Twice Her Husband. Mary J. Forbes
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five days ago, she would be okay. If he’d gone home after work, let bygones be bygones… If, if, if.
A small crowd gathered.
“Is she okay?” someone asked.
“What happened?”
“Did she jaywalk?”
“Who is she?”
My wife, Luke wanted to shout. Get help! She needs a doctor!
A woman spoke. “That’s Ginny Franklin. She was just in my store, buying wallpaper.”
“Franklin?” a man said. “Any relation to Deke?”
“Don’t know. But she’s been living in the old house at Franklin’s mill site for the past week or so.”
“She’d better watch out then,” a gruff-voiced man said. “Place is spooked.”
Another woman piped up. “My Allan redid the roof when they were doing all those renovations this spring. Said two guys wouldn’t hire on because of what’s happened on that land. Likely why the place’s been abandoned forty years.”
“Wouldn’t catch me out there,” a third woman squeaked.
“Me, either,” Gruff Guy said.
“Is she dead?” asked Squeaky Voice.
“No,” Luke snapped. “Did someone call an ambulance?”
“It’s coming, Luke.” This from Kat, owner of Kat’s Kitchen across the street. The granny-aged woman bent on one knee, opposite him. “I called soon as I saw it happen through the window.” Her eyes were kind. “You weren’t at fault, honey. She just stepped out from between those two trucks. Poor dear. Must have had something powerful on her mind to not pay attention.”
Sirens wailed. The crowd shifted as the ambulance arrived. Three paramedics sprang from the vehicle.
Within minutes, Ginny lay on a gurney. The medics hoisted her inside the van, closed the doors.
A hand clapped Luke’s shoulder. It was Jon, his brother and police chief of Misty River.
“She just—just— Jon, it’s Ginny.” Luke ran trembling fingers through his hair.
For a moment the brothers stared at one another. Jon nodded. “Want me to drive you to the hospital?”
The ambulance had left. The crowd dispersed.
“No.” Luke sighed. “I’m okay.” He headed for his car. “If you need a statement…”
Jon waved him off. “Later.”
Later, when she was well again. If she got well again.
Why was an IV hanging from the ceiling? Ginny closed her eyes, then opened them again. A motor. Was she in a camper truck? Beside her sat a man—no, a paramedic. She remembered the car…the silver car…
“Hey,” the medic said. “You’re awake.” He smiled. “You’re going to be fine. Just a little bump, but the doctor needs to check it out at the hospital first.” He fiddled with the IV. “Got a bit of saline to stabilize you.”
“What happened?” she asked.
“Apparently you stepped in front of a car.”
Puzzled, she studied the medical paraphernalia around her. “I wouldn’t… Why would I…?”
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Ginny Franklin.”
He held up his hand, fingers spread. “How many?”
“Five.”
“Now?”
“Two.”
“What’s the name of your town?”
“Misty River. Look, all my faculties are in place. I just—” She attempted to rise. Pain bloomed behind her eyes.
“Take it easy.”
“My head—”
“I know.” He checked her pupils with a small light. “We’re almost there. Doc’s waiting.”
“My kids…”
“Where are they?”
“With a sitter. Hallie…”
“I’ll call her. Got a number?”
She gave it. The ambulance rolled up to the hospital’s emergency doors.
“Really,” she said, “I’m fine. Can’t I just go home?”
“Not yet, Mrs. Franklin. You might have a broken leg.”
Because of her concussion, the doctor wanted to keep her for the evening, possibly overnight. She couldn’t afford to stay overnight. At First National, her bank account had dwindled to a mere ten thousand. Boone’s first wife had drained his savings with her illness just as Boone’s cancer had marked every dollar of his health insurance and most of Ginny’s account. In the last months, when he’d known he would not return home, she’d sold the house to pay off the remaining debts and moved into a rental duplex. Ironically Boone had the Oregon house repaired—unbeknownst to her—with a fund they’d saved for Alexei’s college.
Their worst—and final—argument.
I want you safe and secure, he’d said.
From what? she’d asked.
From whatever happens.
Premonition? Who knew.
But he hadn’t counted on her jaywalking.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Tonight her kids could be alone for the first time in their lives, without mother or father. Sure, they’d have Hallie. But they’d just met, and she wasn’t mommy. Ginny imagined Joselyn’s cries, saw her rosy mouth pucker, the tiny tears.
And Alexei. Would he hide in his bedroom with his music, the way he had while cancer ate Boone’s brain?
She studied the cast on her right foot, tractioned and swinging above the bed to keep the blood from pooling the first hours. A nice, clean break, the doctor had told her. How are broken bones nice or clean? Was it the same as having a nice, clean brain tumor? Nice and clean didn’t warrant painkillers. Didn’t warrant a young boy’s horror.
The door to her room opened. A bouquet entered—an immense fireworks-like display of deep gold sunflowers. Then the door closed and a face peered around the ribboned, blue vase.
Her heart jolted. “Luke,” she whispered as if she saw a phantom instead of the man who had once been her husband.
“Hey, Ginny. How are you?”
“I’m…” Amazed. Her mouth worked without words. “What—what are you doing here?”
“Seeing you.” He walked to the window where a high-rolling table stood, and placed his summer bouquet upon it before scooting the table near her bed.
As he moved about, she stared openly. If possible, his shoulders had grown broader under the cloth of his expensive teal shirt, and at his temples silver reeled into his clipped, pecan-brown hair.
Tucking his hands into the pockets of tailored black slacks, he looked down at her with the same somber gray eyes she had fallen in love with at seventeen.
She struggled past the fumble of her brain. “How did you know I was here?” she managed.
He studied her leg. “I live in Misty River. Have a law office just down the street from where you…from where I… Ginny, it was my car.”
That had struck her. That she’d walked into, mindlessly.
They