Excerpt from Come October

 

Prologue

A thousand goodbyes come after death . . .the first six months of bereavement.  ~ Alan Gregg

 

The woman sat so still a casual onlooker might have thought she was a statue. It was only when you looked more closely that you could make out the faint rise and fall of her chest. Her hands, with short, unpolished nails and long, elegant fingers, lay motionless on the arms of her wheelchair.

She wore a plain, long-sleeved, navy-blue cashmere sweater and her only jewelry was a delicate platinum watch worn on her right wrist. Her eyes were hidden behind tinted glasses. Her hair, dark and silky, was brushed back in a simple style and held in place by amber combs. A pale rose afghan covered her legs.

The only sounds in the room were the muted tick of the mantel clock and the occasional soft snore of the fat calico cat that slept curled on the hearth.

The woman sat for a long time, just staring out the third-story window that overlooked a narrow coastal road and afforded a magnificent view of the lichen-covered rocks and gray, seething ocean beyond.

Today was a windy, overcast day, but at this time of year in this part of northern California, most of them were. Occasionally, a shaft of sunlight appeared, but not often.

As she watched, a silver speck cut through the cloud cover. It was visible only a moment, just long enough to remind her that the outside world existed, no matter how much she tried to pretend it didn’t.

Behind her, an elevator door slid open.

“Claire.” A tall, stooped, older man walked into the room and placed his arthritic hand on her shoulder. “Alejandro is driving into town for supplies. Would you like to go along for the ride?”

“No, thank you, Uncle Richard.”

“Claire, my dear, you haven’t been out of this house all week. Don’t you think—”

She shook her head. “I’m fine, Uncle Richard. Please don’t worry about me.” She still hadn’t looked at him.

The old man seemed about to say something else, but then he simply sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He would have given anything, anything he possessed, to bring some lasting happiness back into the world of his beloved niece. He’d have given his entire fortune. The past six years of his life. Anything. But nothing could give back to Claire what she had lost.

It made him sick to see her when she was like this. By now, he’d hoped her bouts of depression would be gone, that she would have built a completely new life, maybe even found someone else to love. Instead, her periods of melancholy had seemed to intensify with each passing year.

Despair nearly overwhelmed him. Sometimes he thought she might as well have died in the accident, because everything that had made her uniquely Claire had disappeared. All that joy, all that energy and enthusiasm—vanished as if it had never existed.

In her old life, she’d been a people person.

Now she was a recluse.

Richard Fitzhenry Sherman was eighty-five years old, and on days like this, he felt every one of those years. He looked at the back of his niece’s head. Love constricted his chest. “I’ll be downstairs if you want me.”

“All right.”

“Rosita’s roasting a chicken for dinner.”

“That’s good.”

“Don’t stay up here too long.”

“I won’t.”

When she heard the door close after him, and she knew she was once more alone, she removed her glasses and placed them on a nearby mahogany table. Then, wearily, she rubbed the bridge of her nose.

This had been a rough week. One of those weeks when even the act of breathing seemed like too much effort.

And yet...she didn’t want to die. At first, right after the accident, especially once she realized the extent of her injuries, she had wanted nothing else. She’d even prayed for death.

But later, after the shock had worn off and she’d made her decision about the future, the wish to die had faded, and she’d begun to cooperate with the surgeons and nurses and therapists all through the arduous process of putting her broken body back together.

Now everything that medical science could do to heal and repair had been done, thanks to her uncle’s money and influence.

She knew she was lucky. Another woman with lesser means wouldn’t have been able to afford the extensive reconstructive surgery that had transformed her into a woman whose scars were no longer visible to the outside world.

Claire turned and wheeled herself over to her desk, which had been specially made to accommodate her chair. At the movement, Daisy, her cat, stretched and yawned, then settled back into sleep.

Claire looked at the screen of her computer monitor. A screen-saver design swirled in an ever-changing kaleidoscope of color. She tapped the mouse, and the screen saver disappeared. Now her monitor displayed a white screen filled with text. It was chapter twenty of her newest book in progress, and although she’d sat there attempting to work all morning, she still hadn’t written her daily quota of four new pages.

She knew exactly why she’d had so much trouble concentrating. She wondered if her uncle was aware of the significance of today’s date. If that was why he’d seemed so especially concerned and solicitous today, even more so than usual.

Suddenly, tears filled her eyes, which surprised her—for she prided herself on her calm acceptance of her life, particularly of the fact that she never allowed self-pity to undermine the peace she had achieved with such difficulty.

Six years ago.

Six years ago today.

The tears slid unchecked down her cheeks as memories engulfed her, memories of the day her life had changed forever.

 

Chapter One

Mid-January, six years earlier . . .

Claire Sherman looked around the crowded waiting area of Gate 33 at terminal C. Although she was in no hurry for Tucker Sutherland, her fiancé, to leave, she knew he was frustrated over the delay of his flight, and she knew the other passengers probably felt exactly the same way. If Tuck’s flight was grounded much longer, he was going to miss his connection to Nepal.

Unfortunately, Houston’s weather had refused to cooperate. The plate-glass windows revealed a dark, angry sky and torrential rain that showed no sign of abating. Every five minutes or so thunder rumbled, followed by a streak of lightning.

She sighed, and Tuck reached for her hand. “I’d tell you to go home, Claire, but I hate for you to drive in this rain. Especially since you haven’t had that car checked out yet.” He was referring to Claire’s newest acquisition to her classic car collection—a 1971 Jensen Interceptor MK II.

“I know, but even if the weather was nice, and you were delayed for some other reason, I’d stay. We’re going to be apart long enough as it is.”

The minute the words were out of her mouth, she felt guilty. She had encouraged Tuck to go on this wilderness survival trip.

“It’s not too late for me to cancel.”

“Don’t be silly. I just wish the weather would cooperate. I know how much I hate to fly when it’s like this.”

The rain had just started to fall when they were leaving the Galleria-area condo they shared. By the time they’d reached Bush Intercontinental Airport, the storm had worsened to the point where the windshield wipers of the Interceptor couldn’t keep up. A real gully washer, her uncle Richard might have said. Claire smiled.

“What’re you thinking about?” Tuck’s voice was soft and filled with affection.

She turned her smile his way, thinking how much she loved him. “Uncle Richard and how sometimes—not often, mind you—he betrays his small town roots.”

Tuck grinned. “The old bird’s certainly one of a kind.”

“Now Tuck...”

“I know. You adore the ornery cuss. But you have to admit, Richard Fitzhenry Sherman can be one cranky old coot.”

Claire chuckled. “Old bird, ornery cuss, and cranky old coot, huh? And all because he didn’t think you were good enough for his favorite niece.”

“His only niece.”

“That, too.”

“In fact, his only living relative. Which is why he’s so damned possessive.”

“Aha. I knew you’d come up with another colorful word or two to describe him.”

Tuck rubbed the fingers of her left hand, then lifted it to kiss it. “He doesn’t like sharing you with me,” he murmured. His gray-green eyes met hers. In them she saw tenderness, amusement and the deep love she had come to need the same way she needed air to breathe.

Sometimes Claire had to pinch herself to make sure everything that had happened to her in the past year was real. She used to think she was happy. But it wasn’t until she’d met Tuck and they’d fallen in love that she’d realized just what happiness really was.

I was only half alive before. “I love you,” she whispered, leaning closer.

“Not as much as I love you.”

She smiled. No matter how many times he said it, she never got tired of hearing it.

“I’m going to miss you,” he added.

“I hope so.”

They smiled into each other’s eyes.

“No flirting with all those good-looking Cubans in Miami,” he teased after a moment.

Claire was flying to Miami in the morning to meet with the executive board of an innovative but unfunded statewide preschool literacy program. Not only was she an acknowledged master proposal writer whose talents and powerful contacts routinely relieved government agencies and the wealthy of their charitable dollars, she never accepted her fee percentage. Claire, therefore, was in constant demand. “None at all?”

“None at all,” he said with a mock frown.

“You’re no fun.”

He gave her hand another squeeze, then turned to look at the departure monitor as if, by staring at it, he would force it to erase all those DELAYED notices.

She studied his profile. Tuck wasn’t classically handsome, but when you looked at him, you knew you were looking at someone special—a strong, honest man, one who was confident and knew his own worth, someone who would never let you down.

The first time Claire had laid eyes on him, she’d been entranced. She’d liked everything about him and had known he was someone she wanted to know better. She would never forget that day. Gail Peterson, the executive director of a local public television station, had pressured Claire into attending a reception and silent auction benefiting a local children’s home.

Claire didn’t want to go. It was a Friday night, she’d worked her tail off all week, and she was tired. She just wanted to go home to her quiet condo, have a long soak in the tub, put on her softest robe and relax in front of the TV with a glass of wine.

“It’s a very worthy cause,” Gail said.

“I know. I’m the one who wrote the proposal that got that home built in the first place. It took me three months and four trips to Austin. I think I’ve done my share.”

But Gail wouldn’t take no for an answer. So at eight o’clock that night Claire found herself in the ballroom of the Westin Galleria surrounded by hundreds of animated people, all of whom seemed delighted to be there and none of whom interested her in the least.

She was standing in the shadow of a gigantic ficus tree and trying to think of a way she could leave without pissing off Gail when a deep voice behind her said, “Are you hiding, too?”

“Pardon me?” She turned and found herself looking into a pair of gorgeous eyes.

He smiled—one of those crooked, self-deprecating smiles that on another man might have seemed contrived but on Tuck only seemed warm and funny and genuine. “I just wondered if you were hiding out, too.”

She shrugged, not sure how to answer. After all, she had no idea who this man was.

His smile turned into a grin, and his eyes twinkled in amusement. “Oh, come on, it’s not that hard a question.”

Claire wasn’t able to keep from chuckling.

From that moment on, they were inseparable. Throughout the evening, as they talked and danced and got to know one another, she became more and more bewitched, and later, he told her he felt exactly the same way. When he asked if he could give her a ride home, she was absurdly glad she didn’t have a car to worry about. She lived so close to the Westin that she’d simply planned to take a cab if Gail hadn’t wanted to leave when Claire was ready.

But once they were in his car and pulling out of the parking garage, he said, “Are you hungry?” Then he laughed. “Of course you’re not hungry. We just left a party.”

Claire smiled. “Actually, I am hungry. I didn’t eat any dinner, and I didn’t eat much at the party.”

“Would you like to go have breakfast somewhere?”

“I’d love to.”

They went to the closest IHOP where they inhaled a week’s worth of cholesterol by consuming huge helpings of eggs, pancakes and bacon—something they later confessed they never did—then they talked for hours over endless cups of coffee.

Claire was thrilled to find out Tuck was as much of a sports nut as she was. Not spectator sports, which was what interested most of the men she knew, but active sporting pursuits, where you actually got out there and busted your butt to excel. When she found out he’d participated in the Boston Marathon the year before and planned to do so again—just as she had and did—she became a believer in karma.

How else to explain finding him?

Sports wasn’t all they had in common. They both loved movies, were avid readers and thought Italian food was ambrosia. Their only difference of opinion was on the relative merits of dogs versus cats. Tuck was a dog man all the way; Claire adored cats.

Eventually the subject turned to family. Claire matter-of-factly told him how her parents had died in a sailing accident when she was twelve and how her uncle Richard had raised her. “It wouldn’t have been so hard,” she admitted, “if I’d had some brothers and sisters. I always wanted brothers and sisters,” she added wistfully.

She couldn’t help the stab of envy when Tuck talked about his parents and sister. “We’ve always been close,” he said. “Almost too close. It’s one of the reasons I decided a little distance would be good for us.”

“And they all still live in Dallas?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Does your sister have any children?”

“Not yet. She’s only been married a year. But she says she and Eric want at least three.”

“I want at least four.”

“You do?”

Don’t say you don’t want kids. Please don’t say that. Claire nodded. “Two boys and two girls.”

Now he was grinning. “I knew you were a girl after my own heart. I love kids, too. Hell, I wouldn’t mind having half a dozen if I could afford them.”

Claire laughed. “Why not just have nine? Then you’d have an entire baseball team.”

He grinned. “There’s an idea.”

Claire couldn’t believe it when she finally looked at her watch and realized it was after three. With regret, she said she thought she’d better get home so she could get some sleep before her nine o’clock dentist’s appointment.

“I want to see you again,” Tuck said when they reached her condo.

“I want to see you, too.”

“How about tomorrow?” His grin was teasing.

She laughed. Oh, she liked this man! “I don’t know how I’ll wait that long.”

He kissed her then—a kiss that sent zingers through her body and told her that everything she’d ever hoped for might just come true.

After their third date, just one week after they’d first met, they made love. If Claire hadn’t known before that Tuck was her destiny, she would have known it then. In that moment when all was given, when the last bit of control was released to another, Claire knew that she had found her other half, that together they made a whole better than its individual parts.

Within six weeks, they were engaged. That had been a year ago. Claire glanced down at her engagement ring—a three carat oval-cut pink tourmaline surrounded by diamonds. As always, just looking at the beautiful ring filled her with happiness. When Tuck had given it to her, she had been stunned.

“How did you know?” she’d said.

“The tourmaline is your birthstone, isn’t it?” he’d said.

“Yes.” Her birthday was October 28th. “But how did you know I’d rather have a tourmaline instead of a diamond?”

“Claire,” he’d said, kissing her nose, “I know everything about you.”

I am so lucky, she’d thought then, just as she did now.

Just then the gate attendant picked up the hand mike and announced that Tuck’s flight would now begin boarding.

Tuck turned to Claire. Without words, they both stood. After exchanging a long look, he pulled her into his arms.

Claire closed her eyes as their lips met.

“I love you,” he whispered against her mouth as the kiss ended.

“And I love you.”

“Be careful driving home.”

“I will.”

“I’ll call you the minute the trip is officially over.”

Claire nodded. Suddenly she felt sad, but she didn’t want him to know that, so she forced a bright smile. “You better.” Tuck would be incommunicado for the duration of the trip, which was one of the requirements for all participants. Only the leader of the expedition would have a mobile phone, and that was only in case of a medical emergency. She did have an emergency number for their base camp, but that was only for a dire emergency on her end.

He gave her another hard kiss, said “So long,” picked up his carry-on—a backpack that would be his only luggage once the expedition left Nepal— and headed for the boarding line.

Claire watched until his dark head disappeared from view in the Jetway, then put on her raincoat, slung her leather handbag over her shoulder and headed for the exit.

She’d parked in the covered garage closest to the terminal. As she emerged onto the walkway that connected the two, she could see the rain had abated somewhat, but was still coming down steadily. It would be miserable driving home. She considered which route to take. Interstate 45 was quicker, because it connected to the Loop, which would take her directly to the Galleria area. But there were more trucks on 45, which meant heavier spray, which translated to tougher driving conditions, so even though the Beltway to Westheimer was a longer route, she decided that was the way she would go.

She was relieved to see that most traffic was moving slower than its usual seventy-plus miles per hour. Even so, she kept to the right-hand lane because of her windshield wipers. As she came around the curve near the racetrack, she saw blinking red lights immediately ahead in her lane. She made a quick veer to the left.

At almost the same instant, an eighteen-wheeler bearing down on a slower truck in the far left lane swerved to the right.

It all happened so fast, Claire had no warning. Her car was slammed sideways, hitting the stalled car to the right of her in a horrendous screeching of metal and exploding glass.

The last thing she was conscious of was excruciating pain in her legs and chest.

After that, there was only blackness.

 

Chapter Two

The call came at eight-sixteen in the evening. Richard Fitzhenry Sherman had just finished an excellent dinner of braised salmon, buttered new potatoes, fresh asparagus and his favorite dessert of chocolate mousse. He was now enjoying an after-dinner glass of Messina Hof port-—the special grand barrel reserve that was his favorite.

He was also considering indulging himself in a forbidden cigar and to hell with his cardiologist’s predictions of doom. After all, Richard was seventy-nine years old. He wasn’t going to live forever, so he might as well enjoy the years he had left.

He had just opened the inlaid walnut box where he kept his treasured store of contraband Cuban cigars when the phone rang. He ignored it. Alejandro, his longtime manservant and driver, would answer it and let him know if the call was important.

A few moments later, the intercom buzzed. Sighing, Richard put down the cigar he’d been about to light and picked up the receiver.

“Mr. Sherman,” Alejandro said in his faintly accented English, “it’s a nurse calling from Mercy Hospital.” His voice sounded odd.

Richard frowned. “A nurse?” he said in confusion. “What does she want? You did explain that all charitable contributions are made through my business manager?”

“No, no, Mr. Sherman, there’s been an accident. It’s Miss Claire.”

It was only then that Richard realized what that odd note in Alejandro’s voice was. Fear. A corresponding fear shot through Richard and his heart began to beat alarmingly fast. Richard’s hand trembled as he punched the blinking button. “Hello?”

“Mr. Sherman?”

“Yes, this is Richard Sherman.” It amazed Richard that he could speak coherently, such was the enormity of his fear.

“You are related to Claire Sherman?”

“She’s my niece and legal ward.”

“I’m sorry to be calling with bad news, but your niece has been involved in a traffic accident. She was brought here by Life Flight and is in our trauma center. You’d better come.”

“She...is she okay?” He was barely able to get the words out.

The nurse didn’t answer for a moment. When she did, her voice was even graver than before. “We hope she will be, Mr. Sherman, but I won’t lie to you. It’s very bad.”

Alejandro, accompanied by his wife Rosita, drove Richard to the hospital. From his River Oaks home, it only took them twenty minutes to get there, but it seemed like a lifetime to Richard. All the way there, the only thing he could think of was Claire.

I can’t lose her. Dear God, you wouldn’t take her from me, would you? No God of mine could be so cruel.

Claire was the best thing in Richard’s life. From the moment she was born to his younger brother Robert and his wife Pamela, Richard had been captivated by his beautiful niece. He couldn’t love her more if she had been his own child. And when her parents had been lost at sea while sailing around the world when Claire was just twelve, she had become his child—the center of his life and his greatest joy.

That she was a sweet, smart, loving and wonderful girl was no surprise to him. He’d known the first time he’d looked into her huge blue eyes that she was remarkable. She’d grown up strong and athletic—just like her parents—and had shown a zest for life, along with a warmth and generosity of spirit that had filled Richard with so much pride, he’d sometimes felt he might burst.

Please, God, spare her. Spare her and I’ll never ask you for anything again.

When they reached the hospital, Alejandro dropped Richard and Rosita at the emergency entrance, then went to park the car.

Richard was trembling as the pneumatic doors swished open and he walked into the chaotic emergency center. Everywhere he looked there were people in various stages of distress. An old woman sitting in the corner was crying softly; a younger woman kept patting her back, saying, “It’s okay, Gran. It’s okay. They’re going to take care of you. It won’t be long now.”

Next to her, holding his shoulder, a young Hispanic man moaned every few seconds. From somewhere out of sight, a child screamed in pain. Across from the Hispanic man, an exhausted-looking woman tried to comfort a weeping child who was holding her ear.

There were others—several in arm slings, one with a hand wrapped in a bloody bandage, two on Gurneys, a pregnant woman who periodically let loose with a cascade of rapid-fire Spanish accompanied by a young man who just looked at her helplessly.

The room smelled of disinfectant, urine, perfume, body odor, vomit and other things Richard couldn’t identify. All of them spelled anguish and pain.

As Richard headed toward the desk where a harried-looking triage nurse stood talking to a doctor, he heard the wail of an approaching siren, then the commotion of the trauma team bringing a patient into the emergency center through the nearby ambulance bay.

“Yes? May I help you?” the triage nurse said, turning to Richard and Rosita.

“I’m Richard Sherman. I got a call about my niece, Claire Sherman?”

For a moment, she looked at him blankly, then recognition dawned in her blue eyes. “Oh, yes. Of course. If you’ll have a seat, Mr. Sherman, I’ll call for Dr. Beil.”

“All right.”

“I’m going to need you to sign some forms, as well.”

Richard nodded. While he was working on the forms, a hysterical couple came into the waiting area. The woman was screaming that her son had been in an accident. “Where is he?” she wailed. When the triage nurse tried to calm her down, the woman began to cry.

Richard knew exactly how she felt.

When the forms were signed, Richard was taken down the hall and into a cubicle where a dark-haired doctor looked up from a chart. “Mr. Sherman? I’m Dr. Beil. I was the first doctor to attend your niece.”

“Where is she?” ’

“In surgery. That’s standard procedure with trauma patients, Mr. Sherman. Your niece’s injuries were too severe to wait. If we hadn’t gotten her into the OR immediately, she wouldn’t have made it at all.”

“They’re operating on her now?”

“Yes. Your niece was fortunate in that the EMTs got to her quickly, and they were able to stabilize her before she arrived here. She was also extremely lucky that there was no apparent skull fracture.”

The doctor grimaced. “I won’t lie to you. Those are the only two bright spots in an otherwise grim scenario. Her face sustained extensive damage. It looks as if her seat belt gave way causing her to go through the windshield, and her face bore the brunt of that. She also has massive internal injuries to her lungs, spleen, pancreas and bladder. There may be more. We won’t know until the surgeons are finished.”

“Oh, my God,” Richard said. He reached out to steady himself, for he suddenly felt too weak to stand.

“Are you all right? Here.” Dr. Beil pulled over a chair, as if just realizing how old Richard was and what a shock he had sustained. “Please sit. You look done in.”

Richard gratefully accepted the chair. His heart was beating too fast and too hard. Normally, that would have frightened him, but he couldn’t think about himself now. Claire was the important one. Her well-being was all that mattered.

“Are you up to hearing the rest?” the doctor asked.

Richard swallowed. “There’s more?”

Dr. Beil nodded. “In the impact of the crash—apparently her car was sandwiched between a stalled car and an eighteen-wheeler—-both her left leg and left arm were crushed with multiple fractures. Some of the muscles and tendons in both have also been lacerated.” He paused, eyeing Richard as if to evaluate how much more he could stand to hear. “We’re not sure either one can be saved.”

Horror engulfed Richard. Claire. His beautiful Claire. She’d had a perfect body. How could this have happened?

“I know this has been a shock to you, Mr. Sherman, and that you’re scared, but I want you to know we’ll do everything we can.”

“If she needs anything, anything at all, I want her to have it. The best doctors. The best specialists. I’ll pay, no matter what it costs.”

“I don’t think any more could be done for her than is already being done,” Dr. Beil said gently. “She’s already got the best surgeons in the city in there with her now. In my opinion, you won’t find better anywhere in the world. Believe me, if it’s possible to save her, they will.”

Richard nodded. He felt so helpless. Suddenly, a thought struck him. “Was anyone else in the car with her?” He had only just remembered where she was going today. Had the accident happened on the way to the airport or coming home? Had Tucker been with her?

“No. She was alone.”

For that Richard was grateful. Even though he wasn’t sure Tucker Sutherland was the best choice for Claire, Richard wouldn’t have wanted anything to happen to him.

“If you don’t have any other questions, I’ll have one of the aides take you to the OR waiting area. When your niece comes out of surgery, that’s where the doctors will look for you.”

Fifteen minutes later, Richard, along with Alejandro and Rosita, sat among dozens of other worried-looking family members. They were all waiting. Some would get good news. Others wouldn’t.

Richard closed his eyes and began to pray.

* * *

Dark. So dark.

Someone was calling her name. Who? She struggled to open her eyes, but they wouldn’t open.

“Claire?”

“Mmmmph.” She couldn’t talk, either! There was something in her throat. Something gagging her. Suddenly she was filled with panic. Where was she? What was wrong? Why couldn’t she see? Why couldn’t she speak?

“Claire.” The voice was gentle. A woman’s voice. “It’s okay. I know you can’t see me. That’s because your eyes and face are bandaged. I’m Karen, your nurse. You had an accident, and you’re in the hospital.”

Hospital? Claire tried to raise her head, and when she did, pain exploded through her temples and down her neck.

“No, no. Don’t try to move,” the nurse said. “You were badly hurt, and you’ve had a lot of surgery.”

As if the mere act of saying the words had triggered dormant areas of Claire’s body, she became aware of all the other places that felt like someone was stabbing her with a hot blade.

“Unnnhh.”

“Shhh. It’s okay. You’re okay. Don’t be afraid. I know you must have a lot of questions. Soon your bandages will be removed, and that tube will be taken out of your throat—it’s there to help you breathe—and you’ll be able to see and talk. Right now, I’d just like to know if you understand me. If you do, could you wiggle the fingers on your right hand?”

Right hand.

Claire concentrated, even though at that moment all she wanted to do was sink back into darkness so the terrible pain would go away. She wiggled her fingers.

“Good!” Karen said. “That’s wonderful. I know Dr. Solomon will be happy.”

Claire could almost hear the smile in the nurse’s voice. Dr. Solomon. She’d never heard of him before. Had she? Her doctor’s name was...what was it? She couldn’t remember, and the effort made her head pound.

A moan escaped her lips. Help me, she wanted to say. Make the pain go away.

“You’re on a morphine drip, Claire. I’m going to adjust the dosage, so the pain you’re feeling now won’t last long.” The nurse’s voice was soothing, and Claire could feel her doing something to her right arm. A few moments later, Claire sank back into that blessed darkness where nothing hurt.

The next time she awakened, she wasn’t as frightened. She remembered what the nurse had said. She didn’t try to talk. For a while, she just lay there quietly. Even if she hadn’t been told, she knew she would have figured out she was in a hospital.

It wasn’t just the smells of disinfectant and medicine. The soft beep of a nearby monitor, the muted voices from somewhere outside her area, and the occasional announcement from the PA system would have identified her surroundings. As she listened, there was a rustle nearby, like someone crossing his legs or moving in a chair. To let that someone know she was awake, she lifted her right hand and wiggled her fingers.

“Claire! You’re awake!”

Uncle Richard! She was so happy to hear his voice, she forgot and tried to answer.

“Don’t try to talk.” She felt his hand cover hers. “I just wanted you to know I’m here.”

Uncle Richard. Any lingering fear she might have felt disappeared. If her uncle was with her, everything was going to be okay.

After that, she wasn’t sure how many times she drifted in and out of sleep. It didn’t seem to matter. For now, she was content just to know that her uncle was there watching over her.

* * *

“Mr. Sherman?”

Richard looked up. The pretty, dark-haired young woman standing before him was familiar to him. He knew he’d met her before, but because he was so tired, he couldn’t think of her name.

She smiled warmly. “I’m Megan Hawkins. Claire and I were at UT together.”

“Megan. Of course. I’m sorry. I’m feeling a bit fuzzy right now.”

“Please don’t apologize. I’m sure you’re exhausted.” She glanced across the waiting area toward the doors leading into the intensive care unit. “How is she?”

“Holding her own.”

“Does that mean she’s going to be all right?”

“I’m praying it does.”

Megan sat next to Richard. “What do the doctors say?”

Richard sighed. “They’re hopeful. If they can keep her free of infection until the worst of her injuries have healed, she should be okay.”

Megan nodded.

“By okay I mean alive. The doctors have explained to me that if she survives, she’ll need a lot of care—reconstructive surgery, physical therapy— I’m not sure what all. But until she’s past this critical stage, they don’t even want to discuss the future.”

“Has she awakened again?”

“Yes, briefly, this morning. I was in with her when it happened. But almost immediately, she went back to sleep.”

“Is she in a coma?”

Richard shook his head. “No. If she was in a coma, she wouldn’t be obeying commands. She also tried to talk, and she wouldn’t be doing that, either.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.”

“When she wakes up, will you tell her I was here? And that I love her and I’m praying for her?” Her eyes glittered with tears.

Richard nodded sadly. “Of course I will.”

“I just feel so bad for her. And for Tuck.”

“Yes.” Richard had been trying not to think about how Claire and Tucker would feel when they found out Claire would not be able to have children.

“You haven’t been able to let him know, have you?”

“No. Claire’s the only one who has the emergency number. Not even the people in his office know how to reach him.”

“What about his sister or his parents?”

“They didn’t even know he was going on the trip.” Richard still couldn’t understand how Tucker could have been so irresponsible as not to leave a contact number with his office or with his family. Young people today were certainly different from Richard’s generation. He wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving the country without notifying everyone.

After about an hour of sitting with him, Megan stood. “Well, I guess I’ll be going now.” Her dark eyes were filled with concern. “Mr. Sherman, this isn’t any of my business, but I think you should go home and get some rest. You don’t look so good.”

“I can’t leave. What if something should happen?” If Claire took a turn for the worse, and he wasn’t here, he would never forgive himself.

“But—”

“It’s okay, Megan. Don’t worry about me. I have a bed to sleep in at night.”

“You do?”

“Yes, I’ve paid for a room so that I could be here at night, just in case...”

After giving him a hug and making him promise again to call her if there was any change at all, Megan left, and Richard was once more alone with his thoughts and fears.

At eleven, after going in to see Claire for the ten minutes they allowed him each hour, Richard told Miss Dixon, the night supervisor, that he would be in his room the rest of the night. “You have the room number.”

“Yes,” she said, giving him an understanding smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll call you the minute anything happens.”

Richard slept fitfully. When the phone buzzed a little before five o’clock the next morning, he grabbed it immediately. His heart was pounding as he said hello.

“Mr. Sherman? This is Valerie Dixon. Your niece is awake, and this time I think she’s going to remain awake.”

Richard closed his eyes in thankfulness.

“I called Dr. Solomon to let him know. He’ll be here by six. He asked me to tell you not to go in to see your niece before he gets here.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re going to take her breathing tube out, and she’ll have questions. He feels it’s best if he’s there to answer them with you.”

Some of Richard’s happiness at the news that Claire was fully awake faded. What would she say when she found out the extent of her injuries? He wished they could wait until she was stronger before telling her, but he knew that was impossible. Claire was too smart to be put off. She would demand to know exactly what was wrong with her and would see through any attempt to sugarcoat the truth.

While he dressed, he told himself to stop worrying. The important thing was, she was alive. In time, they would deal with the rest.

 

Chapter Three

From the moment Claire heard the word hysterectomy, everything else was wiped from her mind.

No, no, no, no.

She struggled to sit up, ignoring the pain that exploded like a series of bombs bursting inside her body. Within seconds, the doctor—what had he said his name was?—and the nurse who had been standing nearby, were holding her down.

“It’s okay, Claire,” the nurse said.

“Okay? ” Claire croaked. “Wh-what gave you the right?” she cried weakly, locking gazes with the doctor—the same one who had earlier removed the bandages covering her eyes—even as she continued to struggle against the restraint of his hands. “You had no right,” she sobbed. “Uncle Richard, how could you let them do this to me?”

“Claire, sweetheart,” her uncle said, moving into her line of vision. “You would have died if they hadn’t removed the damaged organs. This was the only way to save your l-life.” His voice broke.

Life. A life without children. What kind of life was that? she wanted to scream. She might have been able to overcome the other wreckage to her body, the knowledge that she’d never be able to do the things she’d once done so easily, that her days of running marathons and skiing and killer squash games were probably over forever. She might have been able to cope with the knowledge that her face would never be the same, either.

But this...this loss...on top of everything else... this was unbearable.

I can never bear a child.

The knowledge was a steady drumbeat impossible to escape.

I can never give Tuck a child. He said he wanted six. We teased about having an entire baseball team. Oh, God. Tuck....

Images of dark-haired boys and little blond girls swam in her mind. She felt as if more than her uterus and ovaries had been ripped from her body. Maybe they didn’t know it, but they’d also taken her heart.

All the fight left her as the inescapable truth settled like a rock in her chest. Barren. She was barren. From that moment on, she didn’t listen to anything else they had to say. Not the doctor. Not the nurse. Not her uncle. She closed her eyes, let the hot tears come. Let them soak into the bandages on her face.

Who cared? she thought in despair.

Who cared about anything?

Why hadn’t they just let her die?

* * *

“Mr. Sherman, are you all right?”

Richard looked into the kind eyes of the nurse who had accompanied him out of Claire’s room after the pain medication had propelled her back into oblivion. He nodded. “Y-yes, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? You look very pale.” She helped him lower himself into one of the leather chairs in the surgical ICU waiting area. “Is there anyone you can call to come and be with you?”

He shook his head. “No, but it’s...it’s all right. I’m fine.”

“Well, okay. But call me if you need anything.” She gave him a sympathetic smile, then walked away.

Richard leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. The truth was, he thought bleakly, that he would never really be all right until Claire was all right.

He couldn’t stop thinking of the agony he’d seen in her eyes when full realization of the extent of her losses had hit her. She’d been stoic throughout the first part of Dr. Clifford’s litany of her injuries, but when he’d gently told her about the removal of her reproductive organs, she’d been so disturbed, Richard had been afraid for her.

He wanted to cry himself. But what else could they have done? The surgeon had explained that leaving the organs in wasn’t an option. There was too much damage. Too much internal bleeding.

Surely when the shock had worn off, Claire would begin to accept and heal. She wasn’t a dreamer, had never looked for pie in the sky. If anything, she was a realist, someone who had always been able to move on from disappointments or misfortune.

Richard reminded himself again how brave and strong the twelve-year-old Claire had been when her parents had died. She had adored her parents. Yet, after a period of grieving, her natural optimistic personality emerged again. From time to time, she’d still experienced bouts of sorrow, but they’d come less and less often as the years passed. The same thing would happen now, he assured himself. She would grieve for a while, then she would be okay.

Richard didn’t believe for a moment that she would never again pursue the athletic endeavors she so loved. Not his Claire. It might take years of physical therapy, just as the doctors predicted, but she would be strong and healthy again.

Because if Claire was anything, she was a fighter.

Feeling better now, Richard opened his eyes and reached for his briefcase, which contained several magazines and a book. No more negative thoughts, he told himself. Claire was sensitive to his moods. If she thought he was despondent or worried, the road ahead would be harder.

From now on, the only thoughts he would harbor would be positive ones.

* * *

Claire woke up just before noon. For a moment, she lay in peaceful ignorance. Then she remembered. Reality, like the huge waves that broke over the coast of Oahu, where she’d once surfed, hit her so hard she moaned, and her eyes flew open. The steady beep of one of the monitors accelerated as her heart banged away in her chest.

Almost immediately, the nurse called Annette was at her side. Claire didn’t fight her as she checked and adjusted and soothed, although she wanted to scream at the woman to leave her alone.

Once again, despair filled her and her earlier thought thrummed deep inside.

Why didn’t they just let me die?

* * *

“Mr. Sherman?”

Richard started, disoriented. He’d fallen asleep, he realized.

“Your niece is asking for you,” the redheaded nurse, the one who’d been so kind earlier, said.

He looked at her name tag. “Thank you, Miss Kelly.” He straightened his clothing and smoothed back his hair before entering the ICU. When Claire had first been brought here after surgery, she’d been placed in the first cubicle, visible to anyone entering, even when her door was closed, because of the glass window that afforded the nurse on duty to see at a glance how a patient was doing. But now—at Richard’s insistence—she’d been moved into the last cubicle, which provided the most privacy.

Richard approached the right side of the bed. His gaze met Claire’s. Thankfully, she seemed calmer. He smiled down at her, forcing himself not to grimace at the horror of all those bandages and what they were concealing. “Feeling better now?” he said softly.

“Take me out of here, Uncle Richard,” Claire whispered urgently.

Richard blinked. “Take you out of here? What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to stay here.”

“But Claire...” What was she talking about?

“Please, Uncle Richard. Please. You can do it. I— I have to get out of here.”

“B-but where do you want to go?” he said in bewilderment. “This is the best trauma hospital in the city. You can’t get better care.”

“I-I want you to take me somewhere else. Somewhere far away from here.”

“But Claire, my dear, I don’t understand. What about Tucker? I was just waiting for you to feel better to get his number so I could call him. How will he feel if you leave here?” She was obviously not thinking straight. It must be the drugs, Richard thought.

Claire turned her face away. “I don’t want you to call him.”

Richard shook his head, totally mystified now. “But Claire, what will I say to him when he comes home if I don’t call him now and especially if you’re not here, in Houston? Don’t you want to see him?”

Finally her gaze met his again. The utter despair in her eyes tore at Richard’s heart. “No,” she said, “I don’t want to see him. And as for what to tell him...” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Tell him I died.”

Richard’s mouth dropped open. “Died! Claire, what are you saying? I can’t do that.” Richard might not have believed Tucker Sutherland was good enough for Claire, but he did know the young man loved Claire deeply. That had been obvious from the first time they’d met.

“He’s better off without me. Look at me,” she cried. “I’m not the woman he fell in love with. I won’t ever look the same, I won’t ever be able to do the things he loves to do, I may not even be able to walk again, and...” Her voice broke. “I can’t give him children. He wants children more than anything in the world. He’s better off without me, Uncle Richard! I’ll just drag him down. Eventually, he’ll hate me. I can’t bear it. I can’t do that to him. Please. Please. I’m begging you. Do this for me.”

Richard stared at his niece. He wanted to tell her this was wrong. Down deep, he knew it was wrong. But he couldn’t stand to see his beloved girl in such pain. And the worst pain of all wasn’t visible to the doctors. Not by their CT scans or their X rays or any of their sophisticated tests. Because her greatest pain wasn’t physical. It was emotional. His girl’s heart was broken and nothing the doctors could give her or do for her would ever mend it. Only he had the power to help her, and by God, help her he would, no matter what it took.

* * *

Money could accomplish miracles.

Although Richard continued to try to change Claire’s mind, he finally had to admit she wasn’t going to budge. So two days after she’d told him to tell everyone she had died, Richard arranged for Claire’s transfer to an exclusive and expensive private clinic in northern California where she would receive the best possible treatment and care. She would be transported by chartered jet, accompanied by two private duty nurses and a doctor who specialized in blunt-trauma injuries. Once she was safely airborne, her friends would be told that she’d died en route.

A memorial service would be held in Houston sometime next week. An urn supposedly filled with her ashes would be placed in the family vault at the cemetery where her parents were buried and where Richard’s remains would one day join them.

Claire’s doctors at Mercy had fought Richard, but when he’d said both he and Claire would sign release forms absolving them of any responsibility should anything go wrong, they had had no choice but to agree.

Richard hated what was happening and dreaded having to tell Tucker and Megan and all the others who loved Claire that she had died, but Claire was more important to him than anything or anyone else in the world, and if this was what she wanted, this was what he would do.

So at two o’clock on a crisp, sunny afternoon, Claire, as well as her medical attendants, were transferred by helicopter to Hobby Airport where they were met by Richard.

Thirty minutes later, the jet took off and, as it circled the skyscrapers of downtown Houston, Richard prayed that he was doing the right thing.