“No, don’t do it!” Someone shouted. “It’s too late!”
The fire had now grown large enough for Bowen to hear its roar as he scrambled inside to the baby’s seat. He shifted his body, relieved to hear the child crying. He reached up, fumbled for the buckle and button, and lifted the child to ease weight from the buckle.
Click.
He got it.
Taking a deep breath, he disentangled the baby from the car seat. He started snaking backward with the child at his chest. He’d just gotten his legs out the window when someone screamed—
“Oh, my God!”
He turned to see the flames lapping the gasoline pools, felt the air spasm as the pools ignited in a chain reaction creating a blinding, churning wall of fire that swallowed them.
7
Los Angeles, California
Claire Bowen was unsure her feet even touched the ground as she left the building and got into her car. She cupped her hands to her face.
I have to tell Robert.
Glancing at the time, she reached for her cell phone and read his response to her earlier text to him.
Good landing. Good trip. Good luck with doc—any word?
Great, he’s back, she thought, her fingers blurring as she texted him.
Can you call me now!!!
As the minutes passed, she scanned the literature about ovulation. Not much there she didn’t already know. She glanced at her phone. Unless Robert was stuck in traffic or couldn’t pull over, he was usually pretty quick at getting back to her. Two minutes passed, then three.
While waiting, Claire revisited a small concern. Over the past few weeks he seemed to have become a little withdrawn, as if wrestling with something. Whenever she’d asked him about it, he’d tell her that he was merely lost in his thoughts, leaving her to wonder if everything really was okay with him.
Claire checked the time. Too excited to wait, she pressed her cell’s keypad for his number. The phone rang twice before a woman answered.
“I’m sorry,” Claire said. “I’ve misdialed.”
“This is Robert Bowen’s phone,” a woman said. “Who’s calling?”
What the heck?
“I’m Claire Bowen, his wife. And who are you?”
“Mrs. Bowen, I’m a nurse at Pacific Breeze Memorial Hospital. I just called your office. Your husband’s just been brought in—”
“Brought in? What for? What happened?”
“He’s been involved in a car accident—he’s—”
“A car accident? Is he hurt? Can you put him on the phone now, please?”
Claire could hear the hospital’s loudspeaker system echoing in the background.
“I can’t. He’s with the E.R. doctor, Mrs. Bowen—” Claire fished out her keys and turned the ignition as the nurse continued. “All I can tell you at this point is that he does not appear to have any serious injuries.”
“You’ve seen him? You’re certain?”
“Yes, I’m in the E.R. He’s been brought in for observation. It’s just happened now. We’ve got a number of trauma patients.”
Claire keyed the hospital’s name into her GPS. She could be there in twenty-five minutes, less if the traffic was good.
“Please tell him I’m on my way.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Bowen.”
“Wait, what’s your name?”
“Lilly Springer.”
“I’ll ask for you at the desk.”
When Claire ended the call, her phone rang.
“Claire, it’s Alice.” Alarm sounded in her voice. “The Pacific Breeze hospital just called about Robert and a car accident.”
“I know. I just spoke with the E.R. nurse. She said he’s okay.”
“Oh, thank heaven.”
“I’m on my way to the hospital.”
“Okay, want me to clear your schedule for the rest of the day? You have a couple of hours until your next patient.”
“Don’t move anything yet. I’ll have a better idea after I get to the hospital. I’ll call.”
Driving through the city, Claire took a few deep breaths to keep calm, never letting go of the nurse’s assurance that Robert was not hurt. But it ran counter to human nature not to worry and Claire would not be assured until she saw him, until she held him.
She thought of their last moment together a few days ago and remembered his cologne, the rustle of his crisp shirt and the brush of his lips on hers. She was still in bed and he’d bent down, lifted her hair and kissed her goodbye in the early morning before he’d left for this trip.
“I love you,” he’d whispered.
And now this.
This reminder of how life can change in an instant.
The web of our existence is a fragile thing.
Claire knew that too well from her own life and the lives of her patients—how dreams could be taken away or shattered. We’re on the threshold of becoming parents—a dream they had long been denied.
Arriving at the hospital, Claire saw four ambulances at the emergency entrance. Nearby she saw a number of police vehicles and TV news trucks. She hurried through the automatic doors. Half a dozen media people had gathered around a hospital official at one side of the lobby and were pressing her for information. Claire continued to the woman seated at the reception window. Behind her, two staff members stood as they worked at computer terminals.
“May I help you?”
“I’m here to see my husband, Robert Bowen. I’m Claire Bowen, his wife. I spoke on the phone to an E.R. nurse, Lilly Springer.”
The receptionist’s face registered recognition and she turned to the women behind her.
“Lil?”
One of the women stepped from the counter. She was fresh-scrubbed, with a ponytail and an upturned nose.
“Hello, Mrs. Bowen, I’m Lilly.” She nodded at the door to the right of the window and it buzzed. “Come through here, please.”
Antiseptic smells hung heavy in the air as they moved down the polished hallway. The nurse’s soft-soled shoes squeaked when they stopped at a small waiting room.
“Please have a seat, Mrs. Bowen. The doctor will be with you shortly.”
“How long before I see my husband? You said he was okay?”
“Yes, it should only be a few more minutes.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“The doctor should have more information.” The nurse smiled before leaving.
Claire took stock of the room—of its brown faux leather sofas and outdated copies of Time and People on wicker tables. Still tense from the drive and worry, she sat down and inhaled slowly. On the sofa facing her, a woman with a wrinkled face bowed her head to the rosary in her gnarled fingers. The beads clicked softly and her lips moved as she prayed. Sitting beside the woman was a younger man. His T-shirt, blue jeans and work boots were stained with blotches of paint. He looked as if he’d rushed here from a work site. He stared into the