Dana Thorensen being overwhelmed by it, but not her subsequent behavior. Although they weren't close friends, she had known Trygve Thorensen for years, and she liked him. He didn't deserve all the troubles he'd had. No one did. And from what she could see, he was a terrific father.

“Are you spending the night at the Thorensens'?” Page asked, as she put the last of the lettuce leaves in a bowl, and wiped her hands. She hadn't seen Brad since she got home, and she wanted to go in and say hello, and check on Andy.

“No.” Allyson shook her head as she stood up, left the potato chips on the counter, and grabbed an apple. Her body had long, lean lines, and she tossed her long blond braid over her shoulder. “They said they'd drop me off after the movies. Chloe has a track meet early tomorrow morning.”

“On Sunday?” Page looked surprised as they left the kitchen.

“Yeah … I don't know …maybe it's practice …something.”

“What time are you going out?”

“I said I'd meet her at seven.” There was a long pause while the huge brown eyes locked into her mother's. There was something there that Page couldn't quite figure out, and then it was gone again, just as quickly. Some secret, some thought, some private moment she didn't want to share with her mother. “Can I borrow your black sweater, Mom?”

“The cashmere one with the beads?” Brad had given it to her for Christmas. It was too hot, too dressy, and much too expensive for a fifteen-year-old girl. Page was not even amused at the suggestion, as Allyson nodded at the description.

“Hardly. That's not exactly appropriate for Lu-igi's, and the Festival, wouldn't you say?”

“Yeah …okay …how about the pink one?”

“Better.”

“Can I?”

“Okay …okay …” She sighed and shook her head with a rueful grin, as they went their separate ways. Allyson to her room, and Page to find her husband. Sometimes she felt as though there were obstacles and hurdles standing between them. It was as though she and Brad had to finish a marathon every day before they could finally share a private moment …take me …drop me …pick me …give me …can I …would you …where is my …where …how …when …and then, as she turned the corner to their bedroom, she saw him. She still found him breathtaking at times. Brad Clarke was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. He stood six feet four inches tall, had short dark hair, big brown eyes, and powerful shoulders. He had narrow hips, long legs, and a smile that still made her legs turn to water. He had been leaning over a suitcase on the bed, and he stood up with a long slow smile, just for her, as she came through the doorway.

“How was the game?” He smiled ruefully. He never got to Andy's games anymore, he was always too busy. Sometimes, with their busy schedules, and his, he felt as though he never saw them.

“It was great. Your son was a hero.” She grinned as she stood on tiptoe to kiss him.

“So he says.” His hand went easily to the small of her back, as he pulled her closer. “I missed you.”

“Me too …” She nestled close to him for a minute before walking across the room to collapse in a comfortable chair, while he went back to his packing. Usually he packed on Sunday afternoons, and left on business trips on Sunday nights, when he had to, which was often. But sometimes, when he had enough time, he packed on Saturdays, so they'd have more time together on Sundays. “You feel like doing a barbecue tonight? It's so pretty out, and I just defrosted some steaks. It's just the two of us, and Andy. Allyson's going out with Chloe.”

“I'd love to,” he looked chagrined as he walked toward her, “but I couldn't get a seat on the flight to Cleveland tomorrow night. I have to catch a nine o'clock tonight. I should probably leave around seven.” She looked crestfallen as he told her his plans. She'd been looking forward to seeing him all afternoon, and spending a quiet evening, maybe sitting in the moonlight in the garden. “Baby, I'm really sorry.”

“Yeah … me too …” She looked genuinely depressed at the news. “I've been thinking about you all day.” She smiled at him as he sat on the arm of her chair. She was trying to be a good sport, and she should have been used to his trips by then, but in some ways she wasn't. She always missed him.

“I guess Cleveland on a Sunday won't exactly be a treat for you.” She felt sorry for him. The ad agency where he worked expected so much from him. But he was their star attraction, the man who roped them in like dazed steer. There were legends about him in the business, about being able to bring in new clients like little lambs, and even more remarkable, keep them.

“As long as I'm stuck there, I thought I'd play golf with the president of the company I'm seeing. I called him this afternoon, and we're meeting at his club tomorrow morning. At least it won't be a total waste of time.” He kissed her on the lips then, and she felt the old familiar thrill race through her. “I'd rather be here with you and the kids,” he whispered as her arms went around his neck.

“Forget the kids …” she said hoarsely, and he laughed.

“I like that idea …save it till Tuesday night …I'll be back by bedtime.”

“I'll remind you of that on Tuesday,” Page whispered as they kissed again, and Andy exploded into their bedroom.

“Allie left the potato chips out and Lizzie's eating them! She's gonna be sick all over the kitchen!” Lizzie was their golden Lab, and she had a notoriously indiscriminating appetite and equally famous delicate stomach. “Come on, Mom! She's gonna get sick if you let her eat them!”

“Okay …I'm coming …” Page smiled ruefully at Brad, and he gently patted her behind as she followed Andy back to the kitchen. As advertised, there was a carpet of potato chip crumbs all over the kitchen, and Lizzie was happily devouring the last of them when they got there. “You're a pig, Lizzie,” Page said tiredly, as she cleaned up the last of the mess, and wished Brad weren't going to Cleveland. She had really wanted to spend some time with him. Their life seemed to belong to everyone but them, and just today she had really longed for some quiet time with her husband. She turned to look at Andrew then, as Lizzie tried to lick the last of the potato chips she was holding. “Want a hot date with your old Mom? Dad has to go to Cleveland tonight. We could go out for pizza.” They could also eat pizza at home, or the steaks she had defrosted for all of them, but suddenly she didn't feel like being at home without Brad. And it might be more fun to just go out with Andy. “What do you say?”

“I'd love to!” He looked delighted as he and Lizzie left the kitchen again, and Page put the salad and the steaks back in the fridge. Then she went back to the bedroom to see her husband. It was six-thirty by then, he had finished packing, and he was almost dressed to leave for the airport. He was traveling in a dark blue double-breasted blazer and beige slacks, the collar of his blue shirt was open, and he looked young and handsome. It made her feel suddenly tired and old to look at him. He was out in the world, making things happen, meeting clients, doing business, spending time with grown-ups, and she was at home, ironing his shirts and chasing children. She tried to put it into words as she washed her face and combed her hair, and he laughed at what she was saying.

“Yeah …sure …you don't do a thing …you just run a house better than anyone in the world …take great care of our kids and everyone else's …and in your 'spare' time you do murals for the school and all your friends, advise my clients on how to redecorate their offices, and our friends on how to redo their homes, and then here and there you do a little painting. Damn shame you never do anything, Page.” He was teasing her, but all that he said was true and she knew it. It just seemed so insignificant sometimes, as though she didn't really do anything. Maybe it was because she just did whatever she did for friends, or as favors. She hadn't been paid for her artwork in years, not since her days right after art school when she worked as an apprentice on Broadway. She had loved that. It seemed light years ago now, painting scenery, designing sets, and on one production off off-Broadway, they had even consulted her about the costumes. And now all she did was dress her children for Halloween, or at least that was what it felt like.

“Believe me,” Brad went on, as he put his suitcase in the hall, and turned to hold her again, “I'd rather do what you do than be spending my Saturday night on a plane to Cleveland.”

“I'm sorry.” Her life was a lot easier than his, and she knew it. Thanks to him. He worked hard to support them, and he did well. Her parents had a little bit of money, but his had had nothing till the day they died. And everything Brad had done, he had done himself, the hard way. He had crawled his way up, worked hard, and become successful. And one day, he would probably run the ad agency where he worked. If not, he'd run another one. He was much in demand, greatly admired, and the agency was anxious to keep him happy. Like tonight, he'd be flying first class, and staying at the Tower City Plaza in Cleveland. They didn't want to take any chances on his getting fed up, or burnt out, or a better offer.

“I'll be back Tuesday night …I'll call you later.” He walked toward the children's rooms, kissed Allyson, who was looking particularly grown up in her mother's pink cashmere sweater and a little bit of makeup. The sweater had a round neck and short sleeves, and she was wearing it with a short white skirt, and her long blond hair loose around her shoulders. Her hair almost reached her waist and cascaded seductively around her face and seemed to float around her like a halo, “Wow! Who's the lucky guy?” It was impossible not to notice her, or the way she looked. She was a real beauty.

“Chloe's father.” She grinned.

“I hope he's not into young girls, or I may not let you go out with her anymore. You look hot, Princess!”

“Oh Daddy!” She rolled her eyes in embarrassment, but she liked it when he thought she looked pretty, and he was always lavish with his compliments. For her, her mother, and even Andy. “He's really old!”

“Oh, great! Thanks a lot! I think Trygve Thorensen is two years younger than I am.” Brad was forty-four, although he didn't look it.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah …unfortunately, I do …anyway, kiddo, be a good girl for your Mom this week. I'll see you Tuesday night.”

“Bye, Dad. Have fun.”

“Oh yeah. Big time. In Cleveland. Besides, what would I do to have a good time without all of you?”

“You leaving now, Dad?” Andy appeared under his arm, and stood very close to him. He loved being near his father.

“Yup. I'm leaving you in command. Take care of your mother, please. You can report to me on Tuesday night, and tell me if the ladies followed your orders.” Andy grinned toothlessly in response. He loved it when his father put him in charge, it made him feel so important.

“I'm taking Mom out to dinner tonight,” he announced seriously, “for pizza.”

“Make sure she doesn't eat too much … it might make her sick …” Brad said conspiratorially to his young aide, “you know, like Lizzie!”

“Yuk!” Andy made a face, and they all laughed. Andy followed his parents to the front door. Brad took his car out of the garage, and then got out to toss his suitcase in the trunk, and then hug Page and Andy.

“I'm going to miss you guys, take care,” he said as he got into the car again.

“We will.” Page smiled. She should have been used to his leaving by then, but she wasn't. It was easier when he left on Sunday night. She expected that, but this way she felt cheated. She had wanted more time with him, and now he'd be gone. Besides, as much as he traveled, it was impossible not to think of the dangers. What if something happened to him one day? What if …she knew she'd never live through it. “Take care …” she whispered as she leaned into the window of the front seat and kissed him, thinking that she should have taken him to the airport. But he liked having his car there when he got home. And on Tuesday night it would have been complicated for her to pick him up, so this was simpler. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said softly, and then leaned around her to wave at Andy again. She stepped back, and they waved, and he drove off. It was exactly five minutes to seven.

They went back into the house, hand in hand, and she felt lonely again, but tried not to. It was stupid. She was a grown woman, she didn't have to be that dependent on him. And he would be back in three days. You'd think he'd be gone for a month from the way she was feeling.

Allyson was ready by then, and she looked really lovely. She had on the tiniest bit of mascara, and a pale pink gloss on her lips that barely shimmered. She looked clean and healthy and young. Youth at its most exquisite moment. She was the same age as the models they put on the cover of Vogue, and in some ways, Page thought, she looked better than they did.

“Have a good time, sweetheart. And I'd like you home by eleven.” It was an ordinary curfew, and Page was always firm about it.

“Mom!”

“Never mind that. Eleven is perfectly reasonable, and you know it.” She had just turned fifteen, and Page didn't see why she had to stay out any later.

“What if the movie gets out later than that?”

“Eleven-thirty then. Any later than eleven-thirty, forget the movie.”

“Thanks a lot!”

“You're welcome. Do you want a ride to Chloe's?”

“No, thanks, I'll walk. See you later.” She slipped out of the house, while Page went to get her sweater and her handbag out of their bedroom. The phone rang as she picked up her bag. It was her mother in New York. She explained that she and Andy were on their way out to dinner, and she'd call her back the next day. And by the time Page and Andy got back in the car, with their things, Allyson was long gone, and had probably already reached Chloe's.

“Well, young man, what'll it be? Domino's or Shakey's?”

“Domino's. We went to Shakey's last time.”

“Sounds fair to me.” Page flipped on the radio in the car, and let Andy pick the music. He picked the rock-and-roll station that he knew Allyson liked. He had very odd musical tastes for a seven-year-old boy, and he got them mostly from his older sister.

They got to the restaurant in five minutes, and Page felt better by then. Her moment of melancholy was gone, and she and Andy had a good time. They always did when they were together. He told her about all his friends, and what they did in school, and he explained to her how when he grew up he had decided to be a teacher. When she asked him why, he said it was because he liked taking care of little kids, and he liked the long summer vacations.

“Or maybe I'll be a baseball star, for the Giants or the Mets.”

“That would be nice too.” She smiled, he was always fun and easy to be with.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Are you an artist?”

“More or less. I used to be, but I don't do it very seriously anymore. I haven't in a long time.” He nodded, thinking about it.

“I like the mural you did at school.”

“I'm glad. I like it too. It was fun to do. I think I'm going to do another one.” He seemed pleased, and when they finished their pizza, he paid for them, and left the amount for the tip that she told him to. Then he put an arm around her waist and they walked back to the station wagon parked outside.

Ten minutes later, they were home, and after his bath, he joined her in her bed to watch TV. Eventually, she let him fall asleep in her bed, and smiled as she tucked him in and kissed him. At seven he was already a big boy, but he was still her baby, and always would be. In her own way, Allyson was still her baby too. Maybe children always are, at any age. She smiled, thinking of her, in the borrowed pink cashmere, and how pretty she looked when she left to have dinner with the Thorensens.

Page thought of Brad then too. And when she checked for messages on the machine, she discovered that he had called her from the airport. He had probably known they would be out, but he had just called to tell her he loved her.

She watched a movie on TV then. She was tired and would have gone to sleep, but she wanted to wait up for Allyson. Page had not yet reached the point of being able to assume that she would come in. She wanted to know for sure, so she sat up and waited.

At eleven o'clock she watched the news. Nothing too remarkable had happened, and Page saw with relief that there had been no disasters in the air, or at the airport. Whenever Brad was traveling, she was always nervous that something terrible might happen to him. But nothing had. There had been the usual shootings in Oakland, the gang wars, the politicians insulting each other, and a minor crisis at a water treatment plant. And other than that, there had been an accident on the Golden Gate Bridge, and a few minutes before they had closed the bridge, but at least Page knew that she didn't have to worry about that. Brad was in the air, and Allyson had stayed in Marin, with the Thorensens. Andy was in bed next to her. All her chickens were accounted for, thank God. It was something to be grateful for, as she glanced at the clock and waited for Allyson to come home by eleven-thirty. It was eleven-twenty by then, and knowing her well, Page knew she would come racing through the door at eleven twenty-nine, eyes bright, hair flying …and probably with a huge spot of spaghetti sauce on the borrowed pink cashmere sweater. Page smiled to herself, thinking of it, as she settled deeper into her bed, to watch the weather.

CHAPTER 2

As Allyson hurried down the walk when she left her house, she was already five minutes late for her appointment with Chloe. Her house was three blocks from Allyson's, but she didn't even have to go that far this time. Allyson and Chloe had agreed to meet at the corner of Shady Lane and Lagunitas, halfway between their two homes, and just around the corner from Chloe's.

Chloe was already there when Allyson arrived, breathless and flushed in the slightly too warm pink cashmere sweater.

“Wow! That's neat!” Chloe admired. “Is it your mom's?” She no longer had the vast pool of her mother's wardrobe to draw from, and she had borrowed the black sweater she was wearing from the older sister of a girl in school. Or actually, Chloe's friend had stolen it from her older sister, and assured Chloe that they'd all be dead if it wasn't returned, without fail, by Sunday morning. It was a black turtleneck sweater, and she was wearing it with a black leather miniskirt she'd borrowed from another friend, and a pair of black tights her mother had forgotten in a drawer when she left for England.

“You look cool,” Allyson nodded, impressed with the sophisticated outfit. She started to worry then that she looked like Little Bo Peep next to Chloe. But in any case, their looks were very different. The black sweater and skirt set off Chloe's shining dark hair, in sharp contrast to her creamy white skin. She was a very pretty girl, and she stood next to Allyson, looking like a nervous ballerina. She had done eleven years of ballet, and it showed in her every movement. She was hoping to transfer to the San Francisco Ballet School in the fall, and had just been accepted after a series of gruelling auditions. Allyson was looking at her uncomfortably, as Chloe looked at her watch repeatedly and glanced down the street with obvious expectation. “Stop it! You're making me a wreck! Maybe we shouldn't have done it,” Allyson said' looking ready to cry, and suddenly remorseful.

“How can you say a thing like that?” Chloe looked terrified. “They're the two best-looking guys in the whole school. And Phillip Chapman is a senior!” Phillip was Allyson's date, and Jamie Applegate was the boy Chloe had been dreaming of since she was a freshman. He was a junior now, and both boys were on the swimming team.

It was Jamie who had set up the date, and Chloe who had arranged it. She had consulted with Allyson immediately, who said that her mother would never let her go out with a senior. She had only had a few very tentative dates by then, usually to go to movies with boys she had known all her life, or in a large group of friends, and so far always dropped off and picked up by their parents. None of their sophomore friends had driver's licenses yet, so transportation was all-important. There were parties, of course, and she had gone steady for a few weeks before Christmas, but they were sick of each other by the New Year. There had never been a real date with a real boy who picked her up in a real car and took her out for a real dinner. Until tonight. This was very real, a little too much so.

After considerable consultation with Allyson and her other friends, Chloe had decided that her father wouldn't want her going out with Jamie Applegate, at least not in a car, driven by him. She knew instinctively that her father would complain that she scarcely knew him. Maybe if Jamie spent some time with them, came to dinner once or twice, hung around with them, maybe her father would feel different. But certainly not in time for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that she had to seize now, or surely it would never come again. Carpe diem. Seize the day. And she had. She had convinced Allyson that the only way was to lie to their parents. Just this once. This one time wouldn't hurt anything, and if they liked the boys after that, and wanted to go out with them again, then they could lay all the groundwork with their parents. This was like a tryout.

Allyson wasn't sure about it at first, but Phillip Chapman was so beautiful, so overwhelming in his coolness and seniority, there was no way she could resist a chance to go out with him. Chloe was right. After endless phone calls, and whispered conversations at school, they accepted, and made arrangements to meet the boys around the corner from Chloe's house.

“Not allowed to go out with boys?” Jamie teased when she gave him the address, and told him where they'd be waiting for them.

“Of course I am. I just don't want my older brothers bruising you if they don't like you,” she said, trying to dream up an excuse, but Jamie looked unconcerned as he wrote down the address and promised to tell Phillip Chapman. Phillip had a car, and he'd be driving them to dinner at Luigi's.

“Dutch treat?” Chloe had asked nervously. That would pose a problem too. She had already spent all of her allowance on a pair of shoes she wasn't supposed to buy. Sometimes life got incredibly complicated at fifteen. And she had loaned Penny Morris another five when she couldn't even afford to, but Jamie only laughed at her question. He had bright red hair, a great smile, and Chloe liked everything about him.

“Don't be stupid. We invited you.” It was the real thing. A genuine date with two honest-to-goodness upperclassmen. It was so exciting they giggled about it all week. They could hardly wait for the big evening. And now, suddenly it was here. But the boys were late, and Allyson wondered if it was all a big joke, and they'd been made fools of.

“Maybe they won't come,” she said anxiously, half terrified and half relieved. “Maybe they were just kidding. Why would Phillip Chapman want to go out with me? He's seventeen, practically eighteen, he's graduating in two months, and he's the captain of the swim team.”

“So what?” Chloe frantically reassured, but she was every bit as worried as Allyson that the boys were only playing with them, and might not show up for the evening. “You're beautiful, Allie. He's lucky to be going out with you,” she said gently.

“Maybe he doesn't think so.” But as she said the words, an old gray Mercedes came around the corner, and stopped neatly in front of them. Phillip was driving, and Jamie was next to him. The boys were wearing blazers and slacks, both were wearing ties, and both looked incredibly handsome to Allyson and Chloe.

Phillip quietly took it all in, and then smiled at Allyson. “Hi …sorry we were late. I had to stop and get gas, and I couldn't find a station that sold diesel.” Jamie was helping Chloe into the backseat by then, he looked dazzled by the shining black hair, the big blue eyes, and the little black leather skirt. He told Chloe how pretty she looked, as Allyson got in, and Phillip said hi to Chloe. They were a cute group, and they all looked about eighteen as they took off in the direction of Luigi's. “Seat belts, please,” Phillip said sternly as they drove off, sounding very grown up, and making them all feel very important. And then he looked at Allyson, and spoke softly as their two friends chattered in the backseat as though they'd been going out for Saturday night dinner for years, and had never been nervous for a single moment.

“You look really nice,” Phillip said, looking at her. “I'm glad you could make it.”

“So am I.” Allyson blushed and smiled, wishing she weren't so nervous.

“Are your folks uptight about us or the car?” he asked honestly, and for an instant Allyson was tempted to pretend that neither was a problem. And then she shrugged with a shy smile and decided to be honest. Maybe it was okay to be straight with him. He seemed like a nice guy, and she liked him.

“Probably both. I didn't ask. They don't really want me driving with kids. It's sort of a dumb rule, but they get really nuts about it.”

“They're probably right. But I'm a really careful driver. My father taught me to drive when I was nine.” He glanced over at her again with a slow smile. “Maybe I could come over and meet them sometime. That might help a little bit.” Or not, depending on how her parents felt about her going out with a boy nearly three years older than she was. Or maybe they'd like him. It was hard to tell. He certainly was polite, and nice, and respectable. Phillip Chapman was no juvenile delinquent.

“I'd like that,” she said softly, in awe of his willingness to make her comfortable, and put things right with her parents.

“So would I.”

They chatted on the way to Luigi's, and Chloe giggled a lot from the backseat. Jamie was telling her outrageous stories about the swim team, most of them lies, according to Phillip, who was far more serious, but nice to be with. By the time they'd ordered dinner, Allyson had decided that she really liked him.

He surprised her when he ordered wine for Jamie and himself, and offered to share it with them. They had fake ID's, but the waiter didn't even ask, he just brought them two glasses of the house red, and then turned his back when the girls took sips from their glasses. Phillip didn't even finish it but at dessert, Allyson noticed that he drank two cups of very strong, black coffee.

“Do you always drink wine?” She couldn't help asking. Her parents only let her sip champagne at Christmas. She'd had beer a couple of times, but she hated it. And tonight the wine had been exciting but it hadn't tasted much better.

“Sometimes,” he answered. “I like a glass of wine when I'm having a good time. I drink it at home, with my parents. And they don't mind my having some when I'm out with them.” But they would have minded a lot his ordering it with a fake ID, for another minor, and with the intention of driving after he drank it. And Phillip knew that. But out with two pretty girls, he was feeling very daring.

“Doesn't it bother you when you drive?” she asked, concerned.

“No,” he said firmly. “It doesn't really get to me. I wouldn't want to drink more than a glass though. And I had two cups of coffee.”

“I saw that.” Allyson smiled. “I'm glad you did.” She was honest with him. He was handsome, and very grown up, but she found that she could be fairly outspoken with him, and he seemed to like that.

“Were you worried?”

“A little.”

“Don't be.” He smiled, and put a hand over her own, resting on the table. They looked into each other's eyes, and then away. For Allyson, it was all a little overwhelming. They looked over at Jamie and Chloe then, chattering away about Chloe's move to the San Francisco Ballet School. Jamie was telling her how good he'd thought she was in a performance he'd been dragged to by his sister.

“Thank you,” she beamed. She was crazy about him, and his praise meant a lot to her. “Did you like it?”

“No.” He grinned. “I hated it, but I thought you were great, and so did my sister.”

“She used to do ballet with me, before she quit.”

“I know. She was lousy, but she says you're good.”

“Maybe … I don't know …sometimes I think it's too much work, and sometimes I really love it.”

“Sounds like swimming.” Phillip smiled, and then suggested they all go into the city for cappuccino. “How about Union Street? We can walk around for a while, and maybe go somewhere for coffee. How does that sound?”

“Nice,” Jamie volunteered.

“Really nice,” Chloe agreed. For an instant, Allyson had a wave of nervousness about going into the city. No one knew they were going there. But then again, what harm could it do? Union Street was pretty tame, and coffee was not exactly racy.

“As long as I'm home by eleven-thirty, it's cool with me,” she volunteered, trying not to worry.

“Let's go then.”

Phillip left a handsome tip, and they got back in his car outside Luigi's. It was actually his mother's car, he explained. They usually let him drive an old station wagon, but it was so disreputable-looking, he had borrowed her fifteen-year-old Mercedes instead, since his parents were in Pebble Beach for the weekend.

They drove across the Golden Gate Bridge, paid the toll, and drove east on Lombard Street, and then south on Fillmore, to Union. After an endless search, they found a parking place, and began strolling past the shops and restaurants. It was a busy Saturday, a warm night, and it was fun just being there. Allyson felt terribly grown up, as she walked along with Phillip's arm around her shoulders.

He was tall and handsome, and he told her about his college plans. He had just been accepted at UCLA, and he was excited about going in September. He had thought a lot about Yale, but his parents hadn't really wanted him to go East. They were older, he was an only child, and they liked the idea of his being a little closer. He said he had liked UCLA better anyway, and that maybe Allyson could come down and visit him in September. The very idea of it dazzled her. She couldn't even begin to imagine explaining that to her parents. She laughed just thinking of it, and he understood it.

“Maybe that's a little too much of a leap for the first night, hmm? How about some coffee?” He seemed to understand a lot of things, and as they sat drinking cappuccino until almost eleven o'clock, she liked him better and better. He leaned across the table once, and almost brushed her lips with his own, as he bent to tell her something. It was almost as though Chloe and Jamie weren't there by then, they were so engrossed in their own conversation.

There was no wine drunk at the coffeehouse, and they stood up to leave at five to eleven. They ambled slowly back to the car, but they knew that at that hour of night, they would have no trouble getting back to Ross in time for Allyson's curfew.

“I had a great time,” she said softly to Phillip, as she put on her seat belt.

“So did I.” He smiled, and yet he seemed so much older that she really wondered if he would want to take her out again, or if he was just being kind to her this evening. It was hard to say, but she would have liked to get to know him better.

He drove quietly and smoothly up Lombard Street, toward the bridge, and then onto the Golden Gate Bridge. It was a perfect evening. Every star in the sky seemed to be out and sparkling. The water shimmered in the moonlight, the lights around the bay seemed brilliant. The air was gentle and warm in just the way it almost never is in San Francisco, the fog having disappeared entirely for the night. It was the most romantic night Allyson had ever seen, or could remember.

“It's so beautiful,” she whispered almost to herself as they crossed the bridge, and from the backseat there was a burst of giggles.

“Do you two have your seat belts on?” Phillip asked, sounding serious again, and Jamie laughed.

“Mind your own business, Chapman.”

“I'm going to pull over after the bridge, if you don't. Put them on, please.” But there was no sound of buckling-up from the backseat. In fact, there was a noticeable silence, and Allyson didn't want to turn around to look at them. So with an embarrassed smile, she glanced at Phillip.

“What are you doing tomorrow night, Allyson?” he asked her.

“I … I don't know …I'm not allowed to go out on Sunday nights.” It was time to be honest with him. She was no senior. She was fifteen years old, and she had to live by rules, whether or not she liked him. She had enjoyed tonight, but it was too nervous-making sneaking out and doing something she shouldn't. She liked the idea of his meeting her family, but she didn't want to sneak out to meet him again, no matter what Chloe decided to do about Jamie.

But Phillip didn't seem upset by what she'd said. He knew how old she was, but she was mature for her age, and she was a knockout. He had enjoyed her company, and he was willing to play by the rules in order to further their friendship. “I've got practice tomorrow afternoon, I thought maybe I could come by afterwards, if that's okay, and just hang out for a while …meet your parents …how does that sound?”

“Terrific.” She beamed. “You really wouldn't mind doing that?” He shook his head, and glanced over at her with a look that made her heart melt. “I thought maybe … I don't know … I thought you'd think it was a pain in the neck to deal with all that.”

“I knew what to expect when I asked you out tonight. I was surprised I didn't have to meet your parents. And then I figured you probably hadn't told them the truth. We can't go on doing that forever.”

“No.” She shook her head, relieved by his attitude. “We can't … or I guess I couldn't …and if my parents found out, they'd kill me….”

“So will my mother when she finds out I took her car, if she does find out….”He grinned, looking like a kid himself. They both laughed. They'd been outrageous tonight, and they knew it, but they were all good kids. They didn't mean any harm, it was all in good fun, and high spirits.

They were more than halfway across the bridge by then, and Jamie and Chloe were whispering softly in the backseat, their murmurings dotted by an occasional silence. Phillip had pulled Allyson closer to him, as close as he could within the confines of her seat belt. She had loosened it, and started to take it off, but he wouldn't let her. He took his eyes from the road then, for just a single instant, looked at her long and hard, and then as he glanced back at the road, he saw it. But too late. It was only a flash of light, a bolt of lightning hurtling toward them, almost in their faces by then. Allyson was looking at him when it hit, and in the backseat they never saw it. It was an arc of light, a crash of thunder, a mountain of steel, an explosion of glass everywhere as it hit them. It was the end of the world in a single moment, as the two cars met and crashed and twirled furiously around each other like two enraged bulls, as everywhere around them cars swerved not to hit them, horns, shrieks, the sound of an explosion, and then suddenly silence.

There was glass everywhere, iron wrapped around steel, there was a long scream in the night, horns honking in the distance, and at last the long slow wail of a siren. And then, slowly at first, and suddenly faster, people ran from their cars, and rushed toward the two cars, locked together, seemingly in death, frozen together in a rictus of horror, one tangled ball of steel …one mass … as people ran to help them, and the sirens wailed closer. It was impossible to believe that anyone had survived it.

CHAPTER 3

Two men were the first to approach what was left of the old gray Mercedes. It was apparent by then that a black Lincoln had hit them head-on. The engine was crushed, and the two cars seemed to have merged into one. Except for the color, it was almost impossible to distinguish between them. A woman was wandering nearby, murmuring to herself and whimpering, but she appeared unharmed, and two other motorists went to her, as the two men peered into the gray Mercedes. One man had brought a flashlight with him and was wearing rough clothes, the other one was a young man in jeans, and had already said he was a doctor.

“Do you see anything?” the man with the flashlight asked, feeling his whole body shake as he looked inside the Mercedes. He had seen a lot of things, but never anything like this. He had almost hit another car as he swerved to avoid them. There was traffic stopped everywhere, in all lanes, and no one was moving across the bridge now.

It was dark in the car at first, in spite of the lights overhead, everything was so crushed and so condensed that it was hard to see who was in it. And then, they saw him. His face was covered with blood, his whole body compressed into an impossible space, the back of his head crushed against the door, his neck at an awful angle. It was obvious instantly that he was dead, although the doctor searched for a pulse, and couldn't find one.

“The driver's dead,” the doctor said quietly to the other man, who shone his flashlight into the backseat, and found himself staring into a young man's eyes. He was conscious and seemed alert, but he said not a word as he stared at the man with the flashlight.

“Are you all right?” he asked as Jamie Apple-gate nodded. There was a cut over one eye, and he had hit his forehead on something, possibly Phillip. He looked dazed, but he seemed otherwise unhurt, which was nothing less than amazing.

The man with the flashlight tried to open the door for him, but everything was so jammed that he couldn't.

“The highway patrol will be here in a minute, son.” He spoke calmly, and Jamie nodded again. He seemed unable to speak, and it was obvious that he was in shock. He just went on staring at the two men, and the man with the flashlight felt sure that at the very least, the boy had a concussion.

The doctor moved back to look at Jamie through the open window, and offer what encouragement he could, when they heard a deep groan from the backseat, next to him, and then a sharp cry that became a scream. It was Chloe. Jamie turned to stare at her as though unable to understand how she had gotten there beside him.

The doctor ran around the car as quickly as he could, and the man with the flashlight tried to shine the light on her from where he stood on Jamie's side, and then all at once they saw her. She had been crushed between the front and back seats, the entire front seat had been shoved back by the force and mass of the Lincoln, and she seemed to have the seat jammed into her lap. They couldn't see her legs, and she began sobbing hysterically, telling them she couldn't move, and screaming that ithurt, as they tried to calm her. Jamie continued to stare at her, looking confused, and then he said something vague to Phillip.

“Hang in there,” the man with the flashlight said to both of them. “Help's on the way.” They could all hear the wail of the sirens approaching, but her screams seemed even more piercing.

“I can't move … I can't … I can't breathe …” She was panting and out of breath, hyperventilating in her panic, as the young doctor quietly took charge of her, and talked to her very calmly.

“You're all right …you're fine …we're going to get you out of here in a minute …now, try to breathe slowly … here …hold my hand …”He reached in and took her hand in his own, and he saw that there was blood on her hands where she had touched her legs, but in spite of the flashlight he couldn't see what had happened. The best news was that she was conscious and talking to him. No matter how damaged her legs were, she was alive, and there was every reason to hope she would make it.

The man with the flashlight left them for an instant then. He had just seen that there was an unconscious girl in the front seat. At first she had been almost invisible, she was lying so far down on the seat, and there was so much metal pressed against her. But they had suddenly noticed her face and her hair, as they tried to examine Chloe. The doctor kept busy talking to Chloe as she sobbed, while the man with the flashlight tried to pull open the front passenger door to free the girl lying under the dashboard. But to no avail. The door was bent beyond hope of opening it, and the young girl on the front seat never moved as he reached in through the broken glass of the window and tried to touch her. He said something in an undervoice to the doctor who, glancing at her, said he suspected that she was dead like the driver. But a moment later, he checked, leaving the other man to continue talking to Chloe. He was surprised to find a pulse when he touched her neck, it was thin and thready, and he could detect almost no breath at all. Her entire head and face were covered with blood, her hair matted with it, the sweater she had worn was a deep red, she had cuts everywhere and had clearly sustained a major head injury in the collision. She was barely alive, hanging on by the merest thread, and he thought it unlikely she would live long enough for them to save her. There was nothing he could do for her, and even if her breathing stopped or her pulse, he couldn't have administered CPR. She was positioned too awkwardly, and was obviously much too badly damaged. All he could do was stand there and keep an eye on her, feeling helpless. From what he could see, both of the young people in the front seat were a loss. Only the two in the back had been extremely lucky.

“Christ, they're taking forever, aren't they?” the man with the flashlight said under his breath, looking at the carnage in the car. With the flashlight, they could see more clearly how much blood had been lost. Both of the girls seemed to be bleeding profusely.

“It just feels that way,” the doctor said softly. He had ridden an ambulance as part of his residency in New York ten years before, and he had seen a lot of ugly things, on the highways, in the streets, and in the ghettos. He had delivered his share of babies in back hallways too, but he had seen more scenes like this one, and frequently with no survivors. “They'll be here in a minute.”

The other man was sweating profusely and Chloe's screams were getting to him. And he was afraid to look at Allyson's face, she was in such bad shape. He wasn't even sure she had a face left.

And then, finally, they came. Two fire engines, an ambulance, and three police cars. Several people had called from their car phones and reported how bad the accident was, others had approached the two cars cautiously, and learned that there were four passengers in the smaller car, two of them badly injured. The driver of the other car had been miraculously untouched except for a few scratches and bruises, and she was sobbing hysterically by the side of the road, in the arms of a stranger.

Three of the firemen and two cops approached the car simultaneously, along with both paramedics. The other policemen tried to take charge of the traffic, directing it slowly around the two cars, and getting it moving in one direction. Their own vehicles had added to the confusion and the roadblock, and the single file of cars heading north barely crawled past the two cars and the emergency vehicles, as people stared at the carnage.

“What have we got?” The highway patrolman glanced in first, and shook his head when he looked at Phillip.

“He's gone,” the doctor was quick to explain, and the first of the paramedics confirmed it. Over. One life. Finished in a single moment. No matter how young he had been, or how bright, or how kind, or how much his parents loved him. He was dead, with no reason, no plan, no purpose. Phillip Chapman was dead at seventeen, on a balmy Saturday night in April.

“We can't get any of the doors open,” the doctor explained, “the girl in the backseat is trapped, I think she's got some pretty severe injuries to her lower extremities. He's okay.” He motioned to Jamie still staring at them in confusion. “He's in shock, and we need to get him to the hospital right away to check him out. But I think he's probably going to be all right. Maybe a concussion.”

The paramedics had reached in to touch A1lyson by then, as the firemen ran to call for the Jaws of Life and a five-man team to free them. “What about the girl in the front seat, Doc?”

“She doesn't look like she's going to make it.” He had continued to check her pulse, she was still alive, but she was losing ground rapidly, and until the heavy equipment came, there was nothing they could do to free her. The paramedics were moving quickly to start an IV on her anyway, and one of them gently strapped a small sandbag under her head to keep her from damaging it further. “She's got an obvious head injury,” the doctor exclaimed, “and God knows what else in there.” She was totally engulfed by the mass of steel, most of her body was inaccessible to them, and all of it looked as though it might be broken. More than ever, it seemed unlikely that she would make it.

Chloe began screaming more alarmingly just then, and it was difficult to know if she had listened to what they said about her friends, or was simply in more pain. It was impossible to reason with her. Most of the time, she seemed completely oblivious to where she was, she just kept screaming about her legs, and she said her back hurt. As awful as it was, the medical team thought it was encouraging that she still had feeling. Too many of the accidents they saw involved people who seemed to experience almost no pain, mostly because their spinal cords had been severed.

“Okay, sweetheart, we're gonna get you out of here in a minute. You just hang on. We're gonna get you home in just a little minute.” The fireman almost crooned to her, as the highway patrol managed to pry Phillip's door open with a crowbar, while carefully opening the broken window with a blanket. They pulled his body gently from the car, and one of the firemen assisted in putting his body on a gurney. They covered him immediately with a drape, and rolled his body slowly toward the ambulance. Shocked motorists looked on, and some people cried as they realized he had been killed in the car crash. Shocked tears of grief for a total stranger.

The open door allowed the doctor to slip in next to Allyson, and get a better fix on her condition, but it wasn't good. She was breathing even more irregularly by then, and the paramedics quickly put an airway through her mouth, and then attached a bag to it with an oxygen tube extending from it. The doctor knew they were “bagging,” as it was called, to help her breathe, and he knew, as they did, that the IV and the oxygen could only help her. Her arms were too lacerated to even allow them to get a blood pressure cuff on her, but the doctor didn't need it. He could see what was happening to her. She was dying in their hands, and if they didn't free her soon, she would be gone just like Phillip. She might not make it anyway, but even covered with blood, it was easy to see how young she was, and he wanted her to make it.

“Come on, little girl …come on …don't you quit on me now …” It almost sounded like praying, as he turned and snapped at the paramedic. “Come on, more oxygen.” They all watched tensely as the paramedics gave it to her and a moment later they added something to her IV. But they were clutching at straws, and they all knew it. If they didn't get her to the hospital soon, she just wasn't going to make it.

And then, finally, the Jaws of Life rumbled up, and the five-man crew leapt out and came running. They assessed the situation within milliseconds, had a brief consultation with the people on the scene, and then moved swiftly into action.

Chloe was starting to lose consciousness by then, and one of the firemen was giving her oxygen through the open window. It was Allyson who had to be freed first, Allyson who was almost dead, who had no hope at all unless they could pry her from the car in minutes, maybe seconds. No matter how great Chloe's distress, she had to wait. She was not in as great danger. And they couldn't move her anyway until the front seat was removed, and Allyson with it.

While one man stabilized the vehicle with wedges and chocks so that nothing more would move, a second man on the team deflated the tires, and two others moved with lightning speed to remove the remaining glass from all the windows. The fifth conferred with the patrolmen and paramedics on the scene, and then rapidly joined his partner, to help remove the rear window. The young people within had all gently been covered by tarps, so that no random piece of falling glass would hurt them. The windshield took two of them to remove, with one man using a flathead ax around the edges. Eventually, the windshield came away, and they actually folded it almost like a blanket. They slid it swiftly under the car with practiced hands, moving like a highly practiced ballet team. Two others removed the rear window. Only slightly more than a minute had passed since they'd arrived on the scene, and the doctor watched them, thinking that if Allyson survived at all it would be thanks to them and their speedy, almost surgical reactions.

With a tarp still covering Allyson, one of the rescuers moved inside, removed the keys and cut the seat belts. And then, as one group, they began flapping the roof, using a hydraulic cutter, and hand hacksaws. The noise was terrifying, and Jamie whimpered piteously, as Chloe began to scream again. But Allyson never stirred, and the paramedics continued pumping oxygen into her through the air tube.

Within moments, they pulled the roof off the car, drilled a hole in the door, and inserted the Jaws of Life in the door to force it open. The machine itself weighed close to a hundred pounds and took two men to hold, and made a sound as loud as a jackhammer. Jamie was crying openly by now, and the noise of the spreader was so intense that it even drowned out Chloe's screaming. Only Allyson was oblivious to all they were going through, and one of the paramedics was lying next to her on the driver's side, keeping track of the IV and her air tube, and making sure she was still breathing. She was, but barely.

They removed the door entirely, and then moved swiftly to work pulling away the dashboard and the steering. They used nine-foot chains and a giant hook to pull it away, and before it was even fully freed, the paramedics had slipped a backboard under Allyson to immobilize her further. But as they did, the entire car was open to the night air, the front end gone, the roof open, the doors off, and Allyson could finally be moved now. And they could see, as the paramedics bent over her, how acute her wounds were. She looked as though she'd received blows at the front of her head, and the side as well. Her head must have bounced around like a marble when the car hit her. And her seat belt had been so loose, it was almost as though she hadn't worn one.

But all their manpower was concentrated now on moving her, ever so gently, to the gurney. Speed was of the essence, and yet every movement had to be infinitely delicate and carefully planned, or they might do her further cervical or spinal damage. She was barely clinging to life as the head of the paramedic team shouted “Go!” and they ran as smoothly as they could to the waiting ambulance with the gurney. Two more ambulances had arrived on the scene by then, and the newly arrived paramedics turned their attention to Chloe and Jamie. It was exactly midnight as the ambulance sped off the bridge with Phillip's body, Allyson, and the young doctor. One of the highway patrolmen had said he'd bring his car to Marin General to him. The doctor didn't feel comfortable letting her go to the hospital with only the paramedics, although he felt that what he could do for her was minimal. She needed a neurosurgeon immediately, but he wanted to be there in the meantime. He still didn't think she'd live. But she might. And if there was any chance at all, he wanted to help her.

More patrol cars had arrived by then, a fourth ambulance and two more fire trucks. The traffic was still moving single file into Marin, and the bridge was still closed from Marin County into San Francisco, and the traffic looked as though it was backed up to forever.

“How is she?” one of the firemen asked, referring to Chloe, as the paramedics waited for the rescue team to free her. She was bleeding profusely from both legs and hysterical. They had an IV going on her by then and she had fainted several times when they tried to move her.

“She's in and out of consciousness,” one of the paramedics explained. “We'll have her out in a minute.” They had to rip away the seat in order to get her, and it was blocked in from every angle. The machines they used literally tore it to shreds, and disposed of it on the pavement, and ten minutes later, Chloe's legs were exposed, crushed, broken, she had compound fractures of both legs, with the bones protruding. And as they lifted her from the car as carefully as they could, on a backboard, she finally lost consciousness completely.

The second ambulance sped off with its sirens screaming in the night, just as the firemen helped Jamie from the car. He was free now, and as they pulled him out of it, he sobbed and clung to the firemen like a small child in total panic.

“It's all right, son …it's all right …” He had seen a lot, and he was still confused and dazed. He still couldn't understand what had happened. They put him gently in the last ambulance, and he was taken to Marin General like the others, just as the news truck arrived. They were late getting to the scene this time, but the bridge had been blocked solid.

“Christ, I hate nights like this,” one fireman said to another. “Makes you never want to let your kids out of the house again, doesn't it?” They both shook their heads, as the extraction team continued to attempt to untangle the mass of steel sufficiently so that both cars could be towed off the bridge, as the TV cameraman filmed it.

They were all amazed that the Mercedes had been so completely destroyed. But it was old and it must have collided with the Lincoln at an odd angle. If it hadn't been a Mercedes, of whatever age, they would probably all have been dead, and not just Phillip.

The other driver was still sitting dazed by the roadside by then, leaning on a stranger. She was wearing a black dress and white coat. And she looked disheveled, but there were no bloodstains on her. Even the white coat was still clean, which seemed incredible, given the condition of the young people in the Mercedes.

“Isn't she going to the hospital?” one of the firemen asked a highway patrolman.

“She says she's okay. There are no apparent injuries. She was damn lucky. But she's pretty shook up. She feels terrible about the boy. We're going to run her home in a minute.”

The fireman nodded, glancing at her. She was an attractive, expensively dressed woman in her early forties. Two women were still standing next to her, and someone had brought her some bottled water. She was crying softly into a handkerchief and shaking her head, unable to believe what had happened.

“Any idea what did happen?” a reporter asked a fireman, but he only shrugged in answer. He had no fondness for the media, or their ghoulish interest in other people's disasters. It was clear enough what had happened here. A life had been lost, maybe two by then, if Allyson hadn't made it. What did they want to know? Why? How? What did it really matter? The results were unalterable, no matter whose fault the accident had been.

“We're still not sure,” the fireman said non-committally, and then a few minutes later to one of his colleagues, “It looks like they both may have drifted over the center line just enough to create a disaster.” One of the highway patrolmen had just explained it to him. “You look away for a minute …She was further over the line than they were in the end, but she says she wasn't. And there's no reason to disbelieve her. She's Laura Hutchinson,” he said, sounding impressed, as the second fireman raised his eyebrows.

“As in Senator John Hutchinson?”

“You got it.”

“Shit. Imagine if she'd been killed.” But it was no better that one or two kids were. “You think the kids were drunk or on drugs?”

“Who knows? They'll check it out at the hospital. Could be. Or it could just be one of those flukes where you never figure out who did what to who. It's not real clear-cut from the position of the cars, and there isn't a hell of a lot left.” What there was, was being hacked into pieces so it could be removed. And they were starting to hose down the oil and debris, and the blood that had spattered on the pavement.

It would be another hour or two before bridge traffic could resume, and even then there would be only one lane open in each direction until the early morning, when the last of the wreckage was towed away to be examined.

The camera crews were getting ready to leave by then. There was nothing left to see, and the Senator's wife had refused to comment on the other driver's death. The highway patrol had protected her from them very discreetly.

It was twelve-thirty when they finally took her home to her house on Clay Street in San Francisco. Her husband was in Washington, D.C., and she had gone to a party in Belvedere. Her children were asleep in bed, and the housekeeper opened the door to them and began to cry when she saw Mrs. Hutchinson's disheveled state and heard the story.

Laura Hutchinson thanked them profusely, insisted that she didn't need to go to the hospital, and would see her own doctor the next morning, if there was any need for it. And she made them promise that they would call her to tell her of the other young people's condition.

She already knew that the young driver was dead, but they hadn't yet told her that Allyson would probably not survive until morning. The highway patrolmen felt sorry for her, she was so distraught, so frightened, so desperately upset by what had happened. She had cried terribly when she saw Phillip's body covered with the drape and removed. She had three children of her own, and the thought of these young people dying in an accident was almost more than she could bear to think of.

The patrolman who brought her home suggested that she take a tranquilizer that night, to calm her nerves, if she had any in the house, or at least have a strong drink. She looked as though she needed it, and he was sure that the Senator wouldn't mind his suggestion.

“I haven't had a drink all night,” she said nervously. “I never drink when I go out without my husband,” she explained.

“I think it would do you good, ma'am. Would you like me to get you one now?”

She hesitated, but he could sense that she would, and he went to the bar and poured her a drink himself. A good strong drink of brandy. She made a terrible face as she drank it down, but she smiled at him once she did, and thanked him. They had been wonderful to her all night, and she assured them that the Senator would be very grateful to know how kind they had been to her.

“Not at all.” He thanked her and left, and went to rejoin his partner outside, who inquired if he had thought to take her in to the hospital for an alcohol check, so they could rule that out in their investigation.

“For chrissake, Tom. The woman is a senator's wife, she's a nervous wreck over the accident, she saw a kid die, and she told me herself she hadn't had a drink all night. That's good enough for me.” The other highway patrolman shrugged, his partner was probably right. She was a senator's wife, she wasn't going to hit the highway at eleven o'clock at night half crocked and hit a bunch of kids. No one could be that dumb, and she looked like a nice woman.

“I just poured her a brandy anyway, so it's too late now, if you wanted me to go back in and ask for it. The poor thing needed a stiff drink. I think it did her good.”

“Might do me good too.” The patrolman grinned. “Did you bring me one?”

“Shut up. Christ …run an alcohol check …” He laughed. “What else did you want me to do? Fingerprint her?”

“Sure. Why not. The Senator would have probably set us up for a commendation.” The two men laughed and drove off into the night. It had already been a long night for them, and it was only one-thirty in the morning.

CHAPTER 4

At eleven-fifty, Page was watching an old movie on TV, and she sat up in bed a little straighter. Allyson was twenty minutes late, and her mother was not amused. At midnight, she was even less so.

Andy was sleeping peacefully at her side, and Lizzie was asleep on the floor near the bed. Everything was quiet and tranquil in the house, except Page, who was getting madder by the minute. Allyson had promised to be home no later than eleven-thirty, which was half an hour later than Page wanted her home in the first place. And there was absolutely no excuse for her violating her curfew.

Page thought of calling the Thorensen home, but she knew there was no point. If they were still at the movies, or out having ice cream somewhere, there would be no answer anyway. She figured they had probably gone out to eat somewhere after the movie, and Allyson obviously hadn't told Chloe's father that she had to be home by eleven-thirty.

By twelve-thirty, Page was enraged, and by one o'clock she was very worried. She was just deciding to abandon her reticence and call the Thorensen home, when the phone rang at five after one. She assumed that it was Allyson asking if she could spend the night at Chloe's. Page was beyond livid by then, and would have liked to shake her daughter.

“No, you may not was the way she answered.

“Hello?” The voice at the other end sounded confused, and Page sounded even more so. It wasn't Allyson at all, but a stranger. She couldn't even imagine who would call her at this hour, unless it was a mistake, or an obscene phone call.

“Is this the Clarke residence?”

“Yes? Who is this?” A sudden electric tingle of fear ran down her spine, and she ignored it.

“This is the highway patrol, Mrs. Clarke. This is Mrs. Clarke?”

“Yes.” The word was a whisper, as sudden fear clutched her throat and held it.

“I'm sorry to tell you that your daughter has been in an accident.”

“Oh my God.” Her whole body came alive, and her mind was filled with terror. “Is she alive?”

“Yes, but she was unconscious on the way to Marin General. She was very seriously hurt.” Oh God … oh God …what does “very seriously” mean? How bad is that? Is she okay? Will she live? How hurt is she?

“What happened?” It was a pathetic croak from deep in Page's throat.

“A head-on collision on the Golden Gate Bridge. They were hit by an oncoming southbound vehicle on their way into Marin County.”

“Into Marin? From where? That can't be.” She was willing to quibble about where Allyson had been, maybe if she won the argument, it would mean that she had never been there and nothing had happened to her after all.

“I'm afraid it was. She's in Marin General now, Mrs. Clarke. You need to get there pretty quickly.”

“Oh God …thank you …” She hung up without saying more, and frantically dialed information. They gave her the number for Marin General, and she asked for the emergency room. Yes, Allyson Clarke was there, yes, she was still alive, and no, they were unable to give her any further information. The doctors were all busy with her, and couldn't talk to Page. Allyson Clarke was listed in critical condition.

Tears sprang to her eyes, and her hands shook violently as she dialed her neighbor. She had to leave Andy with someone …she had to call …had to get dressed …had to get there …The phone answered after four rings, as Page sobbed silently, praying that Allyson would be alive when she got there.

“Hello?” A sleepy voice finally answered.

“Jane? Can you come?” Page sounded breathless and felt as though she couldn't get enough air. What if she fainted? What if …what if Allyson died … oh God, no …please, no …

“What's wrong?” Jane Gilson knew her well, and she had never known Page to panic. “What is it? Are you sick? Is someone there?” Had there been an intruder?

“No,” it was a terrible mouse squeak of terror, “it's Allie. She's had an accident …head-on … she's in Marin General, in critical condition …Brad's gone … I have to leave Andy …”

“Oh my God …I'll be there in two minutes.” Jane Gilson hung up, and Page ran to her closet and tore on jeans and the first sweater she could find. It was the old blue one she wore to garden in, covered with holes and spots and permanently faded. But she didn't even see it as she put it on, and slipped her feet into loafers. She never thought of combing her hair, and then she ran to the pad in the den where Brad always left the name and number of his hotel when he traveled. She knew she'd find it there. She'd wait to see Allyson first, before she called, in case the news was better than she feared. But at least she could call him from the hospital, after she saw her. But this time, there was no hotel and no number. Nothing. There was a blank page. For the first time in sixteen years, he had forgotten to leave the information. It was like fate playing a bad joke on them, but she didn't have time to worry about it now. She could call someone from Brad's office and figure something out later. Right now she had to get to the hospital and see her baby.

She grabbed her bag as the front door rang, and she ran to let in Jane Gilson. Jane's arms went around her old friend. She had known the Clarkes since they'd moved in, before Andy was born, and Allyson since she was seven.

“She'll be all right …you know she will. Page, calm down. It probably all sounds worse than it is. Just take it easy.” She would have liked to drive her there herself, but her own husband was gone. He had gone camping with her kids, both home from college for their spring vacation. And there was no one else to leave with Andy. He was still sound asleep in his mother's bed, completely unaware of what had happened. “What do you want me to tell him when he wakes up, in case you're not back yet?”

“Just tell him Allyson got sick, and I had to go to the hospital with her. I'll call you from there and let you know what's happening. And if Brad calls, for God's sake, Jane, get his number.”

“Right …now go …and drive safely.”

Page ran out into the warm night, her hair flying, her purse under her arm, jumped into the car, and a moment later she shot out of the driveway. She tried to talk to herself all the way, telling herself to stay calm, to breathe, alternately reassuring herself that Allyson would be okay, and begging God that she would be. She still couldn't believe it had happened.

The hospital was eight minutes away, and she parked in the first space she found. She forgot her keys in the car, and ran into the building. The emergency unit was alive with lights, and people running around, dashing into rooms, and half a dozen people sat in a corridor, waiting for treatment. A woman in labor walked by looking uncomfortable, leaning heavily against her husband. But all Page wanted to see was her little girl …her baby. She noticed the reporters then, two of them taking notes from a highway patrolman.

She went to the desk and asked a nurse where she might find her, and the woman's face sobered instantly as she glanced up at Page. She had a pretty face and kind eyes, and as she looked at Page, she felt a wave of sympathy for her. Page was dead white and shaking.

“You're her mother?”

Page nodded, feeling her body shake more. “Is she … is she …”

“She's alive.” Page's legs went weak, as the woman came around the desk and held her firmly. “She's very, very badly hurt, Mrs. Clarke. She has a severe head injury. Our neurosurgical team is with her now, and we're waiting for our head of services. When he gets here, we'll be able to tell you more. But she's hanging in.” She led Page to a chair, and helped her to sit down. It was as though the whole world had turned upside down in a single moment. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” She looked sympathetically down at her, and Page tried not to cry as she shook her head, but it was hopeless. The tears instantly overflowed as she tried to absorb what the woman had said …neurosurgeons …neurosurgical team …she's very, very badly hurt …but why? How? How had it happened? “Are you okay?” the nurse asked rhetorically. It was obvious that she wasn't, as she blew her nose and shook her head, and wished she could turn the clock back. And she had been so angry at her for missing her curfew. It was unbearable to think of it. While she was being angry, Allyson was being hit head-on … it didn't even bear thinking.

“Was anyone else hurt?” Page finally managed to croak, and the nurse looked at her sadly as she nodded.

“The driver was killed. And another young girl was severely injured.”

“Oh my God …” Killed?…Trygve Thorensen dead? How in God's name had this happened? And as she thought of it, she saw a man emerge from one of the emergency rooms who looked astonishingly like him. He walked out of the treatment room in a daze and seemed to stare at Page, without actually seeing who she was. It was Page who suddenly realized that it was Trygve. But how was this possible? The nurse had said he was dead. Was it all a lie? A bad joke? A bad dream? Was she crazy, or dreaming? But the nightmare was all too true, as she looked at him, and she knew it. The nurse discreetly moved away, and Trygve stood looking down at Page, with tears flowing unchecked down his own cheeks.

“Page, I'm so sorry …”He reached out and took her hand in his own, and held it for a moment. “I should have known … I guess I should have seen it coming, but I wasn't paying attention … I don't know how I could have been so stupid.” She stared at him in horror. He hadn't been paying attention, and their children had been critically injured …how could he even say this to her? And why had the nurse told her he was dead, when he wasn't?

“I don't understand,” Page said, staring up at him in anguish, as he sat down slowly next to her, shaking his head, still unable to believe what had happened.

“I'm beginning to. I should have known when I saw her go out in that outfit. She was wearing a black leather skirt she'd borrowed from somewhere, and black stockings that must have been Dana's …I'm a damn fool. I was working on something with Bjorn, and I just let it slide by. She said she was going out with you, so I figured she was okay … I wish to hell now that I'd stopped her.”

“Out with me} You mean …you weren't driving?” A rush of fresh fear overcame her as she understood him. They hadn't been out with him at all. But then who had they been with, and who was the driver?

“No, I wasn't.”

“Allyson said you were taking them to dinner at Luigi's, and a movie. It never occurred to me that you weren't …” And then, suddenly, as she thought about it, the pieces of the puzzle fit together for her too. The borrowed cashmere sweater, the white skirt, the fact that she scampered off to Chloe's, and didn't let Page drive her there. “How could I have been so stupid?”

“I guess we both were.” He stared at her through his tears, and she began to cry again. “You should have seen Chloe when she came in …she's got multiple compound fractures of both legs, a shattered hip, broken pelvis, internal injuries. They're removing her spleen now, and she may have damaged her liver. They have to replace the hip, put the pelvis together with pins …she may never walk again, Page …” His tears went unchecked. “And all she wanted was to get into that ballet school. Oh Christ …how did this happen?”

Page nodded, numbed by what she'd just heard. Chloe unable to walk again …and Allyson with a severe head injury. She looked at Trygve then, no longer able to blame him. “Did you see Allyson?” She was almost afraid to herself, and yet she wanted to desperately, but they had told her she had to wait until the neurosurgeons had finished their evaluation. But what if she died first, and Page wasn't there …what if …what if.

“No, I didn't,” Trygve said soberly, drying his tears for a moment. “I asked to, but they wouldn't let me. They just took Chloe to surgery. They think it'll take six to eight hours, maybe longer. It's going to be a long night.” Or not. That would be even worse, for Page. For Allyson, it could all be over very quickly.

“They told me Allyson had a severe head injury, but that was all they'd say,” he said softly.

“That's all they said to me too. I'm not even sure what that means. Is she brain damaged? Will she die? Could she be all right again?” Tears filled Page's eyes as she talked in circles and he listened. “She's with the neurosurgeons now.”

“You just have to believe that she'll be all right. Right now that's all we have.”

“But what if she isn't?” Page was grateful to have someone to talk to, and at least he knew all the terrors that she was feeling, except that Chloe was alive, and no matter how badly battered, she seemed not to be in mortal danger.

“Try not to ask yourself too many questions,” he said. “I keep doing that about Chloe …what if she can't walk …what if she's paralyzed …will she ever be able to walk or dance or run … or have children? A few minutes ago, I found myself planning where to put ramps for her wheelchair. You have to force yourself to stop doing that. We just don't know yet. Live it minute by minute.” Page nodded, knowing what he meant. One minute, she found herself trying to figure out what she would tell Brad if Allyson died, the next she refused to believe it.

“Do you know who was driving?” Page asked somberly, remembering what the nurse had said, that he was dead. And she had assumed it was Trygve.

“Only his name. A boy called Phillip Chapman, he was seventeen. That's all I know. And Chloe was in no condition to answer questions.”

“I've heard of him. I think I've met his parents. How do you suppose they knew him?”

“God knows …school …one of their sports teams …the tennis club …they're growing up, you know. I never went through anything like this with the boys though. Not with Nick at any rate.” And, of course, Bjorn would have been different. “I guess girls are a little more enterprising, or at least ours are.” He tried to make her smile, but Page was beyond it. What if she never grew up? Never had a real date? Or a boyfriend? Or a husband? Or a baby? What if this was it? Fifteen brief years, and then over. Just the thought of it brought tears to her eyes again, and Trygve took her hand in his, and held it, when he saw her crying.

“Don't, Page … try not to panic.”

“How can I not? How can you say that?” She took her hand away and began to sob. “She may not even live. She may end up like the boy who was driving.” He nodded miserably, and she blew her nose in terror and despair, and then looked up at him again. “Were they drinking?” It was the first thing that came to mind when she thought of a seventeen-year-old driver and an accident like this one.

“I don't know,” he told her honestly. “The nurse told me that they're taking blood tests from all of them, to check the alcohol levels in their blood. I suppose they could have been,” he said dismally, as a reporter approached them. He had been watching them talk for a while, and Trygve had seen him ask the nurse at the desk some questions after he finished with the highway patrolman.

Page was still crying when the man in jeans and a plaid shirt walked up to them. He had on a plastic tag from the newsroom, running shoes, and he was carrying both a small cassette recorder and a notebook.

“Mrs. Clarke?” he asked very directly, and stood very close to her, watching her reactions.

“Yes?” She was so dazed she didn't realize who he was, and for an instant, she thought he might be a doctor. She looked up at him with a terrified air, as Trygve watched him with suspicion.

“How's Allyson doing?” he asked, sounding as though he knew her. He had gotten her name from the nurse.

“I don't know … I thought you would know …” But Trygve was shaking his head, and then she noticed the man's badge with his photograph, name, and network. “What do you want from me?” She looked confused and frightened by the intrusion.

“I just wanted to know how you are …how Allie is …did she know Phillip Chapman very well? What kind of kid was he? Was he a wild guy? Or do you think …” He pressed as hard as he could until Trygve cut him off abruptly.

“I don't think this is the time …” Trygve took a step closer to him, and the young reporter looked unaffected.

“Did you know that Senator Hutchinson's wife was the other driver? Not a scratch on her,” he said provocatively. “How does that make you feel, Mrs. Clarke? You must be pretty angry.” Page's eyes grew wide as she listened to him, unable to believe what she was hearing. What was this man trying to do to her? Make her crazy? What difference did it make who the other driver was? Was he nuts as well as insensitive? She looked up at Trygve helplessly, and saw that he was furious at the reporter's questions. “Do you think the young people in the car might have been drinking, Mrs. Clarke? Was Phillip Chapman her steady boyfriend?”

“What are you doing here?” She stood up, and stared him in the eye with a look of outrage. “My daughter may be dying, and it's none of your business how well she knew that boy, or who the other driver was, or how I feel about it.” She was sobbing so hard, she could hardly get the words out. “Leave us alone!” She sat down and dropped her face into her hands, as Trygve moved between her and the reporter.

“I want you to leave us alone now.” He was as immovable as a wall between Page and the young man from the newsroom. “Get out of here. You have no right to do this.” He growled at him, wanting to sound ominous, but like Page, his voice was shaking.

“I have every right. The public has a right to know about this kind of thing. What if they weren't drinking? What if the Senator's wife was?”

“What's the point of this?” Trygve said angrily. What were these people doing there? This had nothing to do with the public, or anyone caring about the truth, or their rights. It had to do with prying, and bad taste, and hurting people who were already deeply wounded.

“Did you ask for an alcohol check on the Senator's wife?” His eyes fought his way back to Page, and she stared dumbly up at both men. It was all too much for her at this point. All she could think about was Allie.

“I'm sure the police did everything they were supposed to, why are you doing this? Why are you making trouble here? Can't you understand what you're doing?” Page asked him miserably. He seemed to be refusing to leave them.

“I am seeking the truth. That's all. I hope your daughter will be okay,” he said without emotion, and then sauntered off to talk to someone else. He and his cameraman were in the waiting room for another hour, but they didn't bother Page again. But Trygve was still outraged by the man's attitude and his daring to pursue Page at a moment like this one. And he resented the inflammatory, sleazy style and implications that were designed to enrage them. It was utterly disgusting.

They were both shaken after the reporter walked away, and at first they didn't even notice a redheaded boy approach them half an hour later. Page had never seen him before, but he looked vaguely familiar to Trygve.

“Mr. Thorensen?” he asked nervously. He was very pale, and looked a little dazed, but he looked directly at Chloe's father as he stood before him.

“Yes?” Trygve looked at him without any warmth or recognition. It was the wrong night for people to come up and chat with him. All he wanted to do was wait for Chloe to come out of her surgery, and pray that her life wouldn't be ruined forever. “What is it?”

“I'm Jamie Applegate, sir. I was with Chloe in … in the accident …” His lip trembled as he said the words, and Trygve looked up at him in horror.

“Who are you?” He stood to meet him then, and the boy looked sick as he faced him. He had a mild concussion and had had a few stitches over the eyebrow, but other than that he was untouched by the horror that had changed the other three lives forever.

“I'm a friend of Chloe's, sir. I …we …took her out to dinner.”

“Were you drunk?” Trygve fired at him without mercy or hesitation, but Jamie shook his head. They had just done a blood test on him to prove that. And he had passed it very respectably, as had Phillip.

“No, sir. We weren't. We went to dinner, at Luigi's in Marin. I had one glass of wine, but I wasn't driving, and Phillip had less than that, maybe half a glass, if that, and then we went to have cappuccino on Union Street, and came home.”

“You're all under age, son.” Trygve said quietly, but he made his point. “None of you should have been drinking. Not even half a glass of wine.” Jamie knew he was right, as he went on to explain what had happened. “I know. You're right, sir. But no one was drunk. I just don't know what happened. I never saw it. We were in the backseat, talking …and the next thing I knew, I was here. I don't remember what happened, except that the highway patrol said someone hit us, or we hit them. I just don't know. But Phillip was a good driver … he made us all wear our seat belts and he was totally sober.” He started to cry as he said it. His friend was dead and he had lived through it.

“Do you think it was the other driver's fault?” Trygve asked him calmly. He was touched by what the boy had said, and Jamie was obviously very badly shaken.

“I don't know … I don't know anything, except that …Chloe and Allyson …and Phillip …” He began to sob, thinking of his friends, and without hesitation Trygve put his arms around him. “I'm so sorry …I'm so sorry …”

“So are we …it's all right, son …it's all right …you were a lucky boy tonight …that's fate …”It chooses one, it crushes a life, then darts away. It strikes like lightning.

“But it's not fair …why did I walk away from it, and they …”

“Sometimes it just happens like that. You have to be very grateful.” But all Jamie Applegate felt was guilt. He didn't want Phillip to be dead …or Chloe and Allyson to be so badly hurt …why did he only have a little bump on his head? Why couldn't it have been him behind the wheel instead of Phillip?

“Is someone taking you home?” Trygve asked him gently, unable to be angry at him, in the face of what had happened.

“My father'll be here in a minute. But I saw you sitting here, and I just wanted to say … to tell you …” He glanced from Trygve to Page, and started crying again.

“We know.” Page reached up and squeezed his hand, and he bent to hug her, and she found herself sobbing as she embraced him. His father finally came for him, and there was anger, and tears, and reproaches. Jamie's father, Bill Apple-gate, was understandably upset by what had happened, but also relieved that Jamie had survived it. He had cried when they told him Phillip Chapman had died, but he was also deeply grateful that his own child hadn't. He was a respected man in the community, and Trygve had met him a few times at school events and sports games.

He talked to Page and Trygve for a while, piecing together what had happened, and he apologized on behalf of Jamie for the deception. But they all knew it was too late for apologies, it was too late for anything, except surgery, and miracles, and prayers. They all knew that. And Bill Applegate said he'd be in close touch with them, to check on Allyson and Chloe. And before they left, he also asked Jamie if they'd been drunk, and Jamie continued to insist that they weren't, and for some reason, they all believed him.

Trygve looked at Page after the Applegates left, and shook his head. “I feel sorry for him …except a part of me is still so angry.” He was angry at everyone, Phillip for getting them into the accident, Chloe for lying to him, and the other driver, if it was her fault. But who knew what had really gone on? Who would ever know? The head highway patrolman had explained to him a short while before that the force of the collision had been so monumental that it was going to be next to impossible to determine who was at fault, and from the position of the cars, they couldn't tell for sure who had slipped over the line or why. The blood tests showed alcohol in Phillip's blood, but not enough to consider him drunk. And the Senator's wife had appeared to be sober, so they hadn't even bothered. They could only assume that Phillip had gotten distracted, maybe by Allyson, and perhaps the accident had been his fault after all. But nothing would ever be certain.

All Page could think of was the condition that Allyson was in, and how badly she wanted to see her. It was another hour before the nurse approached her again. The neurosurgeons were ready to see her.

“Can I see Allyson?”

“In a minute, Mrs. Clarke. The doctors would like to see you first, so they can explain her condition to you.” At least there was still something to explain, and as she stood up, Trygve looked at her with a worried expression. He was a good friend, they had met at a thousand school events, sports teams, and an occasional picnic, and although they had never been close friends, she had always liked him, and their daughters had always been bosom buddies, ever since the Clarkes had moved to Marin County.

“Do you want me to come in with you?” he asked, and she hesitated, and then nodded. She was terrified by what they were going to say, and even more so of seeing her daughter. She wanted to see her more than anything, but she was desperately afraid of what she would have to face when she saw her.

“Do you mind?” Page whispered apologetically as they hurried down the hall to where the neurosurgical team was waiting for them.

“Don't be silly,” Trygve said as they began to run. They looked like brother and sister as they hurried down the hall, both of them so blond and Scandinavian-looking. He was a pleasant man, with healthy good looks, and a gentle manner. It was easy to be with him. She had never felt as comfortable with anyone. They were partners in disaster.

The door to the conference room looked ominous as they pushed their way through, and there were three men in surgical gowns and caps waiting around an oval table. Their masks were down around their necks, and Page noticed with a shudder that one of them still had blood on his gown, and she prayed that it wasn't her daughter's.

“How is she?” She couldn't restrain the words, it was all she wanted to know. But the answer was not as simple as the question.

“She's alive, Mrs. Clarke. She's a strong girl. She sustained a tremendous blow, and an ugly injury. A lot of people wouldn't have made it this far. But she has, and we hope that's a good sign. But there's a long way to go right now.

“What she has sustained are essentially two kinds of injuries, each with its own particular complications. Her first injury occurred at the moment of impact. Her brain was decelerated against the skull, and to put it simply, pretty badly shaken around. It may well have been rotated, and in the process, nerve fibers probably got stretched, and arteries and veins would have gotten torn. This can cause a tremendous amount of damage.

“Her second injury actually appears to be more frightening than the first, but may not be. She has an open wound where the skull was cut through, and the bone of the skull had been broken. Her brain is actually exposed right now, in that area, probably where she was struck by some sharp piece of steel in the car just after the impact.” Page made a horrifying little sound as she listened, and clutched Trygve's hand without thinking. She felt ill thinking of what they had just said, but she was willing herself not to faint or throw up. She knew she had to absorb what they were saying.

“There's a good possibility …” the chief surgeon went on relentlessly. He knew how unpleasant this was for them, but he also knew that he had to explain it. They had a right to know what had happened to their daughter. He was assuming that Trygve was Allyson's father. “There's a good chance that the area away from the open wound is actually undamaged. We often see very minor long-term disability from these open head wounds. It's the first injury that has us worried. And of course, the obvious complications from both situations. She's lost a fair amount of blood, and her blood pressure would have dropped severely anyway from the trauma. She's badly weakened by the blood loss. In addition, there's a loss of oxygen to the brain. How much we don't know, but the damage could be fairly catastrophic … or very slight. We just don't know yet. Right now, we need to get in there and help her. We need to lift the bone that was depressed in the fracture, to relieve some of the pressure. We need to address the wound. And there's some additional repair work we're going to have to do around the eye sockets. She sustained a tremendous blow, which could ultimately blind her.

“We have other concerns too. Infection, of course, and she's having quite a bit of trouble with her breathing. That's to be expected, in this type of injury, but again it could cause some catastrophic complications. We're keeping the breathing tube through her trachea that the paramedics put in and we've had her on a respirator since she got here. We've already done a CT scan on her which gave us some very important information.” He looked at Page, who sat staring at him, and for a moment he wondered if she had understood him. She looked totally dazed, and the girl's father seemed no better. He decided to try talking to him, since the girl's mother seemed so unable to absorb it.

“Have I made all of this clear, Mr. Clarke?” he asked hopefully, sounding frighteningly calm, and almost without emotion.

“I'm not Mr. Clarke,” Trygve croaked, as overwhelmed as Page by what he had told them. “I'm just a friend.”

“Oh.” The chief surgeon looked disappointed. “I see. Mrs. Clarke? Do you understand me?”

“I'm not sure. You're telling me that she has two major injuries, basically a shaking of the brain, and an open wound which results from a fracture of her skull. And as a result of the damage, she may die, or she may have permanent brain injury …and she may be blind … is that about it?” she asked with tears welling up in her eyes. “Did I understand it?”

“More or less. Our next concern after the surgery will be a possibility of what we call 'third' injury. There could have been second injuries as well, but she avoided them by wearing her seat belt. In third injuries, we look for acute swelling of the brain, blood clots, and severe bruising. This could be a very serious problem. It's not likely to occur until at least twenty-four hours after the injury, so it's a little difficult to predict at this moment.”

Page asked the one thing she'd wanted to ask ever since she'd heard, but she was also afraid to hear the answer. “Is there any chance she'll ever be okay again … I mean normal? Is that possible, given all that's happened?”

“Possible, as long as we all understand that there are degrees of normal. Her motor skills could be affected, for a time, or even indefinitely. They could be affected in minor ways, or very major ones. Her reasoning processes can be affected, her personality could change. But on the whole, yes, if she is very, very lucky, and blessed with a small miracle, she could be normal.” But he didn't look to Page as though he thought it likely.

“Do you consider that likely?” She was pushing and she knew it, but she wanted to know.

“No, I don't. I think it's unlikely to sustain this extensive an injury and not see any long-term ill effects, but I do think that if all goes well, they could be relatively minor …if we're lucky. I'm not making you any promises, Mrs. Clarke. Right now, she's in a lot of trouble, and we can't ignore that. You're asking me for best case, and I'm telling you what's possible, but not necessarily what will happen.”

“And worst case?”

“She won't make it at all …or if she does she'll be severely impaired.”

“Meaning what?”

“She could remain in a coma permanently, or be extensively brain damaged if she regains consciousness at all, loss of motor skills, powers of reason. She could in essence be severely brain damaged, if she has sustained too great a shock, too many injuries, and we are unable to repair them. How much swelling occurs in the brain will have a lot to do with it as well, and how successful we are in controlling the swelling. We'll need all our skill, Mrs. Clarke, and a lot of luck …and so will your daughter. We'd like to operate immediately, if you'll sign the papers.”

“I haven't been able to reach her father.” Page felt a lump in her throat the size of her fist. “I may not be able to get hold of him until tomorrow …I mean today …” She felt and sounded panicked as Trygve watched her, aching for what she was going through, and unable to help her.

“Allyson can't wait, Mrs. Clarke …we're talking minutes here. We've already done a CT scan on her, as I said, and skull X rays. We have to get in as soon as possible, if we're going to save her, or any normal brain function whatsoever.”

“And if we wait?” She had to ask Brad, she was his child too. It wasn't fair to him to proceed without him.

He looked at her honestly for a long moment. “I don't think she'll live another two hours, Mrs. Clarke. And if she does, I don't think there will be any viable brain function left, she'll probably be blind too.” But what if he was wrong? What ever happened to the theories about second opinions? The trouble was, they didn't have time. They barely had time for one, if he was saying Allyson wouldn't live another two hours without brain surgery. What choice was there?

“You don't leave me many options, Doctor,” Page said miserably, as Trygve squeezed her hand, and she held his tightly.

“There aren't any, Mrs. Clarke. I'm sure your husband will understand that, when you reach him. We'd like to do everything we can.” She nodded as she looked at him, not sure if she trusted him or not. But she had to, she had no choice. Allyson's life depended on their skill and their good judgment. And what if she lived, but was totally brain damaged as they had warned, or was in a coma for the rest of her life? What kind of victory would that be? “Will you sign the consent forms now?” he asked quietly, and after a long moment's hesitation, she nodded.

“When are you going to operate?” she asked hoarsely.

“In about half an hour,” he said calmly.

“May I be with her until you do?” Page asked, feeling panicked. What if they never let her see her again? What if this was the last time she ever saw her? Why hadn't she held her for longer that night before she went out? Why hadn't she said all the things to her she had meant to say in her brief lifetime? Without even knowing it, she found herself crying again, as the doctor leaned over and touched her shoulder.

“We're going to do everything we can for her, Mrs. Clarke. You have my word.” He looked around at his two associates, who had said very little in the past half hour. “And you have one of the best neurosurgical teams in the country. Trust us.” She nodded, unable to say more to him, and he stood up and offered to take her to her daughter.

“She's deeply unconscious, Mrs. Clarke, and she's sustained a number of minor injuries as well. In some ways, it looks worse than it is. A lot of what you'll see will heal. Her brain is another story.”

But nothing he said to her prepared her for what she saw when they let her into the room where Allyson lay, watched by a resident and two specially trained ICU nurses. There was a breathing tube in her throat, another tube in her nose, a transfusion in one arm, an IV in her leg, and machines and monitors everywhere. And in the midst of it all, beautiful little Allyson, her face so battered, her own mother could scarcely recognize it, and her head covered by a sterile drape that concealed the hair they were going to cut off in only moments.

It was almost impossible to recognize her, except that Page would have known her anywhere, would have found her, and recognized her as her child. She would have known her with her heart, if not her eyes, and she went to her now, and stood quietly beside her.

“Hello, sweetheart.” She bent low, and spoke softly into her ear, praying that with some distant part of her, her daughter would hear her. “I love you, baby …everything's going to be fine …I love you, Allie … we all love you … we love you …” All she could say were the same words over and over, as she cried, and stroked Allie's arm and her hand, and the one cheek that hadn't been damaged. She looked so battered and so pale, and if it weren't for the monitors, Page would have thought more than once she was dead. Her heart ached as she looked at her, unable to believe what had happened. “Baby, we all love you …you have to get better. For all of us …me …and Daddy …and Andy …”

Page stood next to her for a long time, and then finally, they asked her to leave so they could prepare Allyson for surgery. She asked if she could stay, but they said she really couldn't. She wanted to know what they were going to do to her, and they explained that they wanted to start her on some drugs, and they had to shave her head, and put a catheter in place. There was a lot for them to do, and Allyson would be aware of none of it. But it would have been much too upsetting for Page to watch it.

“May I …could I …” She found she couldn't say the words and then she forced herself to. “May I have a piece of her hair?” It sounded horrible, even to her, except that she wanted to have it.

“Of course,” one of the ICU nurses said gently. “We'll take good care of her, Mrs. Clarke, I promise.” Page nodded and turned to Allyson again, she bent close to her ear, and kissed her gently.

“I'll always love you, sweetheart …always and always.” It was something she had said to her when she was a little girl, and maybe in some remote part of her, she might remember.

Page was blinded by tears as she left the room, and she literally had to tear herself away from Allyson's bedside. It was unbelievably painful knowing that she might never see her alive again, and yet, she reminded herself again and again, there was no choice. They had to operate on Allyson now, if there was any hope at all that they'd save her.

She found Trygve waiting for her again in the hall, and he ached when he saw her. Everything she had just been through was written on her face. She looked ghastly. He had only gotten a glimpse of the child as Page went in, and it had torn at his heart to see her. Chloe had been bad enough, but this was much worse. And having heard what the doctor said, he secretly thought there was a good chance they might lose her.

“I'm sorry, Page,” he whispered, and then pulled her into his arms, as she stood there and cried for a long time. There was nothing else she could do. It was the longest night of both their lives, a never-ending nightmare. He knew that Chloe was still in surgery, a nurse had come to say that it was going well, but that it would go on for several more hours.

The nurse from the desk brought the papers for Page to sign, and after she did, Trygve insisted that they go to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee.

“I don't think I could drink it.”

“Water then. You need a change of scene. It's going to be a long day.” It was already four in the morning, and the chief neurosurgeon had told Page that the operation would take twelve to fourteen hours. “Maybe you should go home for a couple of hours, and get some rest,” he said with a look of concern. They had grown closer in the past few hours than they had in eight years, and she was grateful to have him with her. She would have gone crazy alone, and she knew it.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Page said stubbornly. And he understood. He didn't want to leave Chloe either. But in his case, his oldest son, Nick, was at home to take care of Bjorn, and he had explained as much as he knew when he left, and he'd called home since then. But in Page's case, she had Andy to worry about, and he'd probably be panicked without his mother and sister.

“Who did you leave Andy with?” Trygve asked as they sipped bad coffee in the cafeteria. Both of their daughters were in surgery by then, and Page had finally, reluctantly, agreed to go with him.

“I left him with our neighbor, Jane Gilson. Andy likes her, he'll be all right when he wakes up. And I can't help it. I can't leave now. I'm going to have to do something about finding Brad in a few hours though. It's the first time in sixteen years he forgot to leave a number.”

“That's always the way.” Trygve looked rueful. “Dana went skiing with friends once and forgot to leave me the number too, and of course that was the weekend that Bjorn got lost, Nick broke his arm, and Chloe came down with pneumonia. I had a great time.”

Page smiled thinking of it. He was such a good guy, and he'd been so decent to her tonight. It was still difficult to assimilate what had happened. “I don't know what I'm going to say to Brad. He and Allie are so close …it'll kill him.”

“It's a nightmare for everyone …and the poor kid who was driving …imagine what his parents must be feeling.”

They had an opportunity to see it firsthand, when the Chapmans arrived at Marin General at six o'clock in the morning. They were a nice-looking couple in their late fifties. She had well-groomed white hair, and Mr. Chapman looked like a banker. Page saw them arrive at the front desk, looking exhausted and worn. They had driven all the way from Carmel the moment they had been called, unable to believe what had happened. Phillip was their only child, they had had him late, and had never been able to have any others. He was the light of their life, which was why they hadn't wanted him to go East to college. They couldn't bear the idea of his being so far away, and now he couldn't be farther. He was gone from their life forever.

Mrs. Chapman stood with her head bowed, crying softly as they listened to the doctor, her husband had an arm around her and cried openly as he told them that Phillip had been killed instantly from a head injury and a broken neck that had severed both his spinal cord and his brain stem. There had been no hope of his surviving from the moment of impact.

The doctor told them too that there had been a small amount of alcohol in his blood, not enough to make him legally drunk, but maybe enough for a boy his age to be slightly affected. He did not say that the accident was due to him, it still remained unclear who had hit whom, or why. But the implication was there, and the Chapmans looked horrified when they heard it. The doctor in the examining room told them that the other driver had been Senator Hutchinson's wife, and that she was devastated over it, not that that changed anything for the Chapmans. Phillip was dead, no matter who the other driver had been. Mrs. Chapman's grief turned suddenly to anger as she listened to him and the implication that Phillip might have been drinking. She asked if the other driver had been checked too, and was told that she hadn't. The patrolmen at the scene had been certain she was sober. There had been no suspicion about her at all. And as he listened, Tom Chapman grew visibly angry. He looked outraged by what they'd just told them. He was a well-known attorney, and the idea that Phillip had been tested, and even subtly slurred, while the Senator's wife was assumed without reproach seemed like an appalling injustice, and one that he wasn't going to stand for.

“What are you telling me? That because my son was seventeen, half a glass of wine, or roughly its equivalent, makes him presumed guilty of this accident? But a grown woman who may well have drunk a great deal more than he, and possibly been severely affected by it, is above the law because she's married to a politician?” Tom Chapman was shaking with grief and rage as he spoke to the young doctor who had just told him that Laura Hutchinson had not been checked for alcohol, only because the patrolmen on the scene “assumed” she was sober.

“Don't you dare imply that my son was drunk!” Tom Chapman roared at him, as his wife began to cry again beside him. Their anger was a buffer against the inconsolable grief they were feeling. “That's slander. The blood test showed that he was nowhere near legally drunk, not even close to it. I know my boy. He doesn't drink, or if he does, rarely, and very little, and certainly not if he's driving.” But he wouldn't be doing anything anymore, and suddenly Tom Chapman's anger began to fade as he began to realize what had happened. He wanted to blame someone, to hurt someone as much as he was hurting. He wanted it to be the other driver's fault, not his son's …but much more than that, he wanted it never to have happened. Why had they gone to Carmel? Why had they left him alone, and trusted him? He was only a boy after all … a child …and now look what had happened. His eyes welled up with tears again, and he turned to his wife with a look of desperation. For a moment, the brief burst of rage had helped assuage the pain, but now it hit him again full force, and when he took his wife in his arms in the emergency room, they were both crying, and the issue of blame no longer seemed important.

A photographer took their picture as they sat in a corner of the emergency room. They looked confused at the flash of light. So much had already happened to them, it was just one more incomprehensible moment. And when they realized that the press had photographed them, they were understandably outraged by the intrusion. In the midst of their grief, they were being subjected to indignity as well, and Tom Chapman looked as though he were going to physically assault the man who had taken their picture, but of course he didn't. He was in great distress, but he was a reasonable person. But it was then that they understood that their agony was going to become a news event because of who the other driver had been. It was news, something hot, something to tantalize people with. Was it the Senator's wife's fault, or was she a very lucky innocent victim? Was it the Chapman boy's fault? Was he drunk? Irresponsible? Merely young? Or was there some malfeasance on the part of Laura Hutchinson? Were any or all of them into drugs? The fact that a seventeen-year-old boy had died, his parents' lives had been shattered, another child had been crippled, and a third nearly killed was merely more fodder for the press, or better yet for the tabloids.

The Chapmans looked devastated as they left the hospital, but the most devastating of all had been seeing Phillip. Mary Chapman knew she would never forget the horror of that moment, of seeing him broken and pale, so deathly still as they stared at him and cried, and bent to kiss him. Tom sobbed openly, and Mary bent over him and gently touched his face with her hands, and then kissed him. All she could think of was the first moment she had seen him, seventeen years before, when she had held him in her arms, and been overwhelmed by the sheer joy of being his mother. She knew she would always be, time could never take that from her, but death had taken Phillip from her. She would never see him laugh again, or run across the lawn, slam the front door, or tell her a joke. He would never surprise her again, with one of his harmless pranks, or his sweet surprises. He would never bring her flowers. She would never see him grow old. She would see him forever as he was now, heartbreakingly still, his soul gone on to another place. For all their love for him, and his for them, in one swift unexpected moment, Phillip had left them.

It made the next photographer's attack on them as they left even more repulsive. But seeing what was happening, Tom Chapman vowed to see that Phillip wasn't blamed for this disaster. If need be, he would clear his son's name. He didn't want Phillip's memory sullied by innuendo, or used to protect the Senator's wife, or the Senator's seat in the next election. Tom Chapman felt certain that his son was not to blame, and he was not going to allow anyone to say anything different. He said as much to his wife, as they drove away, but she seemed not to hear him. All she could think of was Phillip's face when she had kissed him.

The night seemed interminable to all of them, as Page sat with Trygve. Both girls were still in surgery then, and Trygve and Page were beginning to feel as though they had been there forever.

“I keep thinking about the options,” Page said quietly as the sun came up over Marin, and she tried to view it as a hopeful sign. It was another gorgeous spring day, but she no longer felt excited by the warm weather. In her heart, winter had come, with ice and snow, and all its desolation.

“I keep thinking about what Dr. Hammerman said …she might end up brain damaged, or severely affected in some way, physically or mentally. How would we ever begin to deal with that? How do you live with something like that?” she said absentmindedly, talking almost as much to herself as to him, and suddenly she remembered Bjorn, and felt awful. “I'm sorry, Trygve … I wasn't thinking.”

“It's all right. I understand what you must be going through. Or at least I can guess at it … I feel a little bit that way about Chloe's legs, and I remember what it was like when they told us Bjorn had Down syndrome.” He was being honest with her, they were both trying to understand what adjustments might lie ahead.

She looked over at him. His hair was as rumpled as hers, and he had worn jeans and an old plaid shirt, bare feet and an ancient pair of sneakers. She looked down at her gardening sweater then, and remembered that she hadn't bothered to comb her hair. She didn't really care, and it made her smile to realize what they looked like. “We're a sight, the two of us.” She grinned. “Actually, you look better than I do. I ran out of the house so fast, I'm surprised I remembered to get dressed at all.”

Trygve grinned at her for the first time all night, looking very boyish and very Nordic with his big blue eyes and blond lashes. “These are Nick's jeans, and Bjorn's shirt. God only knows whose shoes. I don't think they're mine. I found them in the garage. I was about to drive here barefoot.”

She nodded, knowing only too well what he had felt when he heard the news. She couldn't bear to think of it, and she still had to tell Brad, yet another nightmare to survive. If only she could tell him that Allyson was still alive, and there was some hope. But it was unlikely they would know by the time she reached him.

“I was just thinking about Bjorn,” Trygve said softly, as he leaned back in his chair with a thoughtful look. “It was awful when they first told us. Dana hated everyone and everything, mostly me, because she didn't know who else to hate. And Bjorn, too, at first. She just couldn't accept that we hadn't had a perfect baby. She talked about him being a vegetable, and painted a grisly picture of what the future would be like. She wanted to put him in an institution.”

“Why didn't you?” She was intrigued, and felt she could ask him anything. She knew Brad would have balked at accepting a child who wasn't normal.

“I don't believe in that. Maybe it's the Norwegian upbringing, or just me. I don't think you walk away from things because they're difficult. I never have anyway,” he smiled ruefully again, thinking of his twenty years in a bad marriage, “though I probably should have in some cases. But that's part of life to me, old people, kids, people with infirmities, people with limitations. This is not a perfect world, and it's not fair to expect that. I don't know, I just thought we ought to make the best of it. Dana said she wanted no part of it, so it became my mission to help Bjorn. And actually, we were very lucky. He isn't as severe as some. He's limited, but he has a lot of capabilities too. He's very gifted with carpentry, he's artistic in a childlike way, he loves people, he's incredibly affectionate, he's very loyal, he's a great cook, he's got a good sense of humor, he's responsible, to a point, and he's even learning to drive a car now. But he'll never be like Nick, or you, or me. He'll never go to college, or run a bank, or be a doctor. He's Bjorn, and he's good at what he can do … he loves sports, and kids, and people. And maybe he'll have a good life in spite of his limitations. I certainly hope so.”

“You've given him a lot,” Page said softly. “He's a lucky man.” He wanted to tell her he thought Brad was too. From what he'd seen that night, he thought she was a remarkable woman. She had taken a blow that would have shattered most people on the spot, and she was weathering it, and helping him, and still managing to think about everyone else, her husband, her son, even the Chapmans.

“He deserves it, Page. Bjorn is a great guy. I can't even bear to think of what his life might have been like in an institution. Maybe he'd never have grown to this point, or maybe he would have. I don't know. He buys our groceries, you know, and he's very proud of it. Sometimes, I can rely on him more than I can on Chloe.” They both smiled at that, teenage girls definitely had their own sets of limitations.

“Doesn't it make you angry sometimes, wishing he would have been more?”

“He never could have, Page. This was the very best he could be. Maybe it's easier that way. All I am is proud.” They both knew it would be different if Allyson were seriously brain damaged, after all she had been.

“I just keep asking myself how you adjust to it. Maybe you have to throw away all the old measuring sticks, and start all over again, grateful for every step, every word, every tiny bit of growth and accomplishment …but how do you forget? How do you forget what she was, and learn to accept so little?”

“I don't know,” he said sadly, unable to even fathom it. “Maybe you just have to be grateful she's alive, and take it from there,” he said, as she nodded her head, realizing how lucky she'd be if Allyson lived through it.

“I guess I'm not even there yet.”

It was almost eight in the morning by then, and Page decided to call one of Brad's associates, to see if she could locate him in Cleveland.

With apologies, she woke Dan Ballantine and his wife, and explained briefly to Dan what had happened. She said that Brad was planning to play golf with the president of the company in Cleveland that day and if Dan had no clues as to what hotel he'd used, maybe he could call the president and leave a message with him for Brad to call her. It was a roundabout way to get hold of Brad, but it was the best she could think of. And Dan promised to get on it right away, and leave the number at Marin General for Brad without saying too much to frighten him. Dan told her too how sorry he was about the accident, and hoped Allie'd be okay.

“Me too,” Page said, thanking him again for his help. And it was less than an hour later when Dan called her in the emergency room. He had called the president of the company they were dealing with in Cleveland, and he did have an appointment with Brad the next day. But according to him, they had never made plans to play golf, or meet on Sunday morning.

“That's odd. Brad said …never mind, I probably misunderstood. I'll just have to wait till he calls,” she said tiredly. She was too exhausted to worry about why he had said he was playing golf with the man when he wasn't. She figured it had probably gotten canceled, and Dan had misunderstood. At least they had tried, so he'd hear eventually. And maybe by then the news would be a little better.

“They couldn't locate him,” she said to Trygve as she came back and sat down next to him in an uncomfortable chair. His beard had grown overnight, though it was pale, and he looked as tired and worn-out as she did. “He'll call eventually, and Jane will tell him to call here. Poor guy. It makes me sick to think of telling him.”

“I know. I called Dana in London while you were on the phone. She just got back from a weekend in Venice. She was horrified, and blamed me, as usual. It was all my fault, why did I let her out of the house, why didn't I know who she was going with, what was wrong with me not to suspect she was up to no good. Maybe she's right. I was awfully dumb, but once in a while you have to trust them, or they drive you nuts. You can't play cop constantly, and to tell you the truth, most of the time she's pretty good. Just now and then, she does something foolish.”

“Allie's like that too. It's pretty rare for her to go off the deep end. I guess they were just trying their wings. Normal stuff, I guess …except for some very rotten luck in this instance.”

“Yeah, really …anyway, Dana says it's all my fault.”

“Do you believe that?” Page asked quietly.

“Not really. But a part of you always wonders. She could be right, you know. Though I don't like to think so.”

“She's not right, and you know it. This isn't your fault. It's a miserable twist of fate, but it's no one's fault, except maybe the other driver's.” They both wanted to feel it was Laura Hutchin-son's fault, and not Phillip Chapman's. At least if the accident had been a terrible stroke of fate, and not Phillip's fault, it might be easier to bear. Or maybe it wouldn't make any difference.

And before they could discuss it anymore, the orthopedic surgeon came to tell him that Chloe's operation had gone well. She had lost a lot of blood, and she would be uncomfortable for quite a while, but they felt optimistic that she would regain the use of her legs. The pelvis was in place, the hip had been replaced, and she had steel rods and pins in both legs which would be removed in a year or two. There would be no more ballet, but with any luck at all, there would be walking and even dancing …and maybe even one day, children. A lot would depend on how the next few weeks went, but the surgeon was very pleased with his repairs and how Chloe had come through it. Trygve cried as he listened.

She was still in the recovery room, and the doctor wanted her to stay there until at least noon. And then they would move her into intensive care for a week or so, and eventually to her own room. He said he might like to give her a couple of transfusions later in the day, and asked if he or either of his sons were the same blood type. And he was pleased to hear they all were.

“Why don't you go home and rest for a few hours. She's all right now. And then you can come back this afternoon, when we move her to ICU. It's going to be a long haul, you know. She's going to be in the hospital for at least a month, or more. There's no point wearing yourself out in the first few innings.” Trygve smiled at the image, and a quick nap held a lot of appeal, but he hated to leave Page, with Allyson still in surgery, and no one to keep her company. In the end, he decided to stay, and stretched out on a couch in the waiting room. She would have done the same for him, and he felt an obligation to stay with her.

Noon came and went, and at two o'clock, they finally moved Chloe to the ICU. She was still all doped up, but she recognized him, and she seemed to be out of pain, which was remarkable given all they'd done to her, and the mountain of apparatus that seemed to be attached to her body. But he was relieved that the doctors were both pleased and hopeful.

“How is she?” Page asked when he returned. She had just called Jane and talked to Andy. He was worried about her being gone, and even more so about his sister. But Page was still trying to underplay it. It was too soon to explain the situation to him, and she hadn't even told Brad yet. He still hadn't called, but Jane was waiting to hear from him so she could give him the message.

“She's pretty stoned,” Trygve explained with a smile. “But she looks okay, if you don't look at all the stuff hanging off her. She's got all sorts of tubes and rods hanging out of her hip, more rods and pins in her legs. She'll get casts eventually but not yet. She's a mess, but I guess we've got to be grateful.”

“I've always wondered about that,” Page said, looking and sounding exhausted. “In situations like this, people are always telling you to be grateful. This time yesterday, Allie was a perfectly normal, healthy fifteen-year-old girl, nagging me about borrowing my pink sweater. Today, she's in brain surgery, fighting for her life, and I'm supposed to be grateful she's not dead. I am …but compared to yesterday, this is the shits. You know what I mean?” He laughed, it was perverse, but he understood it. People used to tell him that about Bjorn, too, that he should be grateful he wasn't more retarded. Why did he have to be retarded at all? What was there to be grateful for? A lot maybe. Things could have been worse, it turned out, with very little effort.

He finally went home at three that afternoon, just to shower and change, and see his boys. He was going to bring them by to see Chloe in the late afternoon. Nick had said that Bjorn was very worried about her, and very agitated, and Trygve thought it might be better for him if he could see her. He worried a lot about people dying, which was typical of young children, and in his case, the fact that he was eighteen didn't change that.

Trygve told Page to call him if she needed anything, and she continued her vigil alone, and thought about calling her mother. But she just couldn't face it. And she still hadn't told Brad. It didn't seem fair to tell her first. She sat there for an hour, willing Brad to call her.

She hadn't heard anything about Allyson since four o'clock, when they had come to tell her that she was weathering the surgery well, and her condition was as stable as could be expected. She was going to need several more transfusions, too, and Page was relieved to know that she was the same blood type. She went ahead and let them take a pint of blood from her, and it was right after that that Brad finally called. He called the number at the desk at the E.R., and they let Page take it in a separate office.

“My God, Page, where are you?” Jane had only told him to call her at the number she gave him. “It sounded like they said Marin General.”

“They did.” She fought back her fatigue, looking for the right words to tell him, and not finding them for a moment. “Brad …baby …” She started to cry and could go no further.

“Are you all right? Did something happen to you?” For a crazy instant he wondered if she had been pregnant and hadn't told him, or had fallen off a ladder again. What else could it be? He couldn't even begin to imagine.

“Sweetheart …Allie had an accident.” She paused for breath and he immediately questioned her.

“Is she all right?”

Page shook her head as the tears coursed down her cheeks. “No …she isn't …she was in a car accident last night. I'm so sorry to tell you this. I tried everything I could to reach you, but you'd canceled your golf game.”

“I …oh …yeah. He was busy or something. Who'd you call?”

“Dan Ballantine. He called the guy in Cleveland, and left a message for you. You didn't leave me the name of your hotel, or the number.”

“I forgot.” He sounded annoyed and curt, which surprised her, as though he was irritated with her for having Dan call Cleveland. “So how is she? And what do you mean, a car accident? Who was driving her? Trygve Thorensen?”

“No, he wasn't. That's what she told us, but she was out with a bunch of kids. They got in a head-on collision, and …” It made her sick to tell him, but she knew she had to. “She has a head injury, Brad, a very serious one. She's critical, and she's in surgery now.”

“You let them operate? Without asking me? For chrissake, how could you do that?”

“Brad, I had to. The surgeon told me she'd be dead by six o'clock this morning if I didn't.”

“Bullshit. You had a right to a second opinion. You owed that to me, and to Allie.” He wasn't sounding rational, but Page knew it was his way of coping. The shock of the news was just too great to withstand in a single moment.

“There was no time, Brad. No time for anything.” Except prayers. And miracles. It was all in God's hands now, and the surgeons'.

“How is she now?”

“She's still in surgery. It's been over twelve hours.”

“Oh my God.” There was a long silence at his end, and Page suspected he was crying. “How did it happen? Who was driving?” What did it matter?

“A boy named Phillip Chapman.”

“The little sonofabitch. Was he drunk? I'll sue the shit out of them for this …” His voice was shaking as he said it, and Page shook her head.

“He's dead, Brad …there were four of them in the car. One had a minor concussion. Chloe is very badly injured too, but she's going to be all right …and Allie …she may not make it, Brad … or if she does …you have to come home, sweetheart … we need you.”

“I'll be there in an hour.” That was impossible, they both knew, but he could be there in six, if he got a plane immediately. She was sure he'd be able to pull strings and get a seat on the first plane out, for special circumstances, and she was glad he had finally called. She needed him desperately. Trygve had been a godsend, but Brad was her husband.

“I'll be there as soon as I can,” Brad said worriedly.

“I love you,” she said sadly. “I'm glad you're coming home.”

“Me too,” he said, and hung up. And much to her amazement, he walked in at six o'clock, an hour after they spoke, moments after they had told her that so far so good, Allyson had survived the operation. But the true test would be in the next forty-eight hours, or even the next several days after that. Her condition was so severe that she would not be out of danger for quite some time, and there was no way of predicting how complete her recovery would be. All they knew was that she was alive, at that precise moment, and on the scale they were forced to be satisfied with for the present, that was something.

At least she had good news for Brad, but she couldn't understand how he had arrived at the hospital an hour after he had spoken to her from Cleveland.

He spoke to the surgeons, and questioned everyone, but they would not allow him to see Allyson. She was going to be in the recovery room until the next morning.

“How did you do that?” Page asked him quietly, as they drank coffee in the waiting room. She hadn't eaten all day, she just couldn't bring herself to. All she had managed was coffee, and some crackers that Trygve had forced on her that morning. “How did you get here so quickly?” He shrugged and sipped another mouthful of the bad coffee. His eyes never met hers, and so far he had spoken only of Allyson. But suddenly, Page had a very odd feeling. “Where were you?” It would have been physically impossible for him to get from Cleveland to San Francisco, hotel to hospital, in an hour. And they both knew it.

“It's not important,” he said quietly. “Allie is all that matters.”

“Not really,” Page said, searching his eyes, but not seeing anything in them. “We're important too. Where were you?” There was a sudden stridency in her voice, born of fresh terror. She had had enough fear for one night, and now suddenly here was another. “I asked you a question, Brad.”

There was a look in his eyes she had never seen before when he answered her. “And I chose not to answer it. Isn't that enough? I got here as fast as I could, Page … as soon as I knew …that was the best I could do.”

She felt an icy hand clutch her heart and squeeze. It wasn't fair. She couldn't lose both of them in one day, or could she? “You weren't in Cleveland, were you?” she said in a whisper, and he looked away from her, and didn't answer.

CHAPTER 5

Brad went home before Page, having determined that there was nothing more he could do at the hospital for Allie. They wouldn't allow him to see her in the recovery room, and he had already spoken to the chief neurosurgeon. He told Page he would see her at home, and quietly left to go home to Andy.

Page saw Trygve again briefly before she left. He had brought both of the boys with him, and she explained that Brad had come home from Cleveland. She didn't mention the rest of the conversation to him, and she seemed distracted as she said hello to the boys, and thanked him for all his help. She told him she was going home for a few hours, as long as Allyson was in the recovery room, and she was planning to come back again sometime before morning.

“Why don't you try and get some rest? You look as though you really need it.”

“I'll see.” She smiled at him, but agony was written all over her face, and there was greater sadness in her eyes than he had seen in an entire lifetime.

“Take care of yourself,” he said kindly before she left, and then she drove home to find Brad explaining to Andy what had happened to his sister. He explained that she had a severe head injury, but that she'd be okay once the doctors fixed her all up and she recovered from her operation. Jane Gilson was gone by then, Brad was alone with him, and Page didn't like what he was saying.

She told him as much once Andy went out to play. He looked worried, but not overly so as she watched him from the picture window. He was playing with Lizzie on their front lawn, and she knew the neighborhood was safe, they knew all their neighbors.

“You shouldn't have told him that, Brad,” she said, without turning around. She still had a lot of questions for him, but she was saving them till after Andy's bedtime.

“Told him what?” Brad said tensely. There was plenty on his mind too. Aside from the disaster with Allyson, he knew as well as Page did that the accident had sparked off a serious crisis in their marriage.

“That she'd be all right.” She turned to face him. “We don't know that.”

“Yes, we do. Hammerman said she has a good chance of surviving.”

“In what state? In a coma? As a vegetable, 'severely impaired,' as he calls it, blind? Just exactly what do you think he's talking about, Brad? You have no right to raise Andy's hopes and reassure him.”

“What do you want me to do, show him the X rays of her skull? For chrissake, he's only a kid, Page. Give him a break. You know how much he loves her.”

“I love her too. I love both of them …and you …but it's not fair to give false reassurance. What if she dies tonight? What if she doesn't even survive the operation? Then what?” There were tears in her eyes as she asked, and tears in his as he answered.

“Then we face it when it happens.”

“And us?” she asked, surprising him by shifting gears, but Andy seemed happy outside with Lizzie. “When do we face that? What exactly is going on here?”

“It was just bad luck the way things worked out,” he said quietly. “If Allie hadn't had the accident, you'd never have known. And you never should have asked Dan to call Cleveland.”

“Why not?” She looked outraged, their daughter had almost died in an accident, and she shouldn't have tried to find him?

“Because now he's figured it out, and it's none of his business.”

“And me? What am I supposed to figure out, Brad? Just how stupid have I been? How often have you done this?” She didn't know where he'd been, but it was obvious he hadn't been in Cleveland.

“That's not the issue.” He looked annoyed again. He hated having to admit any of this to her, but in a way, he had no choice now.

“Yes, it is! It's very much the issue. You got caught with your pants down this weekend, and I have a right to know where you were, and with whom. This is my life you're playing with too. You're not just out there on your own, having fun, and passing through here between golf games. This is for real, and so am I. What about you, Brad? Just exactly what's going on here?” She was shaking with rage, and he looked angry more than guilty.

“You've got the idea. Do I have to spell it out for you?” It broke her heart to hear him say it. She almost wondered how much more pain her heart could take in one weekend. She had wanted him to deny everything, wanted none of it to be true. But it was, and now it couldn't be avoided.

“Is this something new?” she pressed on, but Brad didn't want to tell her.

“I'm not going to discuss it with you, Page.”

“You'd better, Brad. I'm not going to play these games with you. Is this someone important to you?”

“Oh for chrissake, Page, why do we have to talk about this now?”

“Because it can't wait. You started this, now I want to know what you've been doing. Is this serious? Has it been going on for long? Has it happened before …and why?” She looked at him miserably, her voice a sad whisper. “What happened to us, and why didn't I know what you were up to?” How blind could she have been? Had there been signs? Looking back, even now, she couldn't see them.

Brad sat down unhappily and stared at her, hating every minute of their conversation. He hated confrontations with her, he always had. But he knew now that this one couldn't be postponed or avoided. Maybe it was just as well. She had to know sooner or later.

“I guess I should have said something a while ago, but I thought … I thought it would end, and I wouldn't have to.”

“Is it serious?” He didn't answer for a long time, and his eyes, when he looked at her, almost made her heart stop. This was no fling, this was a serious relationship, and she wondered with a gulp of terror if, without a warning sound, their marriage was already over. “Well?” Her voice was a croak as she listened to it, and tried to force him to answer. “Is it? Serious, I mean.”

“It could be,” he answered, sounding confused. “Page, I just don't know. That's why I haven't told you.” He looked desperately unhappy.

“How long has it been?” How long had she been stupid and blind, and incredibly foolish? Page fought back tears as she waited for his answer.

“It's been about eight months. It started on a business trip. She works in the creative department, and we went to New York to make a presentation to a client together.”

“What's she like?” Page started to feel sick as she asked, but she wanted to know everything now …eight months …eight months} How could she have been so stupid?

“Stephanie's very different …from you, I mean … I don't know …she's very independent, very free, very much her own person. She's from L.A., she came up here to go to Stanford, and stayed. She's twenty-six. She's just …I don't know … we talk a lot, we like the same things. I kept telling myself I had to stop …but I just couldn't.” He looked at her helplessly, and she would have felt sorry for him if he hadn't been killing her with what he was saying. She wanted to ask him if she was beautiful, if she was great in bed, if he really loved her. But how much more could she ask? And how much more could she bear hearing?

“What were you planning to do about her, Brad? Leave me eventually?”

“I just don't know. I knew it couldn't go on like this. But I've just been so confused.” He ran a hand through his hair as he looked at her. “It's been driving me crazy.”

“And where was I during all this? Why didn't I see what was going on?” She stared at him, unbelieving. It was all too incredible, and too awful. Her worst nightmares had come true. Allyson was nearly dead, and Brad was in love with another woman. “What's happened to us, Brad? Why have we gotten so involved with our own lives? Why are you always out of town, or playing golf, and I'm always driving car pools? Is that what happened? We just drifted away from each other while I wasn't looking?” She wanted to understand what had happened to them, but for now, she just couldn't. Too much had happened.

“It's not your fault,” he said gallantly, and then shook his head again, visibly confused. “Maybe it is your fault …maybe it's both our faults. Maybe we just let something happen that never should have. Maybe we got caught up in all the unimportant bullshit. I wish I knew. I just don't have the answers.” He hadn't in eight months, which was why he hadn't left her, or told her.

“Would you stop seeing her?” she asked him openly, and he hesitated for a long time, and then slowly he shook his head, as she felt the air go out of her body. “And what am I supposed to do? Just look the other way while you go on fucking Little Miss Creative?” She was suddenly overwhelmed with anger as she looked at him, and out of nowhere came an almost uncontrollable desire to hit him, with words if not her fists, and Brad looked as though he understood it. He had reproached himself a lot of the time, for the past eight months, particularly when Page was good to him, or did something nice for him, or wanted to make love. He had spent the last months feeling unbearably guilty whenever he was with her. And yet he couldn't stop seeing Stephanie. He wasn't ready to give up either of them. He told himself that he was in love with both of them, but the truth was, he wasn't. He still loved Page, but he wasn't in love with her anymore. He hadn't been for a while, he didn't know why, but he knew he wasn't. He loved her, and respected her, she was a terrific mother to their kids, and a great wife to him. She was a great friend, and a great person. She was everything any man would want …and yet, she didn't set his heart and his mind on fire the way Stephanie did, and nothing he could do or say would change that.

“What am I supposed to do now? Just disappear? Make life easy for both of you?” She suddenly panicked, wondering if he expected her to move out, or if he was planning to now that she knew about the affair. And what about Andy? She started to cry, just thinking about it, what lay ahead, and now all of it compounded by their anguish over Allie. “What do you expect of me?” she said, looking and sounding as distraught as she felt. He wished he could reassure her, but he couldn't.

“I don't expect anything. Let's just get Allyson through this, and concentrate on surviving. Why don't we deal with this afterward? We just can't do both things at once.” It was a rational suggestion, but Page was too unnerved to be reasonable at this point, and he understood that.

“And then what? You move out when Allie wakes up … or after the funeral?” she asked, bitter and frightened again. She was bordering on hysterical, but he made no move to console her. He just couldn't. He was too upset himself, and he knew that anything he tried to do would just make it worse now. Now that she knew about Stephanie, he felt he needed to keep a certain distance.

“I don't know what we do, Page. I've been trying to figure it out myself for months, and I haven't gotten anywhere. Maybe you can come up with an answer.” He wasn't ready to divorce her yet, and he wasn't sure what to do about Stephanie, and Stephanie was willing to wait till he sorted his life out. She wasn't pushing him to do anything. But his passion for her was propelling him toward a solution. And he didn't want to live a lie forever, or be consumed by the guilt he felt toward Page, particularly now that it was out in the open.

All Brad knew was that he loved them both, although very differently, and he had allowed himself to fall into an impossible situation. It would be even more impossible now that Page knew, and he could already see how crazed it was going to make her. At least for the past eight months she hadn't suspected anything when he said he was going away on business trips, and sometimes he did, of course, but more often than not, he didn't. He had allowed himself to get involved in a terribly difficult situation. And everyone had the potential for getting badly hurt, Page, Brad, Stephanie, and his own children.

“I just don't think we can deal with this right now, Page. I think we have to keep it together till Allyson gets well, or at least until she's out of danger.”

“And then?” She kept pressing him for answers he didn't have, and making both of them unhappy, but given the circumstances, he really couldn't blame her.

“I don't know, Page … I just don't know yet.”

“Let me know when you figure it all out.” She stood up and looked at him. He was suddenly a stranger. The man she had loved for so long, and slept with so trustingly, had been cheating on her for almost a year now. In a part of her soul, she hated him. In another, she was terrified she would lose him.

“It sounds pathetic to say I'm sorry, I guess …” he said very quietly. He knew he owed her a lot more than that, but suddenly he just didn't have it to give her.

“I think 'inadequate' would be more the word I'd choose. I think you owe me a lot more than 'sorry,' Brad. Don't you?” Tears glistened in her eyes as they looked at each other from across the room. There was hatred in her face, and anger, and more pain than he'd ever seen there.

“I always thought you'd be okay. You're so strong, and you're always so busy. I thought maybe you wouldn't even miss me.” Had she pushed him away? Was it her fault, or his? Had she stopped paying attention? She accused herself, and him, of everything, as she listened to his explanation.

“I guess we're both pretty stupid,” she said caustically. “Or at least I was.”

“You deserve better than this,” he said honestly, and he did too. He deserved to be where he wanted to be, and not here crawling around, apologizing to Page. And yet he knew he owed it to her. But it was a hideous moment in both their lives …that …and Allyson's accident made it a time, he realized, that might easily destroy them.

“We all deserve better than this,” Page said softly, and then left the room to check on Andy.

As she moved around the kitchen, she felt like a robot. She put a pizza in the microwave for Andy and called him inside five minutes later. She was still shaking and felt sick, and every time the phone rang, she was terrified it was the hospital calling to tell her about Allie. Her mind seemed to ricochet between the horror of Allyson's accident and the shock of what Brad had told her.

“How's it going, champ?” she said sadly to Andy as she put his dinner on the kitchen counter for him. Brad was still in the other room, and Page felt as if her whole life had been ended.

“I'm okay,” he assured her. “You look tired, Mom.” He was always so concerned, so kind-hearted and thoughtful. She used to think Brad was that way too, but in the past hour she had seen a duplicitous side of him she had never known was there, and wished she had never seen. She wondered what they would do now.

“I am tired, sweetheart. Allie's pretty sick.”

“I know. But Dad says she's going to be okay.” The gospel according to Saint Dad. And if she died? Like all the other miseries in their life, they would have to face them later.

“I hope so.” Andy looked at her strangely as she said it.

“Don't you think so too? …that she'll be okay, I mean …”

“I hope so” was all she could say to him, and after he finished his pizza, she put him on her lap and held him. He was still small enough to sit there easily, and it was a comfort to both of them. She needed him right now, more than anything, more than ever.

“I love you, Mom.” Everything about him was so open.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” Her eyes filled with tears as she said it absentmindedly, not thinking about him, but about Allie, and Brad, and everything that had happened.

She put him to bed after a bath, and read him a story. And then she lay down quietly for ten minutes in their bedroom. She closed her eyes, and tried to fall asleep, but there was too much whirling around in her head, too many terrible things, too much pain, too many questions …about Allyson …about Brad …about their marriage …and life and death, and the meaning of everything. She heard a sound and opened her eyes, and saw Brad standing in the doorway.

“Can I get you anything?” He didn't know what else to say to her. Too much had happened, too much had been said and revealed for them ever to be the same people they had once been to each other. It was devastating to think about it, and impossible to pretend it hadn't happened. “Have you eaten?”

“No, thanks.” She had absolutely no appetite, and for good reason.

“Do you want anything from the kitchen?” She shook her head and tried not to think of what he'd said, but all she could think about now was the woman at the agency, and the eight months he had spent with her. And before that? Who had there been? How long had he been cheating on her? Had there been others? And was it that she was unattractive to him, or did she just bore him?

She realized then that she was still wearing her gardening sweater from the night before, and her oldest jeans, her hair was a tangled mass after her hours in the hospital. She was no competition for a twenty-six-year-old Stanford grad with no responsibilities and no obligations. She wondered what they had done over the weekend.

“Where did you go with her?” She pushed him for more information before he left the room.

“What difference does it make?” He looked annoyed that she was pressing him, and seeing his irritation made Page angry.

“I just wondered where you were when I didn't know where to find you.” What kind of places did he go with her? Page felt totally shut out of his life, and as though he were a total stranger.

“We went to John Gardiner,” he surprised her by answering. It was a tennis ranch in the Carmel Valley. She nodded. But he had been back in Stephanie's apartment in the city by the time he called her. Which was why he had come to the hospital so quickly. He had waited as long as he could, so Page wouldn't suspect where he'd been. But after half an hour he hadn't been able to stand it any longer.

“You should eat something,” he said then, as though to move on to another subject. He was anxious not to discuss his life with Stephanie with her. But Page seemed to want to know all the details, as though in hearing them, she would understand what had happened.

“I'm going to take a bath and go back to the hospital,” she said quietly. There was nothing for her to do at home. Andy was in bed. And she wanted to be with Allie.

“They said you couldn't see her,” Brad said calmly.

“I don't care. I want to be there.”

He nodded, and then remembered something. “What about Andy? Will you be back before morning?”

She shook her head. “You can get him ready for school tomorrow. You don't need me for that.” Or did he? Was that the only use he had for her now? To take care of his children?

“No,” he agreed, his voice sounding sad finally, “but I need you for other things …”

“Oh?” She sounded detached as she looked at him. “Like what? I can't think of a thing now.”

“Page … I love you …” It just sounded like words suddenly.

“Do you, Brad?” she asked from the depths of her sadness. “As far as I can see, I've been kidding myself for a long time …and maybe you have too …maybe it's just as well we found out now.” Although she didn't feel relieved at what she'd discovered, only wounded, hurt to her very soul.

“I'm sorry …” he said softly, and made no move to approach her, which said it all. There was a world between them.

“So am I,” she said, and stood up, looking at him, and then without a word, she walked into her bathroom. She turned on the tub, and closed the door, and once she lay in the bath, the tears ran down her face, as she thought of Brad and Allie. Now she had two people to cry about, she reminded herself. It had sure been a great weekend.

CHAPTER 6

Page spent Sunday night at the hospital, curled up in a chair in the waiting room. But she didn't even notice how uncomfortable the chair was. She scarcely slept, worrying about Allie. The noises of the hospital kept her awake, the smells, and the fear that at any moment her daughter might slip away. It was a relief when, finally, at six the next morning, they let her see her.

A pretty young nurse took Page to the recovery room, and spoke pleasantly to her on the way there, about what a beautiful girl Allie was, and what lovely hair she had had. Page listened with one ear, and found her mind wandering as they walked the endless halls. She was too distracted to really listen. But she was grateful for the nurse's attempts to be comforting. She couldn't imagine how they could even glimpse Allyson's beauty now. She was so battered, there were even bandages on her eyes from the repairs they had had to do there.

Several sets of electric doors opened on the way, and Page tried to force herself back to reality. For a minute, she had been thinking about Brad and all he had told her. But she knew that seeing Allyson would require her full attention. But what she saw when she approached the gurney Allyson was lying on was far from encouraging.

If anything, she looked worse than she had before surgery. The bandage on her head looked frightening, her head had been shaved, her face was deathly pale, and she seemed to be surrounded by monitors and machines. She seemed a million miles away, in her coma.

The operating room nurse had saved a long silky blond lock of hair for Page, and the recovery room nurse handed it to her as soon as she saw her. It brought tears to Page's eyes again, as she clutched the lock of hair in one hand, and gently touched Allyson with the other.

Page stood quietly next to her for a long time, gently touching her hand, and thinking of how life had been only two days before. How was it possible that everything had gone so wrong so quickly? It made you no longer trust anyone or anything, surely not the fates, or destiny. How cruel they had been … as had Brad. … As Page thought of it, she almost couldn't bear the pain of losing Allie. It reminded her of how she had felt years before when Andy was born, and they had thought they might lose him. She had spent hours staring at him, willing him to live, his tiny body filled with tubes, struggling in the incubator. And miraculously, he had made it.

Page sat down next to her, on a small stool, and spoke softly into the bandaged ears, praying that she would hear her. “I won't let you go, sweetheart … I won't … we need you … I love you too much …you have to be a brave girl and fight now …baby, you have to! … I love you, sweetheart … no matter what, you'll always be my baby.” Allie smelled of medical things, and the machines beeped now and then, but there was no sound, no move, no gesture of recognition, as Page knew there couldn't have been, but she needed to talk to her, to feel her near her.

The nurses let her stay with Allyson for a long time, and then finally, when the shift changed at seven o'clock, they suggested she go to the cafeteria and get some coffee. She went to the waiting room instead, and sat there dazed, thinking of Allie as she had been, and as she was now. She didn't even hear anyone come in, until someone touched her arm, and she looked up and saw Trygve. He was clean, and shaven, and he was wearing a crisp white shirt and jeans, his thick blond hair was neat, and he seemed rested and healthy. But as he looked at her, he seemed worried. It was Monday morning, the weekend had taken a brutal toll on her.

“Have you been here all night again?”

She nodded. She looked terrible, even worse than she had the day before. But he understood only too well how desperately she wanted to be with Allie.

“I slept in the waiting room.” She tried to smile at him, but she looked wretched.

“Did you sleep?” he asked, sounding like a stern father.

“A little.” She smiled at him. “Enough. They let me see Allie this morning, in the recovery room.”

“How was she?”

“About the same, I guess. But it was nice just being with her.” At least she was still there with them, at least Page could still reach out and touch her. She couldn't bear the thought of it, and all she wanted now was to be back in the recovery room with her again, telling her how much she loved her. “How's Chloe?”

“Asleep. I just checked on her. They're keeping her pretty blitzed, so she's not aware of the pain, and I think that's probably the best thing for her.”

She nodded at him, as he sat down next to her. “Are the boys okay?”

“More or less. Bjorn was pretty shook up when he saw her. I asked his doctor about it before he came, and he thought it was important for him. He doesn't really understand things sometimes unless he sees them. But it was hard for him. He cried a lot last night, and he had nightmares.”

“Poor kid.” She was sad for him. How difficult life was sometimes. How unfair. It was so hard to understand it.

“How's Andy?”

“Scared. Brad was telling him Allie's going to be fine, and I was less reassuring. I don't think it's fair to mislead him.”

“I agree. But Brad's probably having trouble coping with it himself. Denial is easier sometimes.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” she said, sounding as disenchanted and disillusioned as she felt.

“This is a dumb question,” he said, “but are you okay? I mean …considering what's happening. You look beat.”

“I am. I'll get used to it, I guess …eventually … or something.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“I don't know …last night …yesterday … I made Andy pizza for dinner last night and took a bite …something like that.”

“You can't do that, Page. You have to keep your strength up. Your getting sick isn't going to help anyone. Come on.” He looked down at her sternly as he stood up. “Get up. I'm taking you to breakfast.”

She was touched, but the last thing she wanted just then was food. All she wanted was to curl up in a ball and forget the world, or maybe just die, if Allie did. She felt as though she were already in mourning. She was in mourning for what Allie had been, and might never be again …for what she had had with Brad, and would never have again. She was in mourning for a lot of things. Herself. Her child. Her marriage. And a life that would be different now. Forever.

“Thanks, Trygve. But I don't think I could eat just now.”

“You'll have to try,” he said quietly but firmly. “I'm not leaving here until you come and eat. Otherwise, I'll call the doctor, and they can feed you intravenously, if you like that better. Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling, “get off your ass and come to breakfast.”

“Okay, okay. I'll come,” she said reluctantly, and smiled as she followed him down the hall to the cafeteria, which smelled really awful.

“I'm not sure this is the best idea,” he said apologetically, “but it's all we've got, so this is it.” He handed her a tray and prodded her into taking oatmeal, scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, jelly, and a cup of coffee.

“If you think I'm going to eat all that, you're crazy.”

“If you eat even half of it, you'll be in much better shape. I learned that as a kid when we lived in Norway. You can't starve yourself in cold weather … or stressful times. Sometimes I went for days without wanting to eat when Dana and I split up, but I forced myself. And I always felt better for it.”

“It seems so redundant somehow. Eating in the midst of disaster.”

“Things look worse when you don't eat, or sleep. You're going to have to take care of yourself, Page. Why don't you go home today and sleep for a few hours? Brad can sit here while you go home.”

“I think he probably wants to go to the office. But maybe I'll take a break and pick Andy up at school. This is going to be hard for him. I haven't even thought about who's going to pick him up, drop him off, take him to baseball.”

“I can do some of it for you. Nick'll be back in college after vacation ends in a few days, Bjorn's in school all day, and Chloe'U be okay here. Whenever you get stuck, just let me know, and I'll take Andy wherever he needs to go.” He smiled at her, he had always liked her.

“That's really nice of you.”

“It's no big deal. I've got the time. I do most of my work at night anyway. I can never get any writing done in the daytime.”

They chatted for a little while, while she fought with the oatmeal and wrestled with the eggs, and finally managed to eat a little breakfast. He did everything he could to distract her, talking about his writing, his Norwegian relatives, and asking her about her painting. He told her how much he liked the mural at school, and she thanked him. She really appreciated his support, and the fact that he was there made the hospital seem a little less daunting. But her mind kept wandering back to Allyson and Brad, and Trygve knew she was having a hard time paying attention.

He explained that he had to take Bjorn for an evaluation for a new school that day, and she promised to look in on Chloe, which she did, but Chloe spent most of the day sleeping. She stirred uncomfortably every time the shots wore off, and the nurse would give her another shot of Demerol to keep her comfortable. She never even realized Page was in the room as she stood and watched her.

They moved Allie to intensive care at noon, and it was easier to keep track of both girls then. Brad stopped by at lunch, and he cried when he saw Allyson. He stopped and talked to Page when they left the room. He felt awkward seeing her again, now that she knew everything. And he could see how hard it had hit her.

“I'm sorry, Page. I'm sorry you have to deal with me on top of everything else.” He looked grim, and Page didn't look much better.

“I guess I had to face it sooner or later, didn't I?” she asked bleakly. But this certainly wasn't great timing.

“It's just too bad it happened the way it did. It's bad enough worrying about Allie.” It was, but after being caught in a lie about his whereabouts, it was inevitable that the whole story had come out, and she had decided that maybe it was best she knew, instead of deluding herself about her marriage. That was one of the worst things about it, knowing that she had thought everything was fine, when in fact it wasn't. She wondered if he had told Stephanie that he told Page everything, or enough at least, and if she was pleased that Page knew now. Page wondered about a lot of things, about them, about her, and about why their marriage hadn't been enough for him. But she also knew that she would probably never know the answers to her questions.

“I wish I knew why it happened,” Page said softly, as they stood in the hallway, with people eddying around them. It was hardly the place for an intimate discussion, but it was all they had. The waiting room was filled with anxious, frightened people, worrying about loved ones in the ICU. The hallway seemed to have more air, and it was as good a place to talk as any. Maybe the reasons for their marriage falling apart didn't even matter, just that it had happened. She looked up at him then with an odd expression. “Did it strike you both funny that I was the fool in all this, that you two were off having a good time, and I was the idiot staying home with the kids, driving car pools?” He had talked about how different Stephanie was from her, how she was so “independent,” and “her own person.” Why wouldn't she be? She had no kids, no husband, she didn't owe anything to anyone. She was free to have fun with Brad, while Page stayed at home carrying out her obligations. The thought of it really made her livid.

“Nobody ever tried to make a fool of you, Page,” he said in an undervoice as a group of residents walked by them. “I was perfectly aware of how awkward the situation was. I just didn't know what to do about it. But no one ever thought you were the fool in this. If anything, you were the innocent victim.”

“At least we agree on that much,” she said sadly.

“The big question is what we do now.” He looked nervous as he said it.

“Is it? It's beginning to look pretty obvious.” She tried to sound flip, but her eyes told a whole other story, a story of shock and despair and disappointment.

“Nothing is obvious. Not to me, at least.” And then he looked suddenly worried. “Are you leaving me?” He almost sounded surprised at the idea, and she smiled a small bitter smile as she looked at him. He was amazing.

“Are you kidding? Are you implying that you'd be surprised, or that I shouldn't, or that you're not planning to leave me anyway?”

“I never said that I was leaving,” he said stubbornly. “I said no such thing. I said I didn't know what I was doing.”

“That's an understatement apparently. Well, neither do I. But I certainly think leaving is a fairly appropriate option for either of us, given the situation. And just exactly why are you hesitating? What are you saying here? That you want to go on being married to me, or that you're not sure of this girl, or you're just too damn scared to make a move? What is it, Brad?” She was starting to raise her voice, and he was looking extremely uncomfortable in the hallway.

“Lower your voice. The whole hospital doesn't have to know our business.”

“Why not? I assume everyone else does. Everyone at work must, they must all think you're pretty hot stuff, and you've probably run into at least some of the people we know while you were with her. I guess, as they say about these things, I was the last one to know.”

“I wish you had never known … or at least not the way it happened …”

“It could have happened anytime. Someone could have said something. Andy could have gotten hurt instead of Allie, when you were supposedly 'away,' or I could have gotten sick. Or I guess I could have just run into the two of you. But what exactly are you saying to me now? That this is just an affair? Last night you gave me the impression it was serious, and you had no desire to end it. Did I hear you wrong, am I crazy?”

She wanted to believe that she had misheard him, but another part of her suddenly knew that she would never feel the same about him again. The anger might go away one day, but she could never imagine trusting him again. And maybe after all was said and done, maybe by then, she wouldn't even love him. It was hard to know now, and all she could do was wonder about his intentions.

“You're not wrong,” he said, looking annoyed again. “I didn't say I would end it. But I think it's too soon for you to make a decision about us, and this is an impossible time, with all of this happening to Allie.”

“Oh, I see.” She began to steam again, but this time, she kept her voice down. “You don't want to stop seeing your little friend, but you just don't want me asking you to move out, or move out yourself, because this isn't a convenient time. I'm sorry, I hadn't understood that. No problem, Brad. Stay as long as you like. Just be sure you remember to invite me to the wedding.” There were tears stinging her eyes, and angry words on her lips, but they both knew they were not going to resolve the situation in the hallway outside ICU, where their daughter lay in a coma. There was too much going on, and this was far too explosive a situation.