Читать книгу Out of Character - Diana Miller - Страница 10

Jillian sprinted across the snow, her heart jackhammering her chest. She was only a few feet from her car when a hand grabbed her.

A man pulled her back. “Stay away. It might explode.”

“Kristen.” She fought him. “Kristen’s inside.”

The man’s grip tightened, and he dragged her up the driveway. “You have to stay back. It’s not safe.”

“Let me go.” She yanked her arm, over and over, her eyes riveted to the flaming car. “My friend’s in there. It’s my car.”

The smoke, the smell, was suffocating her. She had to get Kristen out, had to make the man restraining her understand. “Kristen’s burning,” she screamed, pounding him with one fist as she tried to free her other arm from his grip. “Don’t you understand? I have to save her. She’s burning.”

The man held tight, letting her hit him. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“I’m a doctor.” Her voice broke, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing anyone can do.” The man released her.

He was right. It was too late. Jillian slumped forward, hugging herself, trying to press away the excruciating pain in her stomach and chest. “Not Kristen. It can’t be Kristen.” Icy tears frosted her cheeks. She heard voices, but couldn’t process words or even syllables.

“Come to our place. You must be freezing.” A woman draped her arm around Jillian’s shoulders and led her, still doubled over, across the snowy sidewalk to the townhouse next door.

A siren blared in the distance, getting louder. Like at work, except this time no adrenaline flowed. This time she already knew it was hopeless. “Not Kristen.” Her chest felt as if a broken jar had wedged inside, slicing her heart. “Why Kristen?”

“I’m so sorry.” The woman steered Jillian into the townhouse and onto a sofa. “I’ll get you something to drink. Tea or brandy?”

Jillian couldn’t answer. She couldn’t even sit upright, had to lean forward to keep from passing out from the pain. More sirens, engines revved, and people yelled. She squeezed her eyes shut and clasped her hands over her ears, trying to block out the sights and sounds. Trying to make the horror go away.

It wouldn’t. She still heard the muffled sounds. She still pictured it against her closed lids, the car, the flames. She still smelled it, on her clothes, in the air. Imprinted forever on her brain.

Kristen burning.

* * * *

A policeman drove Jillian to the Keystone Police Station. She sipped overheated coffee from a Styrofoam cup and answered his questions, trying to pretend she was in the ER talking about some victim she’d never seen before the paramedics had brought her in. She waited in the office until the policeman returned with her typed statement. He asked her to review it, but she couldn’t make out the words, so she simply stared at it for a while then signed her name.

Kristen’s ex-husband Jason was driving there to talk to the police and could give her a ride back to Denver. So Jillian trudged to the reception area and sank onto a ripped vinyl sofa to wait for him. She closed her eyes, lay down, and tried not to think.

* * * *

“Jillian?”

She couldn’t open her eyes, wasn’t even sure the man’s voice was real. Sirens, smoke, and flames had seemed as real as this voice, but she knew weren’t.

“Jillian.” A hand gently shook her shoulder.

She forced her eyelids open. She felt as if she were looking through the wrong end of a pair of binoculars, Andrew Dawson’s concerned green eyes tiny flecks in an abnormally small face. His chin was covered with stubble, and his dark brown hair was disheveled, but he still looked good.

And she was so glad to see him. She sat up. “Andy.”

“Oh, Jillian.” Andy sat beside her and held out his arms. She went into them easily, as if it had been yesterday rather than six months ago since he’d last held her. “How are you?”

“Horrible.” she murmured. “My car exploded.”

“I know.”

“I tried to get to her, but I couldn’t. A man stopped me. He said it was too late. Even when I told him I was a doctor, he said it was too late.”

They sat there, silently holding each other, until Jillian asked, “Why are you here?”

“I drove Jason,” Andy said. “He wanted to talk to the police, and I didn’t want him to come alone. Do they know how it happened?”

“They think it was some bizarre accident, maybe a rock punctured the gas tank and something sparked, triggering an explosion.” Jillian moved out of Andy’s arms. “I was supposed to go with her. At the last minute, I decided not to, that I was too tired. She wanted to take a cab, but I made her take the car.” Her eyes teared. “Why didn’t I let her take a cab?”

Andy clamped his hands on her shoulders. “Because you knew she’d rather take your car. If she hadn’t, this probably would have happened when you both were in the car. You can’t blame yourself, Jillian. Kristen would be furious if she knew you did.”

“I know.” Deep sobs wracked Jillian’s body. She’d never see Kristen again, never talk to her again, never argue with her again. Kristen was dead.

Andy held her, rocking her, crying with her.

Jillian lifted her head. “I’m sorry for falling apart like that.”

“Don’t be. Here.” He offered her a Kleenex.

She took it and wiped her wet cheeks and eyes, blew her nose. “I’ve seen so many violent deaths and injuries in the ER, but it’s never happened to a friend. I’ll never look at another burn victim without remembering. The smell—”

“Try not to think about it,” Andy said. “How’s your shoulder?”

She’d forgotten all about it. “It’s fine. Heck of a vacation I’ve had, isn’t it? If I were paranoid, I’d think someone is out to get me, that they put a bomb in my car when they missed killing me on the chairlift.”

“You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

She had no idea why she’d said something so outrageous. She attempted a smile. “You think I have a secret life?”

“No, but something might have happened in the ER—”

“Nothing did. I’m just having a string of really bad luck. I’m definitely staying away from ladders and black cats for a while.” She took a couple deep breaths. “How did you know I was shot? The paper didn’t give my name.”

“Kristen told me.”

“When?”

“I talked to her the day after it happened.” Andy looked sheepish. “She promised to try to convince you to agree to see me again.”

A phone rang twice, the floor creaked under someone’s shoes, voices murmured, a door slammed. Normal sounds. Except nothing was normal. Her eyes filled again. “I can’t believe she’s dead.”

“I know. Neither can I.” Andy wiped a tear from her cheekbone and held Jillian close again. His heart pounded under his cashmere sweater, the one she’d given him a Christmas ago.

“I’m going to miss her so much,” she whispered.

“Me, too.” Andy’s arms tightened. “Me, too.”

* * * *

At nearly four in the morning, they pulled up in front of the Denver apartment Jason had rented when he and Kristen split up two years earlier. Jillian and Andy muttered a few sympathetic platitudes. Jason got out of the car and plodded to the front door.

“Stay at my place tonight.” Andy watched her, his hands on the steering wheel of the idling Lexis.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“In the spare bedroom,” he added. “Kristen told you that I wanted to talk to you.”

Jillian nodded. She didn’t want to discuss this now. Seeing Andy tonight was raising conflicting emotions she was in no state to sort out.

“I do want to, but not tonight. I thought you might not want to be alone in your apartment. I sure as hell don’t.” He took one of her hands. “You can trust me, Jillian.”

She studied him for long seconds. The last man who’d told her that had been lying. But Andy had never lied to her. When he’d wanted out of their relationship, he’d told her, before he’d started up with Tiffany. Andy wasn’t Mark.

Jillian squeezed his hand. “I know, and you’re right. I don’t want to be alone tonight, either.”

Andy’s condo looked the same as the last time she’d been there: all tasteful wool, leather, and wood except for the wagon wheel coffee table he’d had since college and refused to relinquish; neat except for a pile of magazines and newspapers on the floor beside the sofa and a half-full coffee mug on the end table. She followed him into the spare bedroom where he set down her suitcase. The Keystone police had considerately collected her things from the townhouse.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked.

She shook her head. “What time do you have to leave in the morning?”

“By nine. If I’m gone, make yourself at home.”

She touched his arm. “I’m glad I didn’t go home tonight.”

“So am I,” he said. “Get some sleep.”

* * * *

Jillian didn’t sleep, not really. One of the sleeping pills she’d gotten after she’d been shot knocked her out for a couple hours, but then she woke up and thought about Kristen. All those memories everyone claims will eventually be comforting, but at the moment hurt like hell.

At eight, she gave up. She dressed then applied blush and lipstick in an attempt to make her pale face look less skeletal. It only accentuated her dark circles, making her look like a skeleton with a couple fading black eyes.

Andy sat at the kitchen table, typing on his laptop. “How did you sleep?”

“Lousy. How about you?” Jillian pulled a mug from the cupboard above the coffeepot and filled it.

“The same. I have a meeting, but I should be done by noon. I can take the afternoon off.”

Jillian returned the pot to the warmer and sat at the table beside Andy. “Don’t worry about me. I want to go see Kristen’s parents then I need some time alone.” She sipped hot, strong coffee.

“The funeral’s tomorrow. At ten at First Lutheran. Jason called.”

“That’s fast.”

“I think her family wants to get it over with. It will be several days before the authorities release her remains, so…”

Jillian cradled her mug between her palms. “I can’t believe we’re talking about Kristen.”

“Do you want to stay here again tonight?” Andy asked.

“Thanks, but I need to go home. I have to find something to wear to the funeral.” She closed her eyes against a stab of pain.

“At least let me take you to it.”

She took a couple steadying breaths before reopening her eyes. “I’d appreciate that.”

“I’ve got to go.” Andy closed his laptop and stuck it into his briefcase. “I’ll come back and give you a ride home.”

“I’ll take a cab. Then I should rent a car.”

Andy stood and slipped on the suit coat he’d draped over a chair. She’d forgotten how terrific he looked in a suit, how terrific he looked no matter what he wore. Had made herself forget.

“Call me if you change your mind about staying here or feel like going to dinner,” he said. “Or need to talk.”

She’d also made herself forget what a truly nice guy he was. “Thanks. For everything.”

Andy’s eyes darkened. “She meant a lot to me, too.”

Jillian nodded.

“And so do you.” He grabbed his briefcase. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at nine-fifteen.”

* * * *

Jillian wiped her eyes with a crumpled Kleenex one more time as she stood in the pew.

Exiting to an intricate organ arrangement of How Great Thou Art, people filed down the aisle of the enormous Gothic church.

“Kristen would have loved this,” she said. “All these people, I mean.”

Andy raised an eyebrow. “That so many people liked her, or that so many lawyers had to change their plans on a moment’s notice and give up all those billable hours to be here?”

“Both. I never realized how many friends she had.” She released Andy’s hand, which she’d gripped through most of the service.

He shrugged his dark-suited shoulders. “She made friends everywhere, even with attorneys who opposed her. She was that kind of person.”

“Thanks for coming with me. This was even harder than I anticipated.” Despite Jillian’s resolve, her voice shook.

The organist switched to Beautiful Savior. Andy wrapped an arm around Jillian’s shoulders and directed her into the aisle. “You’re doing great. Jason looks like shit, doesn’t he?”

Jason had sat with Kristen’s family, at their request. He always seemed so lively and energetic, but today he looked like a blond zombie, his fair skin nearly albino.

“Kristen refused to talk about why they divorced, other than to say they had reconcilable differences,” Jillian said. “I figured that meant she thought they’d eventually get back together.”

“Jason said the same thing. I can’t imagine having someone I loved die so suddenly. I bet it takes a long time to get over it, if you ever do.”

Jillian’s eyes were on the rose window high above the church’s balcony, but she saw something else. Mark’s face when he’d mentioned his wife. “Maybe that’s why.” Maybe his wife really had died and that had something to do with why he’d run off.

“Why what?”

She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud. Of course, it didn’t matter why Mark had left, except for her ego. He’d been relegated to a minor facet of a vacation she desperately wished she’d never taken.

“Sorry, my mind was wandering. Let’s go find Kristen’s family.”