McCallum Quintuplets (20 page)

“That's ridiculous, and I don't have time to argue with you now. I'm going home to Jackson. Are you coming?”

“Dammit, Maggie, be reasonable.”

“I'm not being unreasonable,” she muttered, then said, “you are.”

“That's it?”

“What more is there?”

He stared at her hard, etching her image into his mind. “Nothing, I guess,” he said and swung the door shut.

Whatever emptiness he'd felt lately was nothing compared to what he felt at that moment. The void in his soul threatened to consume him. The tires of the Jeep squealed as Maggie drove off into the storm and the night, and all he could do was watch her go. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to hurt to love her. It wasn't
supposed to be so damn hard to talk to her. And it wasn't supposed to end.

He watched the glow of the taillights heading down the dirt drive, the rain smearing the dark hulk of the car as it went farther and farther away. “Dammit, dammit, dammit,” he muttered. He was a man who was used to being able to make anything work, and he felt useless and empty. “Dammit!” he screamed into the night, and at the same moment, the lights of the car veered to the left, but the driveway went right at that point. It curved right under the trees, then out to the highway. But the lights went left, left where the bank dropped in a ravine, a twenty-foot drop. Then the lights disappeared, and all there was was darkness.

“Maggie!” he screamed as he took off running into the rain.

 

M
AGGIE DROVE AWAY
from Adam, the ache in her deep and piercing. But she couldn't turn back. She had to be there for Jackson, and for the others. Adam couldn't ask her to turn her back on the babies. He couldn't. And she wouldn't.

She drove as quickly as she could onto the dirt drive that was mud, and she felt the Jeep slip slightly to the right, then it was on course and heading for the main road. The rain beat all around her, blurring the windshield and making the glow from the headlights a watery smear in front of her.

She saw the trees at the curve and jerked the wheel too hard to the right. Perversely, the car didn't go to the right. She felt it lose traction and slide slightly to the left, almost of its own will, and she yanked the steering wheel to the right while she almost stood on the brakes. But that only made it worse, and she knew, in that second, that she
wasn't in control. She wasn't in control of anything, not where the Jeep was going or her life.

The car swung hard to the right, toward the trees, then the trees disappeared and she saw nothing but blackness coming for her. She couldn't be flying, that was impossible, but there was the oddest feeling of floating, then a hard, jarring impact that drove the air out of her lungs, then another and another.

She tried to hold on to the steering wheel, but it was yanked out of her hands, and all she could think about was Adam and the children, of him saying that all they had was now. And she had nothing. The world tipped to one side, and she braced herself for a full flip, but it didn't come. She was slammed against the door despite the seat belt, then back again.

She braced herself for a horrendous impact, for the end of this and maybe everything. And grief filled her soul. Regret and horror in equal measure. She wouldn't be there for the babies, the one thing she'd feared most for them. And she wouldn't be there for Adam. The thing she feared most for herself.

Then, miraculously, everything stopped for a long moment, then there was a groan, a shudder, and the car went nose first, straight down, and with a hard thud, it stopped, almost vertical.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she breathed over and over again as she gripped the steering wheel, pressing her head against the cold plastic. She tried to feel her body beyond the hammer of her heart and the gulping of air into her lungs. She waited for pain, but there was no real pain. A dull ache in the side of her head, tightness in her chest and side, and pressure on her legs. But no agony, except in her heart.

The car wasn't moving. Maggie knew the ravine was at least twenty feet deep. She had no idea how far she'd gone down, but the angle of the car was ominous. As ominous as the motor stalling and the dash lights flickering and rain soaking her from the back. She couldn't see outside, not with mud, leaves and rain streaking the windows, but she knew one thing for certain. She was alive, and she had to get out of the car before it plunged and flipped.

In the dim green glow from the dash lights she could see the air bag laying on her like a deflated silver balloon, hanging to where the leather covering in the center of the steering wheel had ripped in four directions. She hadn't heard or seen it inflate, but it was there. She pushed it off her chest, then with fingers that barely cooperated, she managed to loosen the seat belt, and the pressure on her chest and side eased.

There was a chemical smell in the air mingling with the rain and earth. Then she caught a hint of gasoline and panicked all over again. Frantically she tugged the belt off and reached for the door handle, pulling on it with all her might, but nothing happened. It felt almost loose, and
the door wasn't giving at all. She twisted to pull the lock button up, but it was jammed at a funny angle in the leather panel, and the button for the window made a whining sound but didn't move the window down.

She twisted, trying to pull her legs away from the pressure against them, and saw where the rain came from, and realized it was her way out. The back window had shattered, letting in the driving rain but giving her an escape hatch. She tried to tug her legs up and across the console, and that was when she felt some pain. Something ran across her shins, and she twisted, pulling, felt a scraping on them, then her feet were free. Twisting, she grabbed at the back of the seat, pulled on the wet leather and managed to ease herself into the gap between the two front seats. She tumbled onto the soaked back seat, then grabbed and finally got a hold on the lower edge of the broken window.

Rain streamed in, running cold over her everywhere, and the edge of the window scraped her skin. She tugged the sleeve of her sweatshirt over her right hand and used the fabric as a barrier, then pulled on the window ledge to get out.

“Maggie!” Adam's voice was there, coming out of the darkness, through the wind and rain that was invading the car. Echoing through her. Then it came again, closer and more real. “Maggie! Maggie!”

“Adam?” she called hoarsely, pushing with her feet, scrambling into the window frame, trying to avoid the broken glass that was everywhere. She levered herself with her elbow against the side and pushed with all her strength, breaking into the night and the storm. She was partway out and pushed with her feet on the back seat, then almost tumbled onto the back door of the Jeep. She
barely got her legs free, then she felt her whole body sliding on the slick metal. Flailing for something to stop her fall, she found nothing until someone found her.

Strong hands grabbed her right arm, stopping her slide, twisting her to the edge of the door. Then she was being gathered. She was safe. Even with the storm beating around her, the rain drenching her, she was with Adam, and everything was right. She held him, her face pressed to his bare chest soaked by the rain, and he was speaking, his voice rumbling through her. “Maggie, Maggie, Maggie,” he whispered over and over again, and she could feel him shaking. Maybe it was her shaking, too, but she couldn't tell. She just held him for dear life.

He was here. Here and now. And she was alive. That's all that mattered. “Oh, Adam,” she breathed, the shaking in her body growing at an alarming rate.

“Are you okay?” he asked, trying to hold her to look at her, but she held on tightly, fighting any gap in their contact.

“I…I…thought…” She gasped against his bare chest. “I thought…I really thought…” She bit her lip hard and tasted the metallic sharpness of blood. “I'm okay,” she finished on a shudder.

“Thank God,” he murmured, his arms around her tightening to hover just this side of real pain with their pressure. “Thank God.”

Then she realized that all he had on was his jeans, and the rain was cold and driving. The wind felt bitter through her wet clothes. “We…we need to get you inside,” she said, drawing away but holding his arms as she looked at him in the night and the storm. His hair was plastered to his head, and she looked at his feet, all but buried in the muddy bank by the ruined car, then at him.

“You…you're barefoot,” she said.

“And you're alive,” he breathed, leaning down to kiss her, heat and comfort in that contact, and it lingered despite the pounding elements around them. Then he drew back. “Let's get up to the house now.”

She looked beyond him and saw then just how far into the ravine she'd plunged. The dark shadows of brush and weeds climbed above them, and there was a huge swath of damage caused by the Jeep. “How?” she asked.

“We can do it.” It was all he said as he grabbed her hand and turned, reaching with his free hand for the heavy brush to his right. “Just follow me. Think about dry and warm and a hot shower.”

She went with him, but all she could think of was him, and him saying that you never knew how much time you had. That you couldn't count on tomorrow and today was all there was. And the babies, how tiny and needy they were, and how much they needed both her and Adam. It seemed to take forever, but they finally climbed onto the drive, and Adam turned to her, lifting her off her feet in one motion.

“You don't have to—”

“Oh, yes, I do,” he muttered and carried her up the drive toward the cabin.

Neither of them spoke until they were inside and Adam was lowering her to stand in front of him in the great room. The lights were off, but she didn't need light to see her husband, to see everything about him. And everything about herself. “Adam, I—”

He leaned toward her, touching her lips with his fingers, a cold contact that made her shiver. “Shh, you need a hot shower. You need dry clothes. Then we'll talk. I promise.”

He was right. She needed time to think, to sort through things. She shivered again and admitted, “You're right.”

“Okay, go and get your shower.” He drew back, not touching her anymore, and she was unable to read his expression. That bothered her more than the mud, the rain and the scrapes that were stinging.

“I'll…I won't be long,” she murmured and hurried into the master bedroom.

Adam watched her go, then went in the opposite direction, to the kitchen, then to the room off the laundry. There was a small shower there that they used after swimming, and he stripped off his jeans, turned on the water and stepped under it.

He wished he could push that image of the Jeep disappearing out of his mind. But he couldn't, any more than he could get rid of that moment of pure, raw panic and fear that had gripped him. Running through the storm, rocks pressing on his bare feet, slipping and sliding down the ravine to the ominously still car—the events were etched in his mind.

He thought she was dead, that he was right where his father had been so many years before. Alone. With children he adored but the love of his life gone. And it was almost too much to bear. Until he'd seen her crawling out of the car window, sliding down the slick metal. Then she had been in his arms. Real and alive. Holding him. His life.

He scrubbed at his cold skin, trying to get warm, trying to focus on here and now. On Maggie and on him. And he knew what he had to do. He got out, turned off the water and grabbed a towel. He dried himself, then wrapped the towel around his hips and headed through the house. He knew what he had to do, and he knew he
should have done it sooner. He should have known that it was the only thing he could do.

 

M
AGGIE STEPPED OUT
of the shower, wrapped herself in her white terry-cloth robe and stood very still in the steamy bathroom. Focus, focus. That's what she had to do. She had to stop these scattered fears and dreads. She had to get to what Adam had said, the core of them. The connection they had, that she prayed they still had.

She flipped off the light and stepped into the master bedroom, and Adam was there. His hair was slicked back from his face, exposing a tightness in his expression that was almost painful to see. She dropped her gaze and saw the towel riding low on his lean hips, the dark hair just above it. The flat stomach. Her mouth went suddenly dry, and words that seemed to be bombarding her deep inside wouldn't come out.

He was very still, then he came across to her, looking at her, studying her with narrowed eyes. She realized he had something in his hand, and he was holding it out to her. The cell phone. She looked at it, not touching it.

“Call Grace,” he said. “Don't tell her about the accident, but tell her that we'll both be there as soon as we can make it.”

She looked at him, not understanding. “Adam, the car's ruined. It's my fault, and now we're stuck, and—”

“Please, just call her. I'll work out the details.”

“No,” she said, putting her hands behind her back.

“What are you talking about? No? You couldn't wait to get back home, and now you're not even going to call Grace?”

It sounded insane, but suddenly she knew exactly what she had to do. “Grace…she's with Jackson, and she…she
can call,” Maggie said, her throat getting tighter with each word. “Adam, I'm so sorry.”

He was very still, then he said in a voice so low she almost couldn't make out the words, “You're sorry for what?”

She turned from him, hoping that if she wasn't facing him, she could get this out. It had to said. “For doing that. For crashing the car. For putting you through all this. For acting so…so irresponsibly.”

“Maggie, don't do this,” he said from close behind her, but she didn't turn. Instead she went toward the French doors and stared out at the storm.

“No, I need to say this while I can still get it out,” she said with raw frankness. “You were right about me. My mother…she…she walked out. She just left.”

He touched her then, his hands on her shoulders, and she closed her eyes tightly. “You don't have to—”

“I do,” she said, shrugging to stop his touch. She couldn't do this if he was touching her. “I never really told you what happened. About my mother. She walked out, she left. But she didn't just disappear one day. She left a note, and my dad, until he died, carried it with him. I only found it after he was gone. It was just before I met you.”

“You never said anything,” he murmured.

“I didn't think I should. I mean, it was so personal, and it was so sad. She left because she couldn't deal with anything. She left because she was so overwhelmed with her life that the best thing she could think to do was not be there. I wasn't even a year old, and she told Dad to take care of me because she couldn't. She wasn't meant to be a mother, and she knew it.”

The words seemed flat to her ears, almost devoid of
emotion, yet it was ripping her heart out to tell Adam what she should have told him from the start. “So she just left me there. She never said she loved me. She never said she'd miss me. She just left.”

“Oh, God,” he whispered and he touched her, putting his arms around her and pulling her against him. And she stayed there, her eyes closed, the note written on a torn scrap of paper so vivid in front of her that she could have been looking at it right then. “I'm so sorry.”

“You were right. I almost thought that I could be like that… I'm not like her. I'm not. And when I met you, I loved you so fiercely, I knew I could love. And then the babies, my God, five of them, and so tiny and wonderful, and I loved them with all my heart.”

She felt his chin rest on top of her head, and he held her more tightly. “I've told you and told you that you aren't your mother. Now I know you aren't.”

“But what if I got overwhelmed, what if I couldn't take it anymore, what if—”

“You are overwhelmed and you can't take it anymore, but your first instinct was to go right back to the babies, to be there, to dive right in and love them. Don't you see, you've been where she was, and you came out of it still here, still loving them, still wanting to be with them above anything or anyone else.” He pressed a kiss to her hair. “Maggie, you went through fire, and all you've worried about is them getting burned. You won. You're here.”

His words sank into her soul, and she felt a peace she hadn't felt since seeing that note. She felt whole and she felt right. And it was Adam who gave that to her. Who showed her that truth. And she loved him with a love that was staggering. She twisted in his hold, facing him, pressing her body as close to his as was humanly possible.
Loving him more than she loved life itself. Tears were there, sliding down her cheeks, but there was no misery in her, just thanksgiving. “Adam, I realize what I have to do now,” she whispered.

He gazed at her. “I know. I'll find a car, some way to get you home.”

“No, that's not what I meant,” she said, resting her hands on his bare chest, feeling his heart, wondering how his heart could feel so much like hers.

“What do you mean?”

“I want to call home. I need to. You understand that, don't you?”

“I told you I do.”

“But what you don't understand is, it's okay not to go if Grace says she's got things under control. It's okay to stay here, you and me.”

“Maggie, you can go if I can find a car. Maybe I'll call Dad or have some neighbor come over, but you'll go.”

“Give me the phone,” she said, moving away from him and holding out her hand. “Just give it to me.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then turned, reached for the phone he'd dropped on a chair nearby, then handed it to her. “Here.”

She put in their home number, then pressed Send and looked at him. She never looked away as she heard the ringing. Then Grace answered.