Shattered (39 page)

"What about Scott?" she asked.

"You and he . . ." Her mother's voice trailed off, but her expression left Lisa in no doubt about her meaning. Then she remembered that quick kiss in front of the elevators the previous night with Martha's friends as witnesses, and had little doubt that her mother's phone had been ringing with the news as soon as the women had awakened.

Busted,
she thought, but she didn't really care.

"Okay, so I'm dating Scott," she admitted, although "dating" didn't quite cover it. No way was she getting any more graphic with her mother, however. "It's not that big of a deal, and I was going to tell you one of these days. Maybe. If it lasted long enough to talk about."

No need to let her mother start thinking this was some deathless romance. Not until she herself had had time to get over the surprise of it, and the heat that sizzled between them whenever they were in each other's company had died down to a manageable level, and she had caught her breath to the point where she could see the way ahead a little more clearly. At some point her plan had always been to head back to Boston. . . .

"When did--this start?" Although her mother was clearly trying to be low-key, she was looking at her as though Lisa had just given her the best present possible. If ever delight had shined from someone's face, it was shining now from Martha's.

"Fourth of July. We were at the country club and we just--clicked." The PG version was all her mother was going to get, and it was clearly enough for her. She beamed.

"I'm so--glad. I've always--liked him. Ever since you--came back--I've been thinking--he's perfect for you. You should . . ."

A nurse tapped on the open door then, interrupting, and walked into the room as Martha broke off. Lisa looked a question at the nurse.

"Dr. Spencer asked me to tell you that he's made arrangements for an ambulance to take Mrs. Grant to the Worley Center at ten. They'll be expecting her."

Martha had been looking at the nurse. Now she frowned and turned bewildered eyes on Lisa, who abruptly put down the spoonful of applesauce she'd been holding.

"The Worley Center?" Martha asked. "What's this?"

Martha knew what the Worley Center was. They had even talked about the possibility that she might have to be placed there one day, when the ALS drew near to its inevitable end. But she had always wanted to die at home, and Lisa had promised to do her utmost to keep her there. Now, however, it just wasn't possible.

"Thank you," Lisa said to the nurse, who nodded and left the room. Then she looked at her mother.

"You're being released tomorrow." Drawing on her reserves of inner strength, she summoned a cheerful tone, as if she was giving her mother good news. "Since we can't go back to Grayson Springs just yet, Dr. Spencer suggested the Worley Center."

Martha wasn't fooled. "It's getting--worse, isn't it?"

Lisa knew she meant the ALS. With every fiber of her being she wanted to lie, wanted to deny what Dr. Spencer and the tests had said, wanted to allay the fear she saw in her mother's eyes.

But what felt like a long time ago now, when she had first come back home, she had promised her mother that where her illness was concerned, she would tell her nothing but the truth.

"Yes," she said.

The color leached from Martha's face like someone had pulled a plug, allowing it to drain away.

"Ah." Martha's fingers curled around the arms of her chair.

"You wouldn't be going there tomorrow if Grayson Springs hadn't burned," Lisa said swiftly, moving to crouch in front of her mother's chair. "The disease hasn't progressed to the point that you really need that kind of care yet. It's just that you can't go home, and . . ."

"The end's coming," Martha finished for her. She was looking down at Lisa. Her fingers had relaxed, and her expression was quite calm now. "That's all right. I'm all right. I've known it--somewhere inside--for a while, I think. I'm not afraid, and--I don't want you to worry about me. It's just that--Annalisa, could you--take me home? Tonight? Just for a little while? I'm afraid I'll--go into that place--and never come--out again."

"Mother . . ."

"Please, Annalisa."

"It's raining."

"Please."

30

"This is--fun."
Color had crept back into Martha's cheeks, and her face was more animated than Lisa had seen it in a long time. "I've never--run away--from a hospital before."

Lisa knew that her mother's outward gaiety was largely assumed for her benefit. Her own heart was heavy, but still she managed a smile. They were in the Jaguar, with her mother strapped into the passenger seat beside her and her wheelchair folded into the trunk. If Martha hadn't weighed about as much as a sack full of nothing, Lisa would never have managed getting her into the car on her own. But Martha was so tiny now that it hadn't been hard, like lifting a child, and with the seat back upright and the seat belt locked in place, she was as secure in the passenger seat as she would have been in her wheelchair. Lisa had a great many reservations about this, but she wasn't proof against her mother's pleas--her mother never asked for anything for herself--or the yearning she saw in her eyes.

Plus she had a terrible suspicion that Martha was right: Once she was established in the Worley Center, she would probably never come out again.

Her heart ached at the thought.

So she drove through the gathering darkness toward Grayson Springs, listening to the intermittent hiccup of the windshield wipers that she had turned on to combat the drizzle, watching the neon glow of passing strip malls and the gleam of headlights hitting shiny, wet streets, pretending to a lightheartedness she did not feel.

"Dr. Spencer's going to yell at me if he finds out." Lisa glanced mock-reproachfully at her mother.

Her mother chuckled. "I'll take the blame." Her head turned as she looked out at her surroundings. "It's so good to be--out of that hospital. Could you--roll down the window? I want to--smell the rain."

Lisa obligingly rolled her window down about halfway. She chose her window rather than the passenger one because she didn't want the full force of the wind blowing in on her mother. The warm, damp air with its earthy smell rushed into the car, ruffling her mother's hair, lifting tendrils of her own, the bulk of which was confined in a ponytail, to whip around her face. She tucked them behind her ears with one hand.

Martha inhaled.

"I used to love--rainy nights. You were born--on a rainy night."

"Was I?"

"
Mm-hmm.
I remember--your daddy rushing me to the hospital--through the rain. Of course--that night--I had other things on my mind. Like having you. You came--early, you know. I was--so scared. But excited. So excited to be--a mother."

"Was I sick when I was born?" The question had been burning in her mind ever since Scott had told her about the medical records, but she hadn't liked to just abruptly spring it on her mother. With such an opening, though, she couldn't resist. "With something called ARPKD, or whatever?"

Martha glanced at her in surprise. "How did you know? You were--indeed. When you were born--you seemed fine. You were small--but you were early--and I thought that was--all it was. Everybody did. Then--the next day--they told me--you had a very serious disorder. It was something--to do with your--kidneys. ARPKD. I'd never--heard of it. But they said--you might not live. They said most babies--who had it--died." She went quiet for a moment. Glancing at her, Lisa saw that her face had gone almost gray.

"Mother--" she said sharply, fearing that something was wrong.

"I'm all right." Martha looked at her. "I was just--remembering. It was--the worst moment--of my life. I was so--afraid. If you had died--I would have died, too."

"But I didn't. I got well."

Martha smiled. "Yes. Thank God. I prayed, you know. I got down on my knees--by your little bassinet--and I begged God to--leave me my daughter. The doctors said--there was no way to know--if you were one of the ones who would live--or not. Three quarters died--within months. They wanted--to keep you there--but I took you home. To Grayson Springs. It was--the right decision. Mama and Daddy--took care of us both. I never left your side. I held you, and I cried, and I prayed. I prayed day and night. And you got better. You were fine. You
are
fine. It was a miracle, Annalisa. A miracle--for us both."

"You never told me."

"I hated remembering. It was--a terrible time. And you had--gotten well. I was--afraid to jinx it. Afraid that if--I thought about it--or talked about it--the thoughts or words would go out into--the universe, I guess--and you would get sick again." She smiled. "That sounds stupid, doesn't it? But I was--so afraid. And you've been so--healthy. Except for the chicken pox--you've hardly been sick."

They were out of the city now, driving along the two-lane road that led to Woodford County. Here beyond the reach of any streetlights it was dark as pitch, and Lisa switched to her high beams. In her rearview mirror, she could see the lights of maybe two other cars, one close, one farther away. The rain was picking up, and a fat drop blew in to splatter on her shoulder. She would have closed the window if she had been alone. But her mother liked the smell.

"The chicken pox was bad, though." Lisa tried to lighten the mood. "I remember feeling like my skin was on fire, it itched so much."

"And you always wanted--to scratch. I had to put you in--baking-soda baths."

"That just made me itch more!"

Martha laughed. "It was supposed to--bring all the pox out--so that you recovered faster."

Lisa laughed, too. "That was torture, Mother. Of your own child, too. You should be ashamed."

They were nearing the bridge that marked the boundary with Woodford County. She could just see its low stone walls, denser than the night as they arched against the dark sky. Below it, the river rolled past black as oil, and Lisa realized that the water had risen almost to the top of the banks. Very much more rain and it would flood.

"I'm glad about--you and Scott," her mother said. "The thing I've hated--most--is the idea that you'll be--all alone when I'm gone."

Lisa cast her a quick frowning look. "You're not going anywhere for a while yet. And as for Scott and me, well, we'll just have to see where it goes."

"I wish I . . ." Her mother began, only to have her words cut off abruptly as something slammed hard into the car from behind. Lisa screamed as the Jag was catapulted forward. The shriek of metal crunching metal rent the night.

The jolt snapped Lisa's head back into the headrest. Her eyes went wide. Her heart leaped. Her hands clenched the wheel. Instinctively she slammed on the brakes. The tires shuddered and screeched as they fought for purchase to no avail. The back end started to fishtail on the wet pavement. The smell of burning rubber reached her through the open window.

"Annalisa," her mother cried.

Galvanized with fear, Lisa jerked the wheel to the right, toward the center of the road, and might possibly even have regained control if the rear wheels hadn't left the pavement and taken the front pinwheeling after it. The car bumped and rocked and skidded over grass that felt slippery as ice. The tall trees edging the road loomed terrifyingly close. Her foot was to the floor, jammed down on the brake. Horror flooded her as she felt something in the brake assembly snap, and suddenly there was no resistance at all beneath her foot. The pedal went flat against the floor.

The brakes are gone.

Disbelief suspended her every faculty for an instant. Time slowed down, stretched out. Her heart hammered. Her pulse pounded. Her mouth went dry. Foot straining against the now useless brake pedal, fighting the wheel as if she might actually be able to alter their course, Lisa realized that she was helpless. The car was out of control. The edge of the bridge flashed past the windshield as they spun. Another vehicle streaked through her line of vision, lights blazing, at right angles to the Jag. Then they were flying backward, shooting out into nothingness. Gasping with horror, Lisa found herself looking back the way they had come: at trees and fields and oncoming headlights silhouetted against a black sky.

The Jaguar tilted with its trunk downward and dropped like a stone. Heart thundering, stomach plummeting along with the car, she heard screams that she only dimly recognized were her own and her mother's. Frozen with horror, she realized that they were plunging into the river only an instant before they hit with a tremendous splash.

Something smacked her hard in the face, violent as a punch. She saw stars, but a wave of lukewarm water surging through the open window sent a life-saving rush of adrenaline rocketing into her veins that restored her to her senses almost instantly. What had hit her was the air bag; it was already deflating. They were in the river. Water was filling the car. It was sinking, back end first, the headlights slicing up toward the low-hanging night sky. She glimpsed the silver sparkle of raindrops falling through their beams. Inside the car, it was dark and claustrophobic and terrifying. As she shoved the limp air bag out of her way, she saw that the backseat was already almost submerged. The Jag was slipping beneath the surface fast.

A jolt of icy panic shot down her spine.

"Mother!" she cried, her eyes slewing toward Martha as she fought to free herself of her seat belt. Her mother was a shadowy pale figure lying limp as a rag doll in her seat. For one heart-stopping second Lisa thought she was unconscious, or even dead, but then Martha's head turned in her direction, her eyes gleaming through the darkness, and Lisa felt a quiver of relief. They had at best only a few minutes, Lisa judged. She hit the horn, in sharp, hard blasts in hopes that someone might hear and realize that they had gone into the river. There had been cars behind them; the vehicle that had hit them--where was it? Where were its occupants? They had to be nearby. She screamed out the window for help even as she struggled with her seat belt. Her hands shook, her fingers were clumsy, the seat belt clasp wouldn't release. Water sloshed between the front seats, licking at the console, getting her wet, rising fast as it worked to swallow the car. Black and swirling, it gurgled as it tried to suck them down.