by Marta Perry
“I’m sorry. I guess Siobhan’s right—my bedside manner leaves a little to be desired. Just because the procedure is routine to me doesn’t mean it is for you. But I promise, your little girl is perfectly all right.”
She grabbed his hand, wanting to believe his words but not quite daring to. “Will it work? Will her hearing be improved?”
“We won’t know for sure until we activate the device in a month, of course. But from everything I can see so far, I think the results will be good.” He patted her hand. “That’s all we can hope for. You know that.”
“I know.” She started to say that she didn’t expect a miracle, but then she realized that wasn’t true. It would be a miracle if Mandy were released from her silent world. “Thank God.”
“Yes.” Brendan patted her shoulder. “Thank God.”
She ought to tell him how much she appreciated his prayers and his presence, but just then the gurney rolled through the doorway, and everything else left her mind in her need to reach her daughter.
“Mandy.”
She stopped, longing to touch her but not sure where to touch. The side of Mandy’s head was bandaged, and tubes extended from her arms.
The doctor had shown her pictures before the surgery. She’d known to expect bruises and swelling. She just hadn’t known how she’d feel when it was Mandy.
“She looks so—” Her voice choked.
Siobhan’s arm went around her, holding her as they transferred Mandy smoothly to the bed. “I know.” Siobhan’s voice was soft. “It’s so hard to see your child looking like that. To know you made the decision that led to it.”
She nodded, unable to speak. How did Siobhan know exactly what she was thinking?
“You did the right thing,” Siobhan said firmly. “This was a hard decision, but you did the right thing. The bruises will be quickly forgotten, but the good results will be permanent.”
Her mind cleared, the whirl of guilt and fear dissipating. “Yes. You’re right.” She went to the bed, her hand closing over Mandy’s fingers. “She’s going to be fine.”
Thank you, God.
Siobhan patted her back gently. “I know Ryan wanted to be here.”
She shook her head. “Don’t. I’m sorry, but please, don’t.” She couldn’t think about Ryan, not now.
Siobhan nodded. “All right. I understand.”
If she really understood, it was more than Laura did. She just knew that at this moment, all she could concentrate on was her daughter. Dealing with her feelings for Ryan would have to wait.
It was dark when she pulled up at the townhouse. She parked and then sat, too emotionally exhausted to get out of the car.
Mandy was all right—that was the important thing. She’d wakened, smiled at the sight of her mother, and gone back to sleep. Laura had sat in the chair next to the bed, holding her hand, unwilling to let go.
Dr. Phillips had finally come back into the room to check on Mandy. He’d been kindness itself when he detached her hand from her daughter’s. Laura was exhausted, he’d said firmly, and Mandy would undoubtedly sleep through the rest of the night. It was time for her to go home and get some rest.
So she’d come home, but not to rest. How could she, when her mind kept going around and around like a hamster on a wheel? She couldn’t turn off the busy thoughts.
She forced herself out of the car. Unlock the door. Too tired to search for the light switch—just climb the stairs. Her feet took them automatically, knowing the way even in the dark.
She glanced at her watch when she reached the living room. She kept a table lamp burning all the time since the fire, and its yellow glow welcomed her. In a few short hours, she’d have to present herself at the fire department headquarters building, where the arson squad was located.
Lieutenant North, with his inimical gaze, would be waiting for her to make a formal statement. Would Ryan be there, too? Her mind winced away from that thought.
And what would come next? Once they had her version of events signed, then what?
Ryan had urged that she get an attorney, but she’d been too preoccupied with Mandy’s surgery even to think about that. She should have found the time. Instinct told her it would be unwise to go into that meeting without some professional counsel.
She flipped open the phone book, but the long list of attorneys blurred before her eyes. She rubbed the back of her neck. She’d take care of that tomorrow morning. Brendan would probably be willing to recommend someone.
The red light on her answering machine was blinking. She pressed the button warily, half afraid of what fresh trouble might be waiting for her.
It was the prospective buyer for the building, reminding her that she’d arrive in Suffolk in the morning. Unless she heard otherwise from Laura, she’d come to the townhouse at one in the afternoon. She couldn’t wait to see what Laura had accomplished with the place.
Laura looked at her watch again, but it hadn’t miraculously decided to give her any more time. Less than fourteen hours, and she’d be showing the house.
If she went to bed, she’d never sleep. Maybe some hard physical labor would ease the stress. She grabbed her bag. She’d given the hospital her cell phone number in case of any emergency. They’d call if Mandy woke and needed her.
She started up the flight of stairs to the third floor, determination driving her, and came out into the open area that was the last thing yet to be finished.
The contractor had let her down, of course. All of his promises had come to nothing, and the partition still stood. She rapped on it, eyeing the sledgehammer that leaned against the wall.
This wasn’t a bearing wall—just a flimsy partition. She’d do what she should have done before this and knock it out herself. She wouldn’t have time to frame in the opening, but at least Ms. Jamison could visualize the workroom she could put in here.
The woman would love it. She wouldn’t have taken an option on the place if she hadn’t been able to picture how perfect it would be for her business. One of the last remaining available buildings in the historic district—she’d jump at the chance to close the deal.
Laura grabbed the sledgehammer. It was heavier than she’d thought, or maybe she was just more tired. She had to drag it across the floor to the offending partition.
Would she be able to close the deal if she were arrested for arson? What would happen to Mandy if something like that happened to her?
Her stomach churned. She’d begun to believe she could count on Ryan. She’d actually thought—
Well, that didn’t matter any longer. Loving him had been a mistake, but at least it had shown her that she was capable of loving someone again.
Maybe, someday, her heart would no longer splinter at the thought of him. She’d be able to move on.
Tears blurred her vision as she hefted the sledgehammer and swung it at the wall. It connected with a satisfying thud, penetrating the plaster and shattering the lath beneath.
Something rumbled and cracked. She looked up, startled, but it was too late. Before she could move, the whole wall came down on her in a flood of plaster and bricks, knocking her to the floor, burying her.
She struggled, choking on thick dust, trying to see, to understand what happened. Dazed, she put her hand to her head, feeling a lump. Had she been knocked out?
If so, it hadn’t been long. Plaster dust still swirled in the air. She was flat on her back, debris on top of her, staring up at the ceiling.
Slowly her brain began to made sense of what she was seeing. The flimsy partition had filled in an archway, masking the old wall of brick and mortar that went the rest of the way to the ceiling.
She must have hit the supporting pillar of the arch with that careless blow. It had collapsed, bringing down the heavier structure above the partition, far more than she expected.
Stupid. Her father would never have made a mistake like that. She’d overestimated her own abilities, and now she was paying the price.
She raised her head
, letting out an involuntary groan. She had a splitting headache, but her exploring fingers didn’t find any blood. All right. She wasn’t hurt, and everything could be fixed, cleaned up, made like new. All she had to do was get up and do it.
She couldn’t. She tried to get up, and she couldn’t move. Panic ripped through her, and she struggled against the debris, arms flailing wildly as she tried to shove it away.
All she succeeded in doing was stirring up the dust. It lifted into the air, wrapping around her, filling her eyes and ears and mouth. Coughing and choking, she fell back.
An eternity later, she opened her eyes again. This couldn’t be happening to her.
Why are You letting this happen to me?
She couldn’t be trapped in her own house, not when Mandy needed her. Mandy. The hospital.
The thought of her daughter seemed to steady her. She took a cautious breath. The dust had settled again. Calmly, quietly, she had to assess the situation.
Trying not to think beyond the next moment, she attempted to move one part of her body at a time. Something had hit her in the head, obviously, but it didn’t seem too bad. Her arms moved, free of the debris. Her ribs—she winced. Her ribs hurt, but she didn’t think anything was broken. Her legs—
Her legs were trapped. Cautiously she flexed the muscles and wiggled her toes. Nothing hurt. She pushed herself up onto her elbows so that she could see what was going on.
The rough-hewn beam that had supported the archway lay diagonally across her legs. Four-by-four, at least, and it must weigh a ton. Thankfully it had fallen so that it wedged against the opposite wall, keeping that deadly weight off her body.
She wasn’t hurt. She was just trapped.
The wave of panic came again, the primitive terror of being trapped and helpless. She fought it down. She wouldn’t get out of this by letting herself panic. She had to think.
Maybe, if she moved very carefully, she could wiggle her way out. Bracing her hands against the rubble, she pushed her body backward. Nothing.
Biting her lip, she fought down the fear. If she could shift some of the rubble from underneath her, it might give her a precious inch or two. That would be enough.
She pulled at the scraps of plaster and lath, clawing debris out from under her with her fingers. It was slow, terribly slow, with nowhere to put the pieces she dragged out. She tried piling them up, but they kept sliding down over her arm.
Her finger caught on a projecting nail. She pulled the board free, careful not to cut herself again, and thrust it away from her. She sucked at her finger. She’d need a tetanus booster when she got out of here.
Finally she felt nothing but floorboards under her. Now. Bracing her hands again, she pushed away from the heavy beam. Her legs slid an inch, then another. She was doing it, she was going to get out—
With an ominous creak, the beam shifted. She froze. It was going to come down on her—
Please, God, please, God.
The beam settled, sending up another cloud of plaster dust.
She coughed, her throat raw. It hadn’t crushed her legs. It had just settled more firmly in place. She couldn’t get out unless someone lifted the beam away from her.
Why aren’t You helping me?
Tears stung her eyes. Had she drifted so far from God that He no longer heard her?
My mother would say…that we are God’s hands on earth, put here to help each other.
Ryan had said that, or something close to it. His words had stuck like a burr in her mind, refusing to be dismissed or forgotten.
God sent other people to do His work. To help her. Ryan. His friends. The people from the church, the rest of the Flanagan family. In her blindness, she hadn’t seen God at work in their readiness to help her.
Instead, trapped by her pride and independence, she rejected people.
Not entirely. She pressed her palms against her eyes, seeing faces against the blackness there. She’d begun, once Ryan came back into her life, to move out of her isolation, but each time something went wrong, she’d retreated. It had seemed safer, somehow, to stay trapped rather than risk being hurt yet again.
She’d been trapped spiritually. Now she was trapped physically, and Mandy was alone.
The panic came again, and she moved recklessly. The beam creaked and settled, and now she began to feel its weight, pressing down. She could visualize bones crumbling under that weight.
Help me, please, Father. I’ve been wrong. I haven’t trusted You. I’ve blamed You. Forgive me. Help me now, for Mandy’s sake if not my own. I can’t do it myself any longer. I need You.
Her tears spilled over, bitter at first, and then gradually healing, as if they washed away all the pride, all the isolation, all the pain.
At last she lay silent, peace seeping through her. It replaced the panic and cleared her mind, and with it came a sense of God’s presence that was so strong she knew she would never be alone again.
Show me the way, Father. I can’t find it on my own.
She raised her head, realizing that she could assess the situation without panic. She was still trapped. She couldn’t free herself. Maybe she could find a way to get help.
If she managed to throw something through the window, would someone on the street below notice? She scrabbled through the debris, searching for a piece small enough and heavy enough to break the window.
Her fingers closed on a piece of brick. Hefting it, she swung her arm back as far as possible and threw it toward the closest window. It hit the wall and bounced harmlessly to the floor.
She never had been very good at baseball. She brushed through the rubble, searching for another brick. Nothing but fragments of plaster met her fingers.
Her searching fingers disturbed a pile of debris. It slid away from her, exposing a thin strip of leather. Her handbag, with the cell phone inside!
If she could reach it—she strained, fingers stretching, and then sank back. Not even close. But if she could snag the leather strap with something, maybe she could pull it toward her.
There, staring her in the face, was just what she needed—the board with the exposed nail that had cut her finger. Thank You, Lord. She grasped the end of the board, extending it toward the handbag strap.
It reached. Excitement flooded through her, and she struggled for calm. Easy, easy, she had to be careful, she couldn’t risk losing the strap or pushing it farther away with a sudden motion.
She edged the board a cautious inch at a time, her muscles straining to hold it steady. Please, Father. Her prayers seemed to keep time with the thudding of her heart.
At last the nail slid under the strap. She turned the board until it snagged and began to pull. Careful, careful. Don’t let it slip away.
Another inch. Two. The rest of the debris slid away, exposing the bag, still closed. Inch by precious inch she pulled the bag toward her. Finally she could grasp it in her hands.
She fumbled with the latch, murmuring prayers of thanksgiving. Her fingers closed around the cool plastic of the phone, and she pulled it free.
The digital display was beautiful, just beautiful, showing her the phone was working. It could so easily have been smashed by the falling debris, but it hadn’t been. It was there, waiting for her, her lifeline.
Thank You, Father. Her tears spilled over again. Thank You.
She could call 911, but she wanted someone else. She punched in a number she hadn’t even realized she had memorized—of Ryan’s cell phone.
Chapter Fifteen
Ryan had done this a hundred times before on the job. Why was he all thumbs now?
He knew the answer to that. Because it was Laura who was trapped, Laura who needed him.
Ryan forced himself to focus on nothing but the screwdriver in his hand and the lock on the front door of the townhouse. Think, breathe, don’t let yourself be distracted by the need to reach her now.
She’d said she was okay. She was stuck, trapped, but not injured. Her voice on the cell phone had sounded rema
rkably calm.
He wasn’t. His professional detachment had deserted him completely. Let her be all right, Lord. Keep her safe.
The lock popped. He yanked open the door and raced up the stairs, adrenaline pumping. He always loved that adrenaline rush, pouring through him, making him feel as if he could move mountains.
Not now. Not when it was Laura. His heart pounded against his ribs, running wild at the thought of her.
He passed the living-room door on the second floor and thundered on up the stairs to the third floor. “Laura! Are you okay?”
He surged onto the third-floor level and stopped. The adrenaline still demanded action, but long years of training began to take over.
Stop. Assess the situation. Don’t do anything to make it worse.
The floor was littered with bricks and plaster, and the partition Laura had planned to remove was nothing but a jagged hole. Laura lay, propped on her elbows, dust-covered and disheveled, underneath a mass of rubble on the floor. But she smiled at him.
“A mess, isn’t it?” Her tone was quiet, almost conversational, as if she came this close to disaster every day and it didn’t bother her.
“Pretty much.” He managed a smile. Keep her talking, assess her injuries, figure out a safe way to remove her from danger.
“I tried to take the wall down myself.” She grimaced. “Pretty stupid, huh?”
“Just a bit.” He circled her, checking out the situation. Most of the debris was small stuff, easily moved, but the beam that had fallen across her was another matter. “Does anything hurt?”
“Not bad. Bumps and bruises, I think. I’m sure nothing’s broken.”
He circled the beam carefully and then squatted next to her. “Are you sure? Can you feel your legs?”
Her smile reassured him. “Yes, they’re fine.” The smile trembled. “I’m glad to see you.”
He let himself touch her cheek. “Me, too. When I got your call—”
No, he’d better not go on with how that had made him feel, or he might lose it entirely. Laura needed his professional skill right now.
