Uncharted (7 page)
Twenty years had passed since she graduated from FSU, and she still had no husband, no children, no future. She’d spent her youth pining for a man who would never consider her anything more than a casual friend.
She glanced again at David’s e-mail, and for an instant she wished she could take him up on his offer. So what if she was the only one who responded? David never took his wife on his trips (the woman had a job and a child to care for), so Lisa and David would be alone to reminisce about a time when life had been rich, full, and ripe with promise.
David would be a friend . . . and, given her circumstances, Lisa couldn’t think of anything she’d enjoy more.
Boston
David glanced over his left shoulder, then pulled onto the entrance ramp for I-93. Traffic was heavy at this hour, the highway clogged with people heading out of the city after a hard week. He would have preferred to stay at the office and postpone this drive, but eight-year-old Nicholas would be waiting at the window of his grandmother’s house, his SpongeBob backpack crammed with books and papers, his lunch box filled with an empty juice box and twin sandwich crusts.
David smiled and eased into traffic. Man, he loved that kid. He and Julia had planned to have two children, but unless the hand of God wrote
Have another baby
on their kitchen wall, Nicholas would be their only child. Julia had suffered through a complicated pregnancy and a difficult delivery, and David didn’t want to put her through that ordeal again.
And he had no complaints. Though he’d made some spectacular mistakes, he’d learned to be content with his lot, trusting that every event was part of a sovereign plan for the Payne family.
Life would be different if they had two children, for both he and his wife had demanding careers. He’d met Julia in medical school and been impressed by her dedication to her work and to God. Within six weeks of meeting her across a cadaver, he knew she was meant to be his wife.
Fortunately, she felt the same connection.
He slanted the hulking vehicle into the right lane and took the Chelsea exit. Ordinarily, Nicholas would be waiting at home with his nanny, but Friday was Alexis’s day off, so Julia’s mother picked him up at Kelly Elementary and took him to her home. Nicholas and his grandmother enjoyed their days together, and David was grateful Mrs. Lawson was willing to care for her grandson one day a week.
As he followed the curving exit, his thoughts drifted back over the day—his rising before dawn; his meditation time; his prayer for wisdom, strength, and calm hands in the midst of surgery. He’d made his rounds early, followed by the surgery on nine-month-old Nicole Witherspoon. The difficult procedure was accomplished with a minimum of difficulty, thanks to his top-notch surgical team.
He’d have this weekend to tie up loose ends at home and the office, then he would be off to Kwajalein, the small Pacific island where he and a few local volunteers would build a school. John Watson, a friend since David’s FSU days, had coordinated the trip and would serve as a liaison with the local people.
David turned up the radio, drowning out the rumble of distant thunderheads, then leaned back against the SUV’s leather upholstery. His medical colleagues usually spent their vacations playing golf in exotic ports, but he’d never felt right about pampering himself when he could do something to help others. Despite his shortcomings, he’d been so fortunate—with his wife, his child, and his career—that he enjoyed spending his free time honoring the God who had richly blessed him.
He reached the end of the exit ramp, stopped at the stop sign, and flipped on his turn signal. Nicholas waited in a pretty little house about a mile from this intersection, and David was eager to hear about his son’s day.
He leaned forward, trying to see around the curve of the road to his left. A rising wind whipped the trees ahead, and already there were spits of rain in the wind. If he didn’t hurry, he and Nick would be caught in a downpour.
After checking his left again, he turned right and headed toward Mrs. Lawson’s house. On the road ahead, a black Navigator barreled around the corner, its headlights slicing through the gathering twilight. David sat a little straighter in his seat and felt his pulse stutter when the vehicle’s chrome grin veered into his lane.
“What the—”
His ears filled with the rataplan of rain as he jerked the wheel, felt the soft bump of turf beneath his tires, and saw a pine tree rushing toward him.
“God, help!”
The sound of the collision was a hollow, authoritative
bang
that rolled through the twilight rain. David’s blinking eyes registered crumpled metal, rough bark, and a shower of pine needles while he inhaled chalk and the stale scent of chemicals. A gunshot had smacked him against the seat—the air bag?—and slammed his head against the headrest. For a moment color ran out of the world, and the roar of the engine faded. Then the motor ticked. David was slumped over the right armrest, and he studied the fine lines on the palm of his hand. Relief flooded over him, and he thought,
I’m going
to make it
. Then the pine tree shuddered, groaned, and toppled toward the hollow shell of the roof, a sturdy beam that fell from the sky and canceled David Payne’s plans.
Houston
Depleted by her session with Margie Winston, Susan Brantley Dodson sat at her computer and wearily deleted a long line of unsolicited e-mails. Only two messages were legitimate, a note from Sally at the Baywood Club and David Payne’s annual plea to join him in God-knew- what forsaken wilderness.
She couldn’t believe he still wrote her. It was a form letter, sent to her as well as the others, but still . . . What would he do if she accepted?
She read David’s note and knew this would be the last communication she’d receive from him until his next adventure. How odd that he’d become the glue that bound them together. She’d always thought Lisa would serve as the secretary who kept them in touch, but David was the one who linked them by e-mail at least once each year.
She scanned the list of e-mail addresses. Kevin still worked at the candy company; Karyn’s post, however, went to an AOL address. Rather democratic of David to make sure each of them received a personal note. Lisa used comcast.net, so she could be living anywhere, and Mark received his e-mail at Morrisluxurymotors.com.
Well, what did you know? The stubborn lug had finally hit the big time.
She read David’s message again, more carefully this time. The Marshall Islands? She’d never heard of them, let alone Kwajalein. David had undoubtedly picked some primitive and remote place. He would never consider serving his fellow man in Milan or Rome or Tokyo. People needed help in those cities, too, but David seemed intent on punishing himself.
For what? For being wealthy and successful or for the sins that stained his hypersensitive conscience?
She clicked
reply
and let her fingers caress the keys as she considered her answer. She should have gone with him ages ago. She could have accepted his invitation the year after Charles died; a working vacation would have taken her mind off her grief and given her something to do. Everyone knew that social service could boost a woman’s flagging spirits. Hundreds of junior leaguers would attest to that.
Yes, she should have gone, but she couldn’t go now. She needed too many props these days, and she didn’t want David to see her without her lotions, her makeup, and soft lighting. She couldn’t work outdoors in a setting where her skin might be exposed; she couldn’t risk further wrinkles or sun damage. Her dermatologist assured her she was nicely preserved for a woman of forty-two, but she’d be asking for trouble if she didn’t guard her complexion.
Eternal vigilance was the price of beauty.
David wouldn’t understand any of that, of course. He hadn’t seen her since the night he’d called from his hotel when he came to Houston for a medical convention. She’d looked beautiful that night; she glimpsed admiration in the eyes of every man she passed, from the bellman to the restaurant’s maître d’.
David hugged her when they met; he kissed her cheek and said she was the loveliest woman he’d ever seen.
Then why didn’t you marry me?
she wanted to ask, but the question died on her lips when David pulled out his wallet to display photos of his wife and son.
Susan had loved him since college, and he’d never noticed. She loved him still, but he didn’t care.
She thanked him for his letter, wished him well, and said she’d be happy to make a financial contribution to his trip. Because of schedule constraints, however, she wouldn’t be able to join him in the Marshall Islands.
If only he’d asked twenty years ago.
Manhattan
Karyn sat up and squinted through the darkness. She’d been dreaming of Tallahassee, of school and the old group. She and Susan were sharing a tiny dorm room and arguing about closet space when a sudden noise snapped her to wakefulness—
She clutched the edge of the sheet and peered into the shadows. She was in her bedroom; the red numerals of the clock gleamed from her bureau. One o’clock in the morning, an hour when she was usually deep in REM sleep. Nothing moved in the darkness; nothing stirred in the night.
She exhaled, then shook her head. She had set the security system, and a doorman stood guard at the entrance downstairs. She was jumpy; she shouldn’t have had that cup of coffee while she watched the evening news. Even decaf seemed to give her a buzz these days.
She froze as the hinges on her bedroom door squeaked. “Sarah?”
The door opened, its white surface gleaming in the moonlight seeping through the lace curtains.
“Sarah, is that you?”
A host of images fluttered through her brain—a crazed killer had found his way upstairs; someone had kidnapped Sarah; a crazed fan was intent on making her pay for every wrong Lorinda Loving had ever committed.
A shape passed through the doorway and plucked a string of memory. This form was too stocky to remind her of Kevin; the man was built more like . . .
Karyn felt her mouth go dry when her old friend David Payne moved into a patch of moonlight at the foot of her bed.
“David?” She knew she ought to be terrified, but nothing about David’s form or face could ever frighten her. He looked at her with piercing blue eyes, a faint smile on his lips. He carried a book and pointed to it as his mouth moved.
She was still dreaming. She had to be.
But if this was a dream, why couldn’t she hear what he was saying?
She leaned forward to study the image more intently. “I was thinking about you earlier.”
His brow wrinkled, and something moved in his eyes. Again he pointed to the book and mouthed words she couldn’t understand.
“You want me to . . . what, sign up for your trip? Read your book?”
His eyes searched hers, his gaze compassionate, stubborn, and still.
“David, this isn’t working. I was just dreaming of Susan, and
she
could talk. I don’t remember what she said, but that part of my dream made more sense than what you’re doing.”
A low groan filled the room, followed by a screech of steel. Karyn’s bare arms pebbled with gooseflesh. She clutched her covers and huddled against the headboard, peering through splayed fingers as the walls around her shuddered.
If this was a dream, it was one of the most realistic she’d ever experienced.
The sound registered with David too. He scanned the ceiling and the walls, then his gaze returned to hers. His mouth opened, and he repeated the words she couldn’t decipher; then the room filled with a tearing, gouging roar that shuddered the curtains and separated the planks of the wooden floor. A yawning gulf appeared between David and the bed’s footboard, and Karyn clung to a bedpost as her bedroom ripped in half. David, who’d been standing at the end of her bed, grew smaller as his half of the room receded.
Karyn felt a scream rise in her throat and choked it off.
It’s only a
dream.
She closed her eyes, then forced them open as she leaned forward and stared into the yawning hole that had opened in the flooring. She could see insulation, furniture, mangled steel, and the desiccated bodies of dead rats. Was this an earthquake? She lived in Manhattan, not California.
“David!” She looked up as the bed lurched forward. “David, don’t let me fall!”
Again, David moved his lips. This time he extended the book as if he might toss it to her. He strained forward, leaning over the gulf between them, and Karyn risked releasing the bedpost to reach for the slim volume in his hand. She stretched, taxing every muscle, but before he could throw it, the floor buckled and gave way. She dropped into the abyss . . .
“Mom?”
The nightmare shattered at the sound of Sarah’s voice. Karyn opened her eyes and found herself in bed; her daughter stood by her side. The lamp burned on her nightstand.
“Sarah? What are you doing up?”
“You were yelling. I could hear you from my room.”
Karyn blinked, then forced herself to sit up. Her limbs felt heavy, and her arms ached with the memory of reaching for something . . . a book? What book?