Читать книгу The Beekeeper's Daughter - Janice Carter - Страница 6

WILL CLOSED the door gently behind him. His apartment was dark and stuffy with the closed-up smell of an attic in an old house. He set his duffel bag down and headed straight for the kitchen. If he was lucky, there might be a beer in the fridge.

There was, along with a quart of sour milk and an opened packet of salami that looked like something off a tannery floor. Will took out the beer, popped the tab and shut the fridge. No rush to clean it out. He had all the time in the world. The icy beer sent a jab of pain to the center of his forehead and Will clutched the back of a kitchen chair, overcome by vertigo. He closed his eyes, waiting for the room to settle down before sitting in the chair. Will breathed deeply, forcing air into his lungs. The pounding against his rib cage eased and he loosened his grip on the beer can. The moment had passed. When he finished the beer, he tossed the can into the recycling bin in the far corner and went into the living room.

Not much to get rid of in here. One armchair, one floor lamp, a small television perched awkwardly on a wooden folding table and a portable CD player with a stack of CDs on the floor next to it. He walked over to the window and raised the Venetian blinds, filling the small room with dust—and the first glimmer of daylight since the morning of the accident. Will sneezed.

He took a moment to stare down at the street, shrouded in the same pall of mist that had hung over Newark for the past few days. It was the end of April, though you’d never know it. Will checked his watch, thinking it must be later than the day looked, but it was only three o’clock. Too early for dinner—not that there was anything edible in the place—and probably too early for another drink, though he was tempted.

He withdrew from the window. He’d checked out of the hospital just that morning and had taken a taxi right to Headquarters downtown, where he’d made his resignation from the Newark Fire Department official. The rest of the day was his. And the next and the one after that. At least, until his savings disappeared, which wouldn’t be too long.

He paused in the middle of the room, considering his next move. Funny how unexpected free time was so wonderful when your days were full. Now time had suddenly become a kind of monster—something to be reckoned with, demanding to be filled.

Will’s mouth twisted. It was perverse really. People—doctors, the few friends he could still count on—had warned him about the importance of filling each day. Otherwise the temptation to sit idly inside his apartment would be overwhelming. He would find more and more excuses not to leave. And in spite of his resistance against taking advice, Will knew they were right.

Hence the decision he’d made in the middle of the night, days before he was discharged from the hospital. Forget taking a leave of absence. Forget the physiotherapy and the recommended counseling sessions. He’d known almost as soon as he’d regained consciousness hours after the paramedics whisked him to Emergency that his life would never be the same again.

Frank and Gino were dead and he was alive. Nothing he could ever do would change that cold hard fact. No matter what he did or how hard he tried to convince the rest of his squad that he was every bit the firefighter he’d once been, Will’s gut told him otherwise. Regardless of how many people told him he wasn’t responsible in any way for either death, Will knew there must have been something more he could have done.

He sucked in a deep breath. Not a good idea to relapse your first day out of the hospital, buddy. Stick to the plan. Keep moving. He grabbed the key to his Harley and headed for the door.