Читать книгу One Last Scream - Kevin O'Brien - Страница 12

Salem, Oregon—1996

Twenty-six-year-old Lauren Tully felt like the walking dead. The pretty, slightly plump brunette worked as a paralegal, and she’d just helped her boss finish up the Bensinger complaint. They’d toiled over the case all week, right up until 9:15 tonight. Her boss would file it in the morning, and said she could take the day off, thank God.

Now that she was outside, Lauren realized what a gorgeous day she’d missed, buried in her cubicle. It was one of those warm, balmy late-June nights. She hadn’t had dinner yet, so she’d swung by Guji’s Deli Stop on her way home. The four-aisle store was in a minimall, along with a hair salon, a Radio Shack, some teriyaki joint, and a real estate office, all of which were closed at this hour. Guji’s was the only lit storefront. They closed at ten. There weren’t many customers, and the parking lot was practically empty. Lauren picked up a frozen pizza, some wine, and—what the hell, she deserved it—a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. She was coming out of the store when she noticed something a bit strange.

“Damn it!” the man yelled. “I’m sorry, honey. Daddy didn’t mean to swear.”

His minivan was parked over by the Dumpsters, near the bushes bordering one side of the lot. A big tree blocked out the streetlight, so Lauren hadn’t noticed him and a child moving in and out of the shadows until now. The minivan’s inside light was on, and the back door was open.

“No, no, no,” the man was saying. “Don’t try to lift that, honey. It’s too heavy. Maybe someone in the store can help us.”

Lauren opened her passenger door, and set the grocery bag on the seat. She glanced toward the minivan again. She could see the man now. He was on crutches. He and his little girl were trying to load groceries into the vehicle. One of the bags was tipped over, and two more stood upright. The man turned in her direction. “Excuse me!” he called softly. “Do you have a minute? I hate to bother you…”

Lauren didn’t move for a moment. Something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Still, her heart broke as she watched the little girl struggling with one of the bags. She was about ten years old, and very pretty.

Lauren stepped toward them. “Do you folks need some help?”

“Oh, yes, thank you,” the man said. “You’re very kind.”

“It’s okay!” the little girl said—loudly. “I got it!” She loaded one bag into the backseat, and then quickly grabbed another. “It’s not heavy at all! Thank you anyway!”

This close, she could see the man on crutches shoot a look at the young girl. He had such a hateful, murderous stare, it made Lauren stop in her tracks. Nothing in his malignant glare matched that soft, gentle voice coming out of the shadows just moments before.

But the child ignored him and loaded up the second grocery bag. She glanced at Lauren. “Thank you anyway!” she repeated. “You can go back to your car! Good-bye!”

The man turned to Lauren and tried to laugh, but she could tell it almost hurt him to smile. “Well, thanks for stopping,” he said with an awkward wave. “It looks like my daughter has the situation under control. Good night.”

Lauren just nodded, then retreated toward her car.

On the way home, she wondered why they’d parked on the other side of the lot from Guji’s Deli when there were plenty of spaces right in front of the store. Why walk all that way when he didn’t have to? And the man was on crutches, too, though she didn’t remember seeing a cast on his leg.

If Lauren Tully had turned her car around and driven back to Guji’s Deli ten minutes later, she would have found that man on crutches and his little girl in the exact same spot. She would have seen the three grocery bags once again waiting to be loaded into the minivan.

If she had turned her car around, Lauren might have been able to warn 21-year-old Wendy Keefe that it was all a ploy.

The blond liberal arts major at Willamette University had ridden her bicycle to Guji’s for a pack of cigarettes. Never mind that her boyfriend made fun of her for being both a smoker and a bicycle enthusiast. She was emerging from the store with her bike helmet under her arm when she spotted the minivan, along with the man on crutches and his daughter. The little girl was crying. Wendy hadn’t been there ten minutes earlier, when the man had slapped the child across her face. And he’d slapped her hard. It was too dark for Wendy to see the red welt on the young girl’s cheek.

“Excuse me!” the man called. He had a very gentle tone in his voice. “We’re in kind of a bind here. I’m afraid we over-shopped. These bags are too heavy for my daughter….”

Tucking the Salems in the pocket of her windbreaker, Wendy approached the minivan. The little girl had been struggling with one of three bags. But now she stopped to stare at Wendy. The child kept shaking her head over and over. Tears slid down her cheeks. She seemed to be mouthing something to her.

“Yes, it looks like you could use an extra hand,” Wendy said.

Propped up on his crutches, the father smiled. “I really appreciate this. If you could just slide those bags into the backseat, we can take it from there.”

“No problem.” Wendy hoisted one of the bags into the back. The young girl stood by the open door. She whispered something, and Wendy turned to her. “What did you say, honey?”

“Run,” the child whispered.

Bewildered, Wendy stopped to stare at her.

The father cleared his throat. “If you could get in there and slide the bag to the driver’s side. Just climb right in there.”

Wendy hesitated.

“Run,” the young girl repeated under her breath.

For a second, Wendy was paralyzed. She squinted at the child, who began to back away from her. Wendy wasn’t looking at the man.

She didn’t see him coming toward her with one of his crutches in the air.

“Run!” the child screamed at her. “No!”

It was the last thing Wendy heard before the crutch cracked against her skull.

The nine-year-old sat alone in the front passenger seat of the minivan. Her face was swollen and throbbing. He’d parked the vehicle on an old dirt road by some railroad tracks. In all the times she’d sat alone in this minivan, parked in this spot, she’d never seen a train go by. And she’d spent many hours here.

Clouds swept across the dark horizon on this warm June night. She could only see the outlines of the tops of the trees ahead of her. The rest was just blackness. She couldn’t tell where he’d taken the bicycle lady. The screams seemed far away, maybe somewhere beyond the trees.

She’d had to endure his wrath all the way there, while the woman lay unconscious and bleeding in the back. Usually, he knocked them out with one quick, bloodless blow while they were inside the minivan. But she’d screwed everything up with that nice chubby lady, and he’d heard her trying to warn the bike woman. He kept saying it was her fault he had to hit the woman with his crutch. She’d bled on him while he’d loaded her into the back.

He repeatedly reached over from the driver’s side and swatted her on the back of the head. “Think you’re really smart trying to trip me up,” he growled. “That slap earlier was nothing. I haven’t even started with you, yet. Would you look at the blood back there? Shit, I think she’s hemorrhaging. I wouldn’t be surprised if she dies before we even get to the woods. If you’d done what you were supposed to, I might have had time to load her bike in the car. You might have gotten a new bicycle tonight. But, no, too bad for you.”

The young woman was still alive. He’d revived her while dragging her toward the darkened woods. Her screams had started out strong, but now they seemed to be weakening.

It wouldn’t be much longer.

The nine-year-old dreaded going home. She wished she were older, and knew how this minivan worked. Then she’d just start up the engine, drive away, and never come back. But she had to stay—and endure his punishment later.

She stared out at the blackness beyond the windshield and listened to the screams fading. She thought about how it didn’t pay trying to help some people.

That stupid woman had gotten her into a lot of trouble.

Seattle—eleven years later

She pulled over to the side of the tree-lined street and watched Karen Carlisle’s Jetta turn into the driveway. Karen may have spotted her in the hallway at the convalescent center, but obviously didn’t realize she’d been followed home. In fact, Frank Carlisle’s shrink daughter seemed to have no idea that for almost three weeks now, her comings and goings had been carefully monitored.

She knew Karen’s routines: when she ate and slept and walked the dog, and what she wore to bed. She’d figured out the housekeeper’s schedule, too. She knew when Karen was usually alone and when she was at her most vulnerable. She even knew where they hid the spare house key for emergencies (under a decorative stone in a garden by the back door).

Of course, Karen would wonder about seeing her in the hallway at the rest home today. She might even ask about it. Karen would get the usual wide-eyed, innocent denial, and a very sincere, “I was never there. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Actually, today was her fifth visit to that nursing home, observing Karen at work with the patients—and with her dad. The last time, a few days ago, she’d ducked into a room across the hall and spied on Karen saying good-bye to her senile father as he lay in bed. Only moments after Karen had left, she’d snuck into the old man’s room. She couldn’t resist. He was clueless, totally out of it. His mouth open, he stared at her and blinked.

Just for fun, she’d bent over and kissed his wrinkly forehead—the same way Karen always did. “I’m going to kill your daughter,” she’d whispered to him.

Switching off the ignition, she leaned back in the driver’s seat. She watched Karen climb out of her car and head toward the house. Despite some neglect, the white stucco held its own among the stately old mansions on the block. As Karen walked up the stairs to the front porch, there was some barking from inside the house. Jessie, the housekeeper, opened the door and let the dog out. His tail wagging, the black cocker spaniel raced up to Karen and poked her leg with his snout. She patted him on the head and scratched him behind the ears. Then he scurried down the steps to take a leak at the trunk of a big elm tree in the front yard.

Jessie stepped outside and said something to Karen. She was a stout, sturdy, grandmotherly woman in her late sixties with cat’s-eye glasses and bright red hair that was probably a wig. Jessie didn’t usually work on Saturdays. She must have been making up for the fact that she’d only put in a half day on Wednesday.

Watching from inside the car, she rolled down her window.

Jessie was shaking her head at Karen. “Nope, nobody here but us chickens,” she heard Jessie say. “I haven’t seen hide nor hair of Amelia, and I’ve been here about twenty minutes.”

Karen paused at the front door, muttered something, and then turned to glance over her shoulder. “C’mon, Rufus, let’s get in the house.” The dog obediently trotted to her.

“How’s your dad doing?” Jessie asked.

“Not so hot,” Karen said, leading the cocker spaniel inside the house. Then it sounded like she said, “Today wasn’t a good day.”

Sitting behind the wheel and staring beyond the dirty windshield, she smiled. “Poor thing,” she whispered. “Think today was a bad day? Just wait, Karen. Just wait.”

In the foyer, Karen took off her coat while Jessie and Rufus headed past the front stairs to the kitchen. The house’s first floor still had the original wainscoting woodwork. A few well-scattered, old, worn Oriental rugs covered most of the hardwood floor.

Karen draped her coat and purse over the banister post at the bottom of the stairs, and then followed them into the kitchen. She opened a cookie jar on the counter, and tossed a dog biscuit at Rufus, who caught it in the air with his mouth. Over by the sink, Jessie was polishing a pair of silver candelabras that had belonged to Karen’s parents.

Karen sat down at the breakfast table, which had a glass top and a yellow-painted wrought-iron frame and legs. It really belonged on a patio, but had been in the kitchen for decades. The matching wrought-iron chairs had always been uncomfortable, even with seat cushions. Her dad had bought all new white appliances about six years ago, and it brightened up the kitchen. But the ugly old table with the chairs-from-hell remained.

Rufus came over and put his head in her lap. He was nine years old, and had been her dad’s main companion most of that time. They’d taken care of each other. At least once a week, she loaded Rufus into the car and drove him to the rest home to see his old buddy. Then she’d walk or wheel her dad outside, and Rufus would go nuts, pawing and poking at her father’s leg, licking his hand. The visits with Rufus always cheered up her dad.

She thought about how much freedom her father would lose if they changed his routine and his medication. She replayed in her mind kissing him good-bye about twenty-five minutes ago. It was strange, seeing that young woman who looked so much like Amelia in the hallway, outside her father’s door.

“I can’t believe Amelia isn’t here,” Karen muttered. “She was so anxious to see me. I told her to wait.”

“Did she say what it was about?” Jessie asked, toiling away on the candelabra.

“Something horrible happened. That’s all I know. And that’s all I can say without breaking patient-therapist confidentiality.”

“Oh, yeah, like I have a direct line to Tom Brokaw. Who am I going to tell?” Jessie grinned at her. “You worry about her more than all your other patients. That Amelia is a sweet girl. The way she counts on you—and looks up to you. Three guesses who she reminds me of.”

Karen just nodded. Amelia and Haley were alike in so many other ways, too: the drinking problems, the low self-esteem, and a penchant for blaming themselves for just about everything.

She remembered a discussion she’d once had with Haley, in which the fifteen-year-old blamed herself for her parents’ breakup. “Hey, honey,” Karen had told her, with a nudge. “If anyone’s getting blamed for your parents’ breakup, it’s me.”

That wasn’t quite true. When Karen had first met Haley’s father four years ago, he’d already separated from his wife. Karen had come to loathe her go-nowhere counseling job at Group Health. Her dad had just started to show early warning signs of something wrong with little episodes of depression and forgetfulness. Karen had recently fired his housekeeper, who had been robbing him blind for months. She’d moved back home temporarily to look after him and take him to his barrage of doctor appointments. As for Karen’s love life, it was nonexistent.

It seemed like the only time she had for herself was the hour between returning home from work and cooking dinner for her dad. He was always glued to the TV and Law and Order, so she’d change into her sweats, jog to Volunteer Park, then run laps around the reservoir. That section of the park had a sweeping view of downtown Seattle, the Space Needle, and the Olympic Mountains. At sunset, it was gorgeous, and she could almost convince herself that she wasn’t so bad off. There were always a few handsome men doing laps, too. Most of them were probably gay, but she still got an occasional, flirtatious smile from a fellow jogger. Hell, something like that could make her night.

And sometimes it could make her stumble and skin her knee. The jogger whose smile had caught her eye and tangled her feet on that warm September evening was about forty years old. He had brown hair that was receding badly, but the rest of him was awfully nice: dark eyes, a swarthy complexion, sexy smile, and a toned, sinewy body.

As soon as she hit the asphalt, Karen felt the searing pain in her knee. She also felt utterly humiliated. The handsome jogger swiveled around and ran to her aid. He kept saying he was sorry he’d distracted her. It was all his fault.

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” Karen babbled. “I’m fine. I—it really doesn’t hurt.”

The hell it didn’t. But something left over from her tomboy period was putting up a brave, tearless front.

“Jesus, that’s gotta smart,” he said. “Look, you’ve got pebbles embedded in there—”

“Really, it’s nothing.” But then she took a look at all the blood, and suddenly felt a little woozy.

“I have a first-aid kit in my car,” she heard him say. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

When he returned, he helped her to a park bench, sat her down, and went to work on her knee. The blood had trickled down to her ankle. He squatted in front of her and meticulously cleaned it up. He also recommended she put some ice on her knee once she got home. Karen tried not to wince while he picked out a few pebbles and applied the Neosporin.

“So, are you a doctor?” she asked, once she got past the pain. “You’re really good at this.”

“No, I’m an attorney. But I have a thirteen-year-old daughter who thinks she can outrun, out-throw, and out-dare any boy in her class. So I’ve tended to a lot of scrapes and cuts.”

Karen looked for a wedding ring on his hand. There wasn’t one.

“Her mother and I have been separated for seven months,” he said, apparently reading her mind. But he seemed focused on her knee as he put a large Band-Aid over the wound. “You know, I should take another look at this knee in a couple of nights and see how it’s healing. Are you free Saturday night?”

Karen hesitated. His slick yet corny approach took her totally by surprise.

He looked up at her and grinned.

Yes, she thought, a very sexy smile.

His name was Kurt Lombard. They had a great first date: dinner at the Pink Door, and a heavy make-out session afterward. Then he didn’t call. After eight days, she finally phoned him. She was so relieved and grateful when he asked her out again that she ignored all the signs. Looking back on it, she could see Kurt had immediately established a pattern in their relationship. She’d fallen hard for a ruggedly handsome commitment-phobic charmer. Every time he showed he cared about her, it was intermittent reinforcement. He was like a bad slot machine that paid off just often enough to keep her hooked.

Karen had dated him off and on for three months before working up the nerve to ask how he felt about her. And was he ever planning to divorce his wife? Kurt couldn’t even commit to un-commit.

When she had patients in unbalanced relationships like this, Karen always advised them to stand up for themselves or get the hell out. But she stuck with Kurt. Eventually, he did divorce his wife, and Karen was relieved he didn’t take his new freedom to the limit by dumping her, too. More positive intermittent reinforcement came when he wanted her to meet his daughter, Haley. By then she was fourteen, and out of her tomboy phase. She’d already been arrested once, and rushed to the hospital twice for alcohol poisoning. On their first meeting—dinner at the 5-Spot Café—Kurt had dropped them off in front of the restaurant, and then went to park the car. Standing on the curb in front of the café, Karen found herself alone for the first time with Haley. The oversized army fatigue jacket limply hung on the girl’s slouched, emaciated frame. She had a blue streak in her stringy brown hair. And she might have been pretty if not for her perpetual sneer. “So—you’re the girlfriend,” Haley said.

Playing along, Karen grinned. “And you’re the daughter.”

“Y’know, my mother’s a lot prettier than you,” Haley said.

“Yeah? Well, my mother can beat up your mother.” Karen shot back.

Staring at her for a moment, Haley twirled a strand of hair around her finger. Finally, she burst out laughing.

Karen realized she had no problem standing up to the daughter—just the dad. She and Haley weren’t exactly bosom buddies, but they got along all right. By the time Haley was fifteen, Karen and Kurt were living together in a two-bedroom house in Seattle’s Queen Anne district.

Karen’s dad was doing better, thanks partly to his new medication, but even more to his new housekeeper, Jessie. She doted on him, but kept him in line, too.

Kurt was a hit with Karen’s dad—and with her siblings, Frank and Sheila, when they came to Seattle on vacation with their families. Her friends liked him, too. But when Karen asked Jessie what she thought of Kurt, the housekeeper just smiled cryptically and said, “He’s very charming.”

“That’s it?” Karen asked.

“He’s very charming,” Jessie repeated. “But he should pay more attention to the women in his life, namely you and his daughter, the poor thing.”

Three weeks after Jessie had made that comment, a terrified Haley confided in Karen that she thought she had syphilis or gonorrhea. Karen made an appointment for her at Group Health, and went with her to the doctor’s office. It turned out Haley had a mild yeast infection.

“I won’t say anything to your folks about this,” Karen told her as they left the office together. “And I’m not going to tell you how stupid it is for someone your age to be having sex—”

“Oops, I think you just did,” Haley interjected.

Karen nodded. “Yeah, well, at least be smart enough to take some precautions, okay?”

“Thanks, Karen.”

The following weekend, Haley bought her a coffee mug. It had a cartoon of a Garfield-like smiling cat with sunglasses, and said “KAREN is a Cool Cat!” She and Haley had a good laugh over how tacky it was. At first, Karen only used the mug for her morning coffee as a joke when Haley was staying with them. But then she began using it every morning.

Karen became Haley’s confidante and surrogate big sister. Haley started to shape up, too, joining a support group to help kick her drinking problem. She was growing into a lovely young woman. But some things she confided in Karen weren’t easy to hear: “My mother feels really threatened by you.”

“Well, let her know as far as you’re concerned she can’t be replaced. And if that doesn’t work, remind her that she’s a lot prettier than I am.”

Haley chuckled. “You’ll never let me forget about that, will you?”

“Never.”

Other things Haley revealed were damn difficult to take. “I was talking to Dad this morning,” she told her while trying on dresses in the changing area at a downtown boutique. Karen was helping her pick out a formal for the junior prom. “I asked him if he was ever going to marry you, and he got all pissy with me. He said I should mind my own business. So, I told him, if you end up being my stepmother that certainly would be my business, and I’m all for it. But he just got madder and madder.” Haley sighed, and nervously wrapped a strand of her hair around her finger. Karen had long ago noticed whenever Haley got perplexed she started playing with her hair like that. “God, he’s my father and I love him,” she went on. “But he’s such an asshole sometimes. Still, you want to marry him, don’t you Karen? I mean, you’ve discussed it with him, right?”

“You know,” Karen managed to say after a moment. “I don’t think you should wear a long formal to this thing. You’ll just look like everyone else. What about a pair of black slacks and a fancy top? I have this sleeveless copper-sequined top at home—and these very sexy black heels. We’ll fix your hair so it’s up.”

“Omigod, that sounds fantastic!” Haley gushed. “I’ll look like I’m going to the friggin’ Grammys!”

That was exactly how she looked—sleek, sexy, and sophisticated. Kurt couldn’t believe it was his little girl going out the door with that awestruck teenage boy in an ill-fitting tuxedo. “It just floors me how she’s grown up so fast,” Kurt remarked. “In a little over a year, she’ll be going off to college.”

“And I don’t even have a child of my own yet,” Karen heard herself say.

But, obviously, he pretended not to hear it.

Lately she’d been watching families and women with babies, and most of those women were younger than her. Not only was her biological clock ticking, there was a race against time with her dad, too. He’d been slipping again; the Alzheimer’s was advancing. Maybe it was selfish of her, but she wanted to have a child he could know and hold while he was still somewhat coherent.

“I want to get married, Kurt,” she told him. “Is that ever going to happen? Do you see that in our future at all?”

His back to her, he stood at the living room window, watching the limo back out of the driveway. Haley, her date, and a bunch of their friends had hired the car and a chauffeur for the night.

“No,” Kurt finally replied. “I don’t see it happening.”

Karen felt as if someone had just sucker punched her in the stomach. She’d expected him to waffle a bit, and leave her some room for hope. She sank down in a hardback chair, and gripped the armrests. “It’s not even a possibility?” she asked.

Still staring out the window, he let out a long sigh. He wouldn’t face her. Karen strained to catch his reflection in the darkened glass. “I’ve been married once and it didn’t work out,” he explained. “That was enough for me. I don’t want to get married again, Karen.”

“Well, this isn’t enough for me,” she murmured.

He turned and frowned at her. “Jesus, what’s gotten into you all of a sudden?”

It wasn’t so sudden. Karen knew she should have had this discussion with him three years ago. She was an idiot to wait this long. He’d never really misled her. She’d been lying to herself all this time.

Karen said nothing. She stood up, wandered into their bedroom, and started packing her overnight bag.

She slept at her father’s house that night. Within a month, she’d moved out of the Queen Anne house she shared with Kurt. It was almost insulting the way he didn’t put up much of a fight. But Haley was devastated. Karen assured her they’d still be friends. Hell, she needed friends. After the breakup, Karen had suffered several Kurt Casualties among her acquaintances—mostly other couples who suddenly seemed uncomfortable around her.

She stayed true to her word, and kept in touch with Haley. She felt good about herself with Haley. She’d helped a troubled little teen punkette develop into a sweet and lovely young woman. Karen wanted to rise above the manner of a vindictive ex. So she often had to remind the 17-year-old that talking about her father was verboten.

“You’ll have to hear this whether you like it or not,” Haley told her, five months after the breakup. They were jogging around the Volunteer Park reservoir together, where Karen had first met Kurt. “Dad’s getting married,” she said.

Karen stopped abruptly. “What?” she asked, even though she’d heard what Haley had said. A moment passed, and neither of them uttered a word. Karen got her breath back. Small wonder she hadn’t tripped and fallen on her face upon hearing the news. To her amazement, she was still standing.

Kurt’s fiancée was a 28-year-old Macy’s saleswoman named Jennifer. Big surprise, a younger woman.

Haley expressed utter disgust with her father, and claimed his fiancée was a major dipshit. Karen told her they weren’t going to talk about it. “When you’re near me, you’re in a no-Kurt-bashing zone. We don’t need to do that here. Our friendship is based on better things.”

It was tough sticking to that noble resolve after she’d received one particular e-mail from Kurt. They’d kept their distance since the breakup, and the only contact they’d had with each other had been infrequent e-mails. This one the son of a bitch copied to someone in his office—obviously to show he meant business:

Karen:

Since you’ve moved out, I’ve allowed Haley to continue seeing you, because I know your friendship means a lot to her. I think I’ve been very tolerant about this. Haley told me that she informed you of my marriage plans. So, I’m sure you will understand that I no longer feel your friendship with my daughter is appropriate. This is a somewhat confusing time for Haley, and she has had a few recent setbacks with the drinking. She has also had other problems at school that I won’t go into. Suffice it to say, I believe her association with you is creating some inner conflict. Please respect my wishes and give Haley a chance to adapt to the positive changes in her home life with me. Please stop seeing her.

Sincerely,

Kurt

Karen immediately fired off a two-page, single-spaced tirade that began: “Dear Asshole,” and went on to tell Kurt what a lousy father he was. She cited several examples.

But at the end of the day, Karen didn’t send the e-mail. She didn’t have it in her to fight with Kurt at that point. Things were getting worse with her dad. He’d become quite paranoid, and a few times the previous week, he’d been so disoriented he hadn’t even recognized her or Jessie. He’d slapped poor Rufus on the snout for barking on two occasions, and that was totally unlike him. Karen’s brother and sister kept calling long distance for updates on his condition. They wanted her to start looking for nursing homes, and she almost came to blows with them on the subject.

“I know you don’t want to give up on him,” her brother argued. “But you’re being selfish keeping him at home, Karen. He’s better off in a full-care facility. It sounds horrible, but for his sake, you’ll have to let go.”

Karen knew he was right, but she wasn’t ready to let go, yet.

And she wasn’t ready to abandon Haley either; though she wondered if maybe—just maybe—Kurt was right, too. Even with all her efforts not to badmouth Kurt, her friendship with Haley still threatened the father-daughter relationship. How couldn’t it? Perhaps she was being selfish there, too.

Haley phoned her on the sly a few times over the next two weeks. In each call, she cried hysterically and cursed her father. “How could he do this? He has no right! I can’t believe you’re going along with him on this.”

Karen tried to explain that until she was eighteen, her father, indeed, had every right to slap a moratorium on their friendship. But it was only temporary and, in the meantime, why didn’t she give this Jennifer a chance and cut her some slack? And what was this about her drinking again, and some trouble in school?

“C’mon, honey, you shape up, okay?” Karen told her, with a pang in her gut. “And you really need to stop calling me. You’ll get us both in trouble.”

Haley promised to stop calling if they could meet one more time. Karen reluctantly agreed to a dinner together at the Deluxe Bar and Grill, a cozy, trendy burger joint with an old-fashioned bar and a modern gas fireplace. She and Haley sat in a booth. After all those semi-hysterical phone calls, Haley was surprisingly calm and collected—almost at peace with the situation. She explained she wasn’t going to plead or argue with her over her dad’s decision. And she wasn’t going to Kurt-bash either. No, this was about having a nice last dinner together.

“Now, don’t make it sound so final,” Karen said. “We’ll be back in touch after you’re eighteen, which is in—what—less than a year? By then you’ll be in college and making a whole new batch of friends. You’ll be fine, Haley. So don’t cry in your Cobb salad about it.”

Haley just nodded, and gave her a strange, sad smile.

Karen was mostly concerned about her recent setbacks with the drinking, and her problems at school. “I know you’re not happy about this, but I understand why your dad thinks it’s for the best. Do me a favor, and don’t screw up your own life just because you’re mad at him. You were doing so well for a while there, honey. Don’t mess it up. If you’re pissed at your father and want to get even with him, do it some other way. Short sheet his bed, bust up that awful country-and-western CD collection of his, poop in his favorite shoes, I don’t care.”

Haley rolled her eyes and laughed.

“Just don’t ruin your own life to hurt him,” Karen whispered. “Promise me you won’t.”

“I promise.” Haley fiddled with a strand of her hair.

“And stop tugging at your hair.”

Obediently, she smiled and glanced down at her plate. She played with her fork instead. “Karen, you’re not going to forget me, are you?”

Karen reached across the table and took hold of her hand. “How could I? Every morning I have my coffee out of that tacky ‘Karen is a Cool Cat’ mug you gave me. I couldn’t start my day without it.”

They hugged good-bye alongside Haley’s father’s Toyota. Haley offered her a ride, but Karen decided to walk home. It was only a few blocks. She’d been keeping up a brave, everything-will-be-swell front with Haley, and needed time alone to have herself a good cry.

When she got home, she found her dad asleep in front of the TV. Jessie had fixed him fried chicken. Karen washed his dinner dishes, then woke him and got him into his bed. She was about to take a shower when the phone rang. She snatched up the receiver on the second ring, hoping her dad hadn’t awoken. “Hello?”

“This is the Seattle Police calling for Karen Carlisle,” said the man on the other end of the line.

“Yes, this is Karen.” Her grip tightened on the receiver.

“Your name and phone number are listed in Haley Lombard’s wallet as her emergency contact.”

Karen had no idea. For a moment, she almost couldn’t breathe.

“I’m afraid there’s been an accident,” he said.

“Where? Is Haley hurt?”

“She went off the freeway overpass at Lakeview and Belmont.”

Karen knew that overpass. It curved above Interstate 5, and had a low guardrail along the edge. At one point, the drop was several stories down to the freeway.

“Is she—is she going to be all right?”

“They’re taking her body to Harborview Medical Center,” he answered grimly. “I’m sorry. Were you her parent or legal guardian?”

Karen closed her eyes. “No,” she heard herself answer. “No, I was her friend.”

The rest of the night was a blur. She couldn’t get hold of Kurt, and there was no answer at Haley’s mother’s house, not even a machine. Karen didn’t want to leave her dad alone; he’d woken up in the middle of the night before, and not known where he was. But she had no choice. All she could do was quietly hurry out the door, and pray he’d sleep until morning.

In the car, she was so frazzled she passed Twelfth Avenue, probably the quickest way to the hospital. The next possible route, Broadway, was gridlocked. Flustered, she headed downhill to Belmont and the overpass where Haley had had her accident. That overpass eventually led to the highway on-ramp, and once on the interstate she could be at the hospital within two minutes.

But her thinking was muddled. Of course, they were rerouting traffic at the accident site. Cars lined up bumper to bumper as she approached the overpass. A detour sign had been placed at the last turn before the overpass, and a cop waved at her to make a left, where traffic seemed to move at a crawl. Ahead, Karen could see cones lined up, emergency flares sizzling on the concrete, and swirling red strobes from police cars parked at the start of the overpass. She saw something else, too: Kurt’s Toyota.

“My God, they made a mistake,” she whispered to herself. The cop had told her on the phone that Haley had gone off the overpass, yet there was Kurt’s car, all in one piece. The front door was open, and someone shined a flashlight around inside the car. All she could think was Maybe Haley’s okay after all, maybe they got it wrong….

“Keep moving!” yelled the cop in front of the detour sign. He waved at her impatiently.

Karen rolled down her window. “The police called me fifteen minutes ago,” she said. “They told me to go to Harborview. I’m a friend of Haley Lombard. But I think they made a mistake—”

“Okay, you can go ahead,” he grumbled, motioning her forward.

Karen slowly continued down the hill, where the police kept onlookers at bay. She caught another look at Kurt’s Toyota. The man inside with the flashlight was inspecting the glove compartment.

“You need to turn your car back around!” another cop screamed at her.

She shook her head and called out the window to him, repeating what she’d told the first patrolman. “I think there was some kind of mistake about the victim’s identity.” She nodded toward the Toyota. “That’s Haley Lombard’s father’s car over there.”

The cop had her pull over to a small lot by a chain-link fence overlooking the freeway. “Lemme get someone to clear this up with you,” he grunted.

Karen parked her car and climbed out. For a moment, her legs were unsteady. She kept looking for a mangled section of the overpass’s guardrail, some indication that another vehicle had plowed through it and careened down to the freeway. But she didn’t see any damage at all. She wandered toward the railing edge and peered over it. About five stories below, on the interstate, a line of emergency flares cordoned off two lanes, and traffic was at a near standstill. Several squad cars, their flashers going, surrounded a smashed-up SUV. A tow truck was backing up toward it. From the skid marks on the pavement, it looked as if the SUV had swerved to avoid hitting something, and then crashed into the concrete divider. The tire markings on the pavement veered in front of a pool of blood. It almost looked black in the night.

Confused, Karen glanced to her right and tapped a young policewoman on the shoulder. “Excuse me. I’m a friend of Haley Lombard’s, and they called me. They said she went off the overpass. But her father’s car is right there, and I don’t see where anyone could have driven off—”

“Haley Lombard, yes,” the policewoman said, nodding. She seemed distracted by a voice crackling over the walkie-talkie on her belt. “Hell of a mess down there. An SUV almost hit the body. Thank God no one in the vehicle was seriously injured. Your friend didn’t drive off the overpass. She jumped. It looks like she was drinking. They found a bottle of bourbon in her car. She was DOA at Harborview ten minutes ago. You need to talk to somebody there.” She turned away and started barking a bunch of police code numbers on her radio.

Karen couldn’t hear what she was saying. She just stood there by the overpass’s guardrail, with the wind whipping at her. She was thinking that it all made sense now. She should have seen the signs. Some people about to commit suicide can appear very calm. After a period of torment, they can suddenly seem at peace, because they have come up with a solution for their problems. That had been Haley only two hours ago. She’d taken control of her situation and made up her mind about what to do.

“Karen, you’re not going to forget me, are you?”

A loud beep, beep, beep from below made her turn toward the guardrail again and gaze down at the freeway. A cleanup truck had backed up toward the dark puddle. Its hoses went on and started to wash the blood away. Pink swirls formed in the water that rippled across the pavement to the highway’s shoulder.

Kurt and his ex-wife both blamed Karen. Haley had lied to them about where she’d been going that night. Kurt pointed out that he’d asked Karen to stop seeing Haley, but she’d met with her anyway, and just look what had happened. She must have said something to Haley during their secret dinner that helped push their girl over the edge.

Karen didn’t have it in her to fight with Haley’s grieving parents. She didn’t go to the funeral. She knew she wasn’t welcome.

Just three weeks after the burial, Karen had her first meeting with Amelia Faraday. For a while, Amelia reminded her so much of Haley, it hurt. But since then, she’d gotten to know Amelia, and really couldn’t compare her to anyone.

The telephone rang, and Karen jumped up from the breakfast table. She figured it was Amelia again, and grabbed the phone before Jessie even had a chance to wipe off her hands. “Hello?” she said into the phone.

“Is Karen Carlisle there, please?” The man sounded as if he had asthma or something. His breathing wasn’t right.

“This is Karen,” she said.

“Um, my name’s George McMillan. My niece is one of your patients, Amelia Faraday….”

“Is Amelia all right?”

“She isn’t with you?” he asked. “I just spoke with her five minutes ago, and she said she was at your house.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Mr. McMillan, but she isn’t,” she replied. “Amelia called me, too. She indicated there was some kind of emergency. Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.” He cleared his throat, but it still sounded like something was wrong with his breathing. “She—she had this premonition. She phoned saying she thought her parents and my wife—that’s her aunt—”

“Yes, Amelia has mentioned her.”

“Well, see, they went away for the weekend at the family cabin on Lake Wenatchee, and Amelia was convinced they’d all been killed last night.” His voice cracked, and Karen realized he was crying. That was why his breathing sounded so strange. “And she—she was right. I talked to someone who lives near the Lake Wenatchee house, and this neighbor, she found the bodies.”

“Oh, my God,” Karen whispered. She sank down in one of the chairs at the breakfast table. “I’m so sorry….”

Karen heard him trying to stifle the sobs. He explained how he’d spoken to this neighbor—and then the police in Wenatchee. It appeared as if Amelia’s father had shot his wife and sister-in-law with a hunting rifle, and then he’d turned the gun on himself.

“My God, Mr. McMillan—George—I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “Poor Amelia. You—you said she had a premonition about this?”

“Yes, but she doesn’t know yet that it’s true. I called and tried to persuade her to come over here. But she said she needed to see you. I—I couldn’t tell her over the phone what happened…”

Karen’s front doorbell rang. Rufus started barking and scurried toward the front of the house.

“I think that’s her at my door right now,” she said into the phone. She turned to the housekeeper. “Jessie? Could you? If that’s Amelia, could you please have her wait in my office?”

Jessie nodded, wiped off her hands and started out of the kitchen. “Rufus, knock it off!”

“Mr. McMillan, are you still there?” Karen said into the phone.

“Yes. Would you—would you mind driving Amelia over here? We live in West Seattle. I don’t want her to be alone. And it might help my kids if their cousin was here.” His voice cracked again. “They’re playing outside. They still don’t know. My son’s eleven, and my daughter—she’s only five years old. God, how am I going to tell them their mother’s dead?”

Karen’s heart ached for him. “I can drive Amelia over,” she said finally. “It’s no problem, Mr. McMillan. But if I insist on taking her to your house, she’s bound to figure out something’s wrong. Would you like me to tell her what happened?”

She could hear him sigh on the other end of the line. “Yes. Thank you, Karen. Thank you very much.”

When she clicked off the phone, Karen could hear Jessie talking to Amelia: “You sit tight, hon. She’ll be with you in a jiff. Rufus, get down!”

Pulling the dog by his collar, Jessie lumbered back into the kitchen and gave her a wary look. “Whew,” she whispered. “That poor girl has the fidgets something fierce. She’s practically bouncing off the walls in there. I think she’s been crying, too.”

Karen took hold of her arm. “Jess, do we still have some of Dad’s sedatives?”

“You mean those light blue pills that made him a little dopey?”

Karen nodded. “Yes, the diazepam, for anxiety.” It was times like this Karen wished she were a psychiatrist rather than just a therapist. Then she could have the proper medications on hand, instead of making do with some secondhand sedatives that were probably beyond their expiration date. “Amelia’s going to need something to calm her down. Do we still have those pills?”

Jessie nodded. “On the crap shelf in the linen closet. I’ve been bugging you to let me clean that out. Good thing you never listen to a word I say. I’ll get them.” Jessie headed up the back stairs.

Karen went to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water for Amelia. She gave Rufus a stern look. “Stay,” she said. Then she took a deep breath and started toward her office at the front of the house.

The room used to be her father’s study, and had always been one of Karen’s favorite spots in the house. It was very comfy, with a fireplace and built-in bookshelves. But Amelia didn’t appear at all comfortable. Dressed in jeans, a black top, and a bulky cardigan, she nervously paced in front of the sofa. Her wavy black hair was a windblown mess. Jessie was right. It looked as if she’d been crying.

She rushed to Karen and threw her arms around her. Karen wasn’t in the habit of hugging her patients. But she held onto Amelia and gently patted her on the back.

“Where were you?” Karen asked, finally pulling away a little. “I thought you were going to wait for me here.”

Tugging at a strand of hair, Amelia looked down at the floor and shrugged. “Well, I waited for Jessie, like you said to. But after about ten minutes, I got kind of anxious. So I just drove around for a while.”

Karen bit her lip. “You, um, you didn’t by any chance track me down at the Sandpoint View Convalescent Home? I thought I saw you there about twenty-five minutes ago.”

“I have no idea where that even is,” Amelia replied, wide-eyed. “What are you talking about?”

Karen shook her head. “Never mind. It’s my mistake. Here, I got you some water. Sit down, try to relax.”

“I can’t sit down,” Amelia said, pacing again. “I have a feeling something’s happened to my parents.”

“I understand,” Karen said. “I just got off the phone with your uncle. He called. He was worried about you. He told me that…” She hesitated.

Amelia stopped pacing, and turned to stare at her.

Jessie came to the door with the diazepam and handed the bottle to Karen.

“Thanks, Jessie,” Karen said. “Could you close the door, please?”

Jessie slid shut the big, bulky pocket door that came out of the wall. Karen shook two pills into her hand. “Amelia, I want you to take these. They’re like Valium. They’ll chill you out a little.”

But Amelia didn’t move. She just kept staring at Karen. Tears welled in her eyes. “You want me to take a sedative? What did Uncle George tell you?”

“Take the pills, Amelia.”

“Oh, my God,” she said, wincing. A shaky hand went over her mouth. She sank down on the sofa. “Then it’s true. Aunt Ina…my Mom and Dad…they’re all dead, aren’t they?”

Karen swallowed hard and nodded. “I’m so sorry….”