Silence (32 page)

A tide of panic crashed over me. I said something that might have been
no
or
now
.
No
, this couldn’t be happening. I needed to see my mom
now
. All of a sudden I regretted every sharp word I’d said to her these past couple of weeks. My worst fears came crawling in from every direction. I’d already lost my dad. If I lost my mom …

“How serious is it?” My voice wobbled. Deep down, I knew I didn’t want to cry in front of Hank. A trivial matter of pride that shattered the moment I pictured my mom’s face. I shut my eyes, trapping the tears.

“When I left the hospital, they couldn’t tell me anything. I came straight here to get you. I’ve already signed you out with the attendance secretary,” Hank explained. “I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

He held the door for me, and I mechanically ducked under his arm. I felt my feet carry me down the hall. Outside, the sun was too bright. I wondered if I would remember this day forever. I wondered if I would have reason to look back on it and feel the same intolerable emotions I’d felt upon learning my dad had been murdered—confusion, bitterness, helplessness.
Abandonment.
I choked, no longer able to hold back a sob.

Hank unlocked his Land Cruiser without a word. He raised his hand once, as if to give my shoulder a consoling squeeze, then made a fist and dropped it.

And that’s when it hit me. Things were looking a little too convenient. Maybe it was my natural aversion to Hank, but it crossed my mind that he could be lying to get me inside his car.

“I want to call the hospital,” I said abruptly. “I want to see if they have an update.”

Hank frowned. “We’re on our way there now. In ten minutes, you can talk to her doctor in person.”

“Excuse me if I’m a little worried, but this is my mom we’re talking about,” I said softly, but with unmistakable firmness.

Hank dialed a number on his phone and handed it to me. The hospital’s automated system picked up, asking me to listen carefully to the following options, or stay on the line for an operator. A minute later I was connected with an operator.

“Can you tell me if Blythe Grey was admitted today?” I asked the woman, avoiding Hank’s gaze.

“Yes, we have a Blythe Grey on record.”

I exhaled. Just because Hank hadn’t lied about my mom’s accident didn’t mean he was innocent. All these years living in the farmhouse, and never once had she fallen down the stairs. “This is her daughter. Can you give me an update on her condition?”

“I can leave a message for her doctor to call you.”

“Thanks,” I said, leaving my cell phone number.

“Any news?” Hank asked.

“How do you know she fell down the stairs?” I quizzed him. “Did you see her fall?”

“We’d arranged to meet for lunch. When she didn’t answer the door, I let myself in. That’s when I found her at the bottom of the stairs.” If he detected any suspicion in my voice, he didn’t show it. If anything, he sounded morose, loosening his tie and wiping sweat off his brow.

“If anything happens to her … ,” he muttered to himself, but didn’t finish the thought. “Should we go?”

Get into the car,
a voice inside my head commanded. Just like that, my mind emptied of all suspicion. I could grasp only one thought: I needed to go with Hank.

There was something strange about the voice, but I couldn’t place it through my muddled mind. All my reasoning power seemed to float away, making room for that one continuous order:
Get into the car.

I looked at Hank, who blinked benignly. I had the impulse to
accuse him of something, but why should I? He was here to help. He cared about my mom….

Obediently, I slid inside the Land Cruiser.

I didn’t know how long we rode in silence. My thoughts were a whirlwind, until suddenly Hank cleared his voice. “I want you to know she’s in the best hands. I requested that Dr. Howlett oversee her care. Dr. Howlett and I were roommates at the University of Maine before he went on to Johns Hopkins.”

Dr. Howlett. I juggled his name a moment—and then it came to me. He was the doctor who’d cared for me after I first returned home. After
Hank
saw fit to return me, I corrected myself. And now it turned out Hank and Dr. Howlett were friends? Any numbness I felt was quickly eclipsed by anxiety. I felt a swift and instant distrust of Dr. Howlett.

As I was frantically considering the connection between the two men, a car pulled up beside Hank’s. For one split moment, I didn’t see anything wrong with the picture—and then the car slammed into the Land Cruiser.

The Land Cruiser careened sideways, grating against the guardrail. A shower of sparks flew from the scraping metal. I barely had time to yelp when we were battered again. Hank overcorrected, the rear of the Land Cruiser fishtailing violently.

“They’re trying to run us off the road!” Hank yelled. “Get your seat belt on!”

“Who are they?” I shrieked, double-checking that my seat belt was fastened.

Hank jerked the wheel to avoid another hit, and the abrupt movement jarred my attention back to the road ahead; it curved sharply to the left as we approached a deep ravine. Hank stomped the gas, trying to outrace the other car, a tan El Camino. The El Camino gunned forward, swerving into the lane ahead. Three heads were visible through the windshield, and from what I could tell, all were male.

An image of Gabe, Dominic, and Jeremiah flashed to mind. It was pure speculation, since I couldn’t make out their faces, but even the mere suggestion caused me to yell out.

“Stop the car!” I shouted. “It’s a trap. Put the car in reverse!”

“They destroyed my car!” Hank snarled, accelerating into a chase.

The El Camino screeched around the bend, skidding across the solid white line. Hank followed, veering dangerously close to the guardrail. The shoulder of the road dropped away, plunging into the ravine. From way up here, it looked like a giant bowl of air, with Hank racing recklessly along the rim. My stomach turned circles, and I clutched the armrest.

The El Camino’s taillights blazed red.

“Look out!” I screamed. I flattened one hand to the window and the other against Hank’s shoulder, trying to stop the inevitable.

Hank jerked the wheel hard, sending the Land Cruiser up on two wheels. I was thrown forward, my seat belt catching hard across my chest, my head colliding with the window. My vision clouded, and loud noises seemed to descend on me from every direction. Crunching, shattering, piercing noises that exploded in my ears.

I thought I heard Hank growl something—
Damn fallen angels!—
but then I was flying.

No, not flying. Tumbling. Over and over.

I didn’t remember landing, but when my mind registered again, I was on my back. Not inside the Land Cruiser, somewhere else. Dirt. Leaves. Sharp rocks biting into my skin.

Cold, pain, hard. Cold, pain, hard.
My brain couldn’t move beyond three chanted words. I saw them slide across my vision.

“Nora!” Hank yelled, his voice sounding far away.

I was sure my eyes were open, but I couldn’t make out any one object. Bright light I couldn’t see past stretched from one edge of my vision to the other. I attempted to rise. The directions I gave my muscles were clear, but there was a breach somewhere along the lines; I couldn’t move.

Hands grasped my ankles first, then my wrists. My body glided through the leaves and dirt, making a strange rustling noise. I licked my lips, trying to call out to Hank, but when my mouth opened, the wrong words came out.

Cold, pain, hard. Cold, pain, hard.

I wanted to rattle myself out of the stupor.
No!
I screamed inside my head.
No, no, no!

Patch! Help! Patch, Patch, Patch!

“Cold, pain, hard,” I muttered incoherently.

Before I could correct myself, it was too late. My mouth was stitched closed. As were my eyes.

Solid hands grasped my shoulders, shaking me.

“Can you hear me, Nora? Don’t try to get up. Stay on your back. I’m going to get you to the hospital.”

My eyes popped open. Trees swayed overhead. Sunlight spilled through their branches, casting strange shadows that altered the world from light to dark, and back again.

Hank Millar bent over me. His face was cut up, blood trickling down, blood smearing his cheeks, blood matting his hair. His lips were moving, but it hurt too much to make sense of his words.

I turned away.
Cold, pain, hard.

I woke in a hospital, my bed behind a white cotton curtain. The room was peacefully, yet strangely, quiet. My toes and fingers tingled, and my head might as well have been strewn with cobwebs.
Drugs,
I mildly noted.

A different face leaned over mine. Dr. Howlett smiled, but not enough to show teeth.

“You took a frightful hit, young lady. Plenty of bruising, but nothing’s broken. I had the nurses give you ibuprofen, and I’ll give you a prescription before you go. You’re going to feel tender for a few days. Considering the circumstances, I’d say you should count your blessings.”

“Hank?” I managed to ask, my lips paper-dry.

Dr. Howlett shook his head, rumbling a short laugh. “You’re
going to hate hearing this, but he pulled through without a scratch. Hardly seems fair.”

Through the haze, I tried to reason. Something wasn’t right. And then my memory opened. “No. He was cut up. He was bleeding badly.”

“You’re mistaken. Hank came in wearing more of your blood than his own. You got the worst of it by far.”

“But I saw him—”

“Hank Millar is in pristine shape,” he cut me off. “And once your stitches fall out, you will be too. As soon as the nurses finish checking these bandages, you’ll be good to go.”

Underneath it all, I knew I should panic. There were too many questions, too few answers.
Cold, pain, hard. Cold, pain, hard.

The glow of taillights. The crash. The ravine.

“This will help,” Dr. Howlett said, surprising me with a prick to my arm. Fluid streamed from the needle into my blood with nothing more than a faint sting.

“But I just regained consciousness,” I murmured, a pleasant chemical exhaustion washing through me. “How can I be okay already? I don’t feel right.”

“You’ll make a faster recovery at home.” He chuckled. “Here you’ll have nurses poking and prodding you all night.”

All night?
“It’s already evening? But it was just noon. Before Hank—health class—I never had lunch.”

“It’s been a rough day,” Dr. Howlett said, nodding complacently.
Under the layers of drugs, I wanted to scream. Instead a mere sigh escaped.

I laid a hand on my stomach. “I feel funny.”

“MRI confirmed you don’t have internal bleeding. Take it easy for the next few days, and you’ll be up and running in no time.” He gave my shoulder a playful squeeze. “But I can’t promise you’ll feel like climbing into another car any time soon.”

Somewhere in the middle of the fog, I remembered my mom. “Is Hank with my mom? Is she okay? Can I see her? Does she know about the car crash?”

“Your mom is making a very speedy recovery,” he assured me. “She’s still in ICU and can’t have visitors, but she should be moved to her own room by morning. You can come back and see her then.” He leaned down, as though to make me his coconspirator. “Between us, if it weren’t for the red tape, I’d let you sneak in to see her now. She had a pretty nasty concussion, and while there was memory loss at first, considering her condition when Hank first brought her in, I think it’s safe to say she’ll pull a one-eighty.” He patted my cheek. “Luck must run in the family.”

“Luck,” I repeated lethargically.

But I had an alarming feeling stirring inside me, indicating that luck had nothing to do with either of our recoveries.

And maybe not our accidents, either.

A
FTER DR. HOWLETT GAVE ME CLEARANCE TO
leave, I rode the elevator down to the main lobby. On the way, I dialed Vee. I didn’t have a ride home, and I hoped it was still early enough that her mom would let her rescue a stranded friend.

The elevator eased to a stop, and the doors glided open. My phone clattered at my feet.

“Hello, Nora,” Hank said, standing directly in front of me.

Three counts passed before I summoned my voice. “Going up?” I asked, hoping I sounded calm.

“Actually, I was looking for you.”

“I’m in a hurry,” I said apologetically, scooping up my phone.

“I thought you might need a ride home. I had one of my boys bring over a rental from the dealership.”

“Thanks, but I’ve already called a friend.”

His smile was plastic. “At least let me see you to the doors.”

“I need to stop by the restrooms first,” I hedged. “Please don’t wait. Really, I’m fine. I’m sure Marcie is anxious to see you.”

“Your mother would want me to see you home safely.”

His eyes were bloodshot, his whole expression weary, but I didn’t for one moment think it was from his role as the grieving boyfriend. Dr. Howlett could insist all he wanted that Hank had arrived at the hospital unscathed, but I knew the truth. He’d come out of the crash worse than I had. Worse, even, than the crash warranted.