What was the point in singing joyful hymns and memorizing Bible passages about how good and caring God was? It was all a lie. She knew it. She knew it better than anyone else.
As the years went by, her hatred for God had turned into downright disbelief. When Peter had attended seminary, the emotional distance between them grew. How could she respect someone who believed something so ludicrous?
He’d married the perfect little godly wife, became Pastor at a church in Blackridge, and Paula ate dinner with them most Sundays pretending for her nephews everything was okay.
But now, she sat in Will’s car and realized how stupid she’d been. How many times had she pushed her brother away when he was only trying to help? She didn’t have to see eye to eye with him in order to love him. Peter was all she had.
If Lark didn’t make it, maybe Paula was next on the list. She’d been the last one to use the black box. Although she’d had a different response than everyone else—no headache, and it seemed to help her focus and control her ability—if she were next, she couldn’t do anything about it.
“Lark’s dying,” she said.
“What?” Will gripped the steering wheel.
“She was in an accident.” Paula rubbed her hands over the soft material of the seat. “They say she lost a lot of blood. I don’t think she’s going to make it.”
Will’s mouth set in a hard line, and a queer expression came across his face. “I’m staying the night at your place. If you won’t let me sleep on the couch, I’ll sleep outside in my car.”
She brushed the nap of the material one way and then the other. “I’ll be fine.”
“Dr. Pritchard could show up at your place any minute and who knows what he might do. I’m not leaving.” He took the corner with a little too much speed and downshifted to slow the car down.
“Fine.” At this point, she’d become devoid of emotion. Exhaustion came over her.
“Did you want me to call your brother?” Will pulled into her driveway. The house hunched close to the road, dark and unwelcoming. “I’m sure he’s worried about you.”
Will’s concern for her wore thin. In her adult life, she’d handled most crises alone or with Lark by her side. “Look, can we just drop this charade? I get it. I understand. I’m next, and there’s nothing you or I can do about it.” She wished she could throw on her pajamas, grab a carton of ice cream, and cry herself to sleep. No sympathy. No worry. No concern. She slammed the car door.
“I asked what happened tonight, and you won’t tell me a damn thing,” he yelled as she trudged up the front steps. “I’m trying to help. Why won’t you let me?” He caught up to her on the porch.
She fiddled with her keys, trying to fit the right one in the lock, but without the porch light she couldn’t find it. “You can’t help me anymore than I can help myself. I tried that box the other night. Yep. You heard it. I tried out the black box that’s been killing everyone.”
“Paula, you didn’t—”
Perhaps now he could understand why she didn’t want to talk about any of this. “I did. Anyone who used that box got a horrible headache, and then—” She dropped her keys, and they landed on the porch with a thunk.
Will met her on the floor and grabbed the keys moments before her hand closed on them. “Here, let me.” He chose a key and slid the right one into the lock.
He turned toward her, his face in shadow. He assessed her, she could sense it. She wanted to reach out to him, ask him to stay.
She stretched out her hand, and he dropped the ring of keys into her palm. The tips of his fingers feathered over her hand like butterfly’s wings. She shivered.
“Come inside where it’s warmer.” Will’s gentle voice soothed her. “If you show me where the coffee is, I’ll make us a pot while you talk to your brother.”
“All right.” She slipped inside.
Will unzipped his coat and unwound a ratty-looking brown scarf from his neck. He laid his coat and scarf on a chair. His shoulders were wider than she remembered. If she were a different person, a normal person, maybe there could have been something between them. How could it be only a few days ago she thought Will was a mess?
He made his way through the living room and into the kitchen. “After you talk to your brother, I’ll give the hospital a call and see if they have an update on Lark’s condition.” He opened up cabinet after cabinet. “So, where do you keep the coffee?”
“The cabinet above the toaster. The filters are in there, too.” The answer came automatically, as if he belonged in her kitchen grinding beans and making coffee.
“Go ahead. Call him.” He glanced over his shoulder.
She headed toward her bedroom to make the call. Even though she and her brother weren’t on the best of terms, she was certain he’d be up. He’d always been a night owl. She imagined him sitting near the fireplace in the leather recliner chair he loved so much—their father’s favorite. He’d be wearing his reading glasses and crossing out bits of his Sunday sermon with a red ballpoint pen.
As she waited for Peter to answer, she slipped into her bedroom and leaned against the door to shut it.
“Hello?”
“Peter. It’s me.”
“Paula?” Concern filled her brother’s voice. “Why are you calling so late?”
The clock radio glowed on her nightstand. Midnight. “I needed to talk to you.” A flood of emotions overwhelmed her. She anticipated the rush of blood, the tingling, but it never came. “Lark was in an accident tonight.”
“Oh my God. Is she going to be all right?”
“I don’t think so, Peter. The injuries were—” The words were stuck in her throat. She took a breath and swallowed. “She was crushed. It sounds horrible.”
“Are you there at the hospital? Do you want me to come?”
“I couldn’t stay there, I just couldn’t.”
“I understand.”
Unspoken words filled in the silence. The last time either of them had been in an emergency room was the night their parents died.
“I’m sorry, Peter.”
“Sorry?”
“Sorry for everything I’ve ever done to hurt you.” She paced her bedroom. “All the stupid stuff I said after Mom and Dad...I didn’t mean it. I really didn’t. It’s just...it’s just that I was—”
“You don’t need to apologize.” Peter’s voice sounded thick with emotion. “I know it was harder for you, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I thought I did, but I was just a kid. A stupid kid.”
A tear slid down her cheek. “We were both stupid.”
“But I should have known better. I worry about you, you know. I just want to help. But more often than not I just screw things up worse than before.”
She smiled through her sorrow. “I think we’re both pretty good at screwing things up.”
There was a short moment of silence. “So, you’re still coming for dinner on Sunday, right?”
“Yes, I’ll be there.”
“I’ll understand if you want to be at the hospital with Lark.”
“I don’t think she’s going to make it. And I can’t sit there in the hospital and wait for her to die. I want to spend Sunday with family.” She meant it this time. “With you and Carol and the boys, can we do that?”
“Of course, we can. I’ll pray for Lark. God has been known to work miracles before.”
At Peter’s mention of God, the familiar twinge of annoyance sprung up, but this time she let the feeling pass. He was trying to help in the only way he knew how. “I’d like that. Thanks.”
“I love you, Paula. You know that, right?”
The tears flowed freely. She wished she had the courage to confess her fears about her own safety. “I love you, too.”
She ended the call and a minor bit of relief settled inside—like a cancer patient, who knew she only had a few months to live, tying up loose ends before the inevitable. At least some things in her life would be worked out before—
She shiv
ered at the thought of dying. It scared her more than she would admit, but she wanted Sunday to be her one last good day, so she bottled up the fear inside. She’d be at her brother’s, having a good time and starting no arguments. Whatever happened after that...well, whatever happened was fate.
She dialed the number for the hospital switchboard.
“Northeast Memorial, how may I direct your call?”
From a nurse in the ER she found out Lark was in surgery, which meant her condition had stabilized. She would need to call in the morning for an update.
Lark was still alive, but even if she survived the surgery she wouldn’t be out of the woods. In fact, that meant nothing with the black box involved. Her death could take place tomorrow or the next day. Maybe she’d suffer a blood clot or heart failure.
Will knocked at her door. “So, you like it black, right?”
***
Paula’s coffee had gone cold long ago, but she and Will continued to sit across from each other in the living room. She knew what he was trying to do, and it wasn’t going to work.
“It’s late. We should get some sleep.” She stretched, her arms reaching above the back of the couch. She wasn’t tired, but she’d rather be lying in her bed in the dark than sitting on the couch talking about nothing. This wouldn’t help. Nothing would. So what was the point in pretending?
Will sat in the plaid wingback chair. He leaned forward with elbows on knees, a coffee cup gripped in his hands. He’d been like that for half-an-hour. She was sure no coffee remained in his cup, but he looked into it and tipped it up as if there was one last cold sip. “I suppose you’re right.” He set his cup on the coffee table and leaned back. “It’s almost three in the morning.”
“Let me get a pillow and blanket. You’re sure you still want to stay?” She hoped he would leave. She didn’t honestly believe anyone would come banging at her door in the middle of the night looking for the black box. Besides, it was in her car, and her car was parked at the hospital. Will should go back to his numbers and lists and statistics and forget about her, the stupid grad student who couldn’t keep her nose out of things.
“I’m staying.” He stood up. “And your bathroom is where?”
Stubborn man.
“Down the hall on the right. I’ve got some things hanging in the bathtub, sorry about that.” She thought about her unmentionables drying on the shower curtain rod.
“I have sisters, remember?”
She gave him a weak smile. “I’d almost forgotten.” She took their cups into the kitchen. “It must have been a nightmare for you, surrounded by pantyhose and curling irons.”
He followed her and leaned against the counter. “When I was eleven, yes. When I was fifteen, I knew a lot more about girls than some of my friends. Gave me the inside track.”
She dumped cold coffee into the sink. “I’ll bet it did.”
He waved off her knowing comment. “This conversation is over. I’ve said too much already. What about you? You had an older brother. I’m sure he taught you a thing or two.”
She knew he didn’t mean anything by what he said. He was just being friendly, but his words cut her to the core. “He’s a lot older than me.” Her statement came out with a crispness that ended the warm exchange they had going. “Let me go get that pillow and blanket for you.” She brushed past him and headed toward the hall.
For a split second she imagined him grabbing her arm, stopping her, his warm breath in her hair. It would be so easy to pretend everything was okay for a moment. To feel his arms around her once more and know she wasn’t alone.
She reached her brother’s old room. The cold darkness greeted her, enveloping her like a familiar embrace.
Chapter Twenty-One
The intensity of the light sneaking in through the cracks of the window blinds told Paula it was close to noon. Her intention had been to wake up early, call the hospital, and find out Lark’s condition.
She wished she could be stronger, braver. Then, she might have been able to sit in the hard chairs in the hospital waiting room. An anxious night at the hospital would’ve meant sympathetic nurses patting her on the shoulder, doctors giving her knowing glances. She couldn’t stomach the thought of it. She hated herself for that.
Will cracked the door open. “Hey, sleepyhead, thought you might want to get up. How do you like your eggs?”
Eggs? He was making her breakfast?
“Uh, scrambled?” She ran a hand through her messy curls.
“Gotcha.” He peeked at her through the crack, a slight smile on his face. Something seemed different about him, but she couldn’t quite place her finger on it.
His cheerfulness was unbearable. When he closed the door she threw on some sweatpants and an old high school hoodie and headed to the bathroom.
Will called to her from the kitchen, “Hope you don’t mind, but I borrowed a razor. Pink isn’t quite my thing, but it did the job.”
That was what had been different about him—the horrible mustache. He’d been facial-hair free. In the bathroom one of her pink disposable razors sat in the trash, along with a heck of a lot of facial hair.
“Not a problem.” As she shut the door, the rich aroma of frying bacon hit her nose. She didn’t even know she had bacon in the fridge.
Staring at herself for a moment in the mirror, she frowned at her frizzed-out hair and the lines of defeat etched into her face. She grabbed a rubber band from a drawer and whipped her shoulder-length hair into a ponytail. She put on a touch of mascara and some lipstick and hoped it masked the emotion so plain on her face.
“Breakfast’s on the table.”
“Just a sec.” She took one last glance at herself and headed down the hall.
Will scooped up eggs from the frying pan and doled them out on two plates. A platter of freshly cooked bacon sat on the table. Paula stood in the doorway watching him work.
Where did this man come from?
Last week he was the quiet, slovenly office partner who wore headphones to listen to his music playlist and stared at his computer screen rather than have any kind of human contact. Now, he dashed about her kitchen serving eggs and bacon. She couldn’t help but smile at the strangeness of it all.
When he turned to carry the empty frying pan to the sink, he caught sight of her. “Hey, it’s about time you were up.”
She took in his clean-shaven face. His smile faded under her stare.
“I thought I noticed something different when you came to my door.” The funky mustache had definitely been removed. His hair remained long and a bit of a mess, but he was facial-hair free. His smile appeared brighter, and he wasn’t just cute, he was heart-breakingly handsome.
He touched his chin. “Yeah. Thought it was about time to lose the ‘stache. You might not think so, but it took a lot of work to keep that thing in line.”
Her heart did a double thump in her chest. Could this be the same guy who’d been under her nose all these months?
He cleared his throat. “Guess I better soak this.” He held up the egg-encrusted frying pan. “Go ahead and sit down. Cold eggs are pretty nasty.”
She sat at the table where a mound of steaming, scrambled eggs filled her plate and took a bite.
Will appeared at her elbow, a pot of coffee in his hand. “Coffee?”
She nodded. “I didn’t expect breakfast.” Each bite of food brought her one step closer to facing the day, so she took her time. Besides, the eggs were delicious.
“Well, you were nice enough to put me up last night.”
She gave him a pointed look. “You kind of made me, remember?”
“Then see it as payment for the use of your razor.” He took a seat at the table.
“If that’s the case, then I should ask you to shave more often.”
He blushed.
She took a slice of bacon from the plate. “Do you mind driving me back to the hospital so I can pick up my car?”
“Not a problem. And, if you want, I’ll go with yo
u to visit Lark.”
A twinge of sadness touched her heart. “You would do that for me?”
He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Of course, I would.”
She looked at their touching hands.
He pulled away and ran his fingers through his hair. “You want some more coffee?” He headed toward the coffee maker.
She wished his hand still touched hers. “Sure.”
“If we’re going to the hospital,” he said from the buffer of the kitchen counter, “can I swing by my apartment to get some clean clothes?”
“I guess that wouldn’t be a problem.” She held out her cup for him to give her a refill. “I think I’ll call the hospital before we leave.”
“Do you want me to call for you?”
“No, I need to do this.” She held her cell phone. “If something’s happened, I have to know. I have to hear it for myself.” She redialed the hospital with a touch.
“Is it okay if I hop in the shower?”
She nodded. “I’m calling about Lark Michaels. She was admitted to the ER last night. I’m not sure where she might be now...she had surgery.”
Will disappeared down the hall. She covered the phone with her hand. “There’s extra towels in the tall cabinet next to the sink.”
“Gotcha.” The bathroom door closed, and the water started to run.
She focused on the nurse’s brisk voice on the other end of the line. “She’s in the post-surgical unit. Her condition is listed as critical right now.”
“Critical?” Her stomach did flip-flops. “Did they have to amputate?”
“Are you a family member?” The nurse quizzed her. “Her mother is with her now.”
Paula bit the inside of her cheek. “No, I’m a friend.”
“Then, I’m sorry. I can’t tell you any more than that.”
Paula ended the call. The eggs and bacon didn’t look as appetizing anymore. She carried her half-empty plate to the sink. Through the window, the view was a beautiful one—bright blue skies, a few puffs of clouds, color still on the trees. Her thoughts lingered on Lark. She hoped Lark’s mother would be a comfort, rather than the burden she usually was. Maybe Lark would be safe for now. No matter what damage had been done to her body, she was alive and that was all that mattered.
The Little Black Box Page 13
