"You must be starved," he murmured, reaching up and taking her face in his hands.
"Yeah," she admitted. "I am."
Robbie thought about the empty refrigerator that needed a fresh batch of groceries before he made a plan. "How about we drive to town and grab something there? Then we can buy some groceries to bring back with us for supper. Will that work?"
Before Carrie could answer, her stomach growled again, forcing another chuckle from both of them.
"Well, I guess the matter is settled, then. Once you get dressed, we'll go into town." He kissed her cheek and rose to get himself dressed. Still, he found himself watching her every move, worried.
She rose much more slowly than he had, probably because of the awkward weight of her body. She still wore her nightgown, and as she passed the dresser while headed for the closet, she stopped and stared at her reflection.
Robbie tugged on his shirt and frowned, puzzled at how she seemed to be memorizing her own face--she didn't seem to recognize herself, which was just another piece of the puzzle he wished would just stop nagging at him. It was one thing not to understand and another to feel the confusion so acutely he thought he'd go mad with it.
Taking a deep breath, Carrie lifted a trembling hand and gently brushed her fingers through her long, reddish-blonde hair. The gesture itself seemed familiar enough, but the movement was much slower and less sure.
"Carrie? Are you feeling all right, hon?"
His voice was soft, but she still jumped when he spoke as though she had been expecting him.
She nodded woodenly and headed to the closet, where she scanned the clothing there, finally settling on a pair of khaki capris and a white tee shirt. She gave her husband one last look and headed into the bathroom for a shower.
The parking lot of Ann's Kitchen was packed--there was only one spot left, and Robbie was barely able to nose the pick-up in between two shiny new SUVs, which probably explained why the spot was still open in the first place. Still, he managed, and once he was parked, he quickly got out, made his way around and opened Carrie's door, a simple gesture he'd always made, and Robbie was holding fast to all the simple routines, hoping they'd eventually prove that the fear lining the pit of his stomach would vanish.
Robbie offered his hand so Carrie could ease down from the truck without problems because she couldn't see where she was walking, considering the way her belly stood out. More often than not, she'd said she felt like a beached whale, and he could understand that. It was only getting worse with each week as the baby headed into his--or her--final growth spurts.
As they walked up to the front of the building--a simple structure that had been in this small, rural town longer than Robbie had been alive--he slipped his arm around Carrie and pulled her closer. She stiffened slightly and then eased up, which was a good sign. The last thing Robbie wanted to go back to was the distance between the two of them.
As they stepped into the cafe, Robbie glanced around, taking inventory of the patrons--all of whom he knew. No one even seemed to look at them as they made their way to the back of the restaurant, but soon, more and more of them turned and watched. Although Robbie wasn't looking at every one of them, he didn't have to. He felt them staring, and that told him everything he needed to know.
He clenched his jaw and tried to tell himself it was nothing. In a small town, there were no secrets, and he shouldn't have been surprised that word of Carrie's wreck had spread throughout the community. Then again, it wasn't just word of the accident that bothered him. Really, he was a little unnerved at what the residents of this small town would have to say about Carrie's miraculous survival. If Robbie could count on one thing about the accident, it would be the way the story would snowball into something bigger than what he was already dealing with, not that the original story wasn't bad enough. Still, even he was smart enough to be unnerved by all the blood lost, which should, by all rights, have been enough to kill his wife, yet here she was with barely a scratch on her.
He glanced around the room, starting to feel like one of the animals at a zoo. Frustrated, he turned to his wife, checking to see if she were feeling the brunt of all the attention coming their way, but no, he didn't think so. She kept her head down, her eyes focused on the floor, one hand resting on the swell of her belly where the baby was probably nestled against her side.
Robbie nudged her into a booth, hoping that once they'd sat down, some of the gazes drifting their way would find something more fascinating to watch. Perhaps they wouldn't, but he could still hope, right? Then, once they'd seated themselves, he grabbed the menus from where they'd been propped behind the catsup. Handing one to Carrie, he exhaled slowly, trying to force himself to relax.
He'd thought this would be a good idea, but he hadn't counted on the public attention still not having died down, and he should have. He and Carrie were news regardless whether they wanted to be or not.
"What would you like to eat?" he asked, forcing a pleasant tone to his voice. "They have a little bit of everything here."
He scanned the menu, looking for what he was going to order--probably an omelet, he guessed.
Carrie frowned and stared blankly at the menu. Once again, it appeared she didn't recognize what was in front of her. Hell, if Robbie didn't know better, he'd question whether Carrie could even read.
"You usually get the French toast," he said gently. No, he shouldn't have to remind her, but right now, it was keeping him from thinking about other, more upsetting things.
Carrie's shoulders sank in relief, and she closed the menu. "French toast it is, then," she finally said, handing him the menu, which he stacked against the wall.
She looked up and must have seen him glancing around the room. "Is something wrong?"
"No, of course not." He forced his tone to lighten up and added a smile for good measure. "Why would you think something's wrong?"
"You keep glancing around. Are you looking for something?"
For just a split second, Robbie considered calling attention to the way everyone was staring at them, or, more precisely, at Carrie, but he knew nothing good would come of that. "There's nothing to worry about."
Before Carrie could respond, the waitress approached to take their orders. He cleared his throat and first gave the waitress Carrie's order, then his own.
The waitress nodded and jotted their orders onto her pad. "Coming right up," she said and walked away.
Even as the waitress departed, Carrie stood. Nervous, Robbie gently took her hand, stopping her. "Hey, where are you going?"
"To the restroom." She offered him a slight smile and squeezed his hand before releasing it and walking toward the back of the restaurant.
Unsettled, Robbie slowly turned and glanced at his wife as she walked away. Even though he looked at Carrie, he felt everyone else staring openly at her.
"Damn," he muttered, feeling his whole body tensing. The breath caught in his throat as he waited for Carrie to notice the attention as well, but she focused on the floor. She almost ran into one of the patrons as he stood, heading for the counter, but. As the man straightened, he recognized Dallas Stanton, an EMT, judging by the uniform he wore.
The EMT pulled back and stared at Carrie as she passed, a bewildered frown on his face. Robbie thought perhaps Dallas had heard the stories about Carrie, but then, the way the EMT kept staring, Robbie suspected it wasn't just the rumors which made Dallas watch Carrie until she'd disappeared.
Dallas kept staring at the door even as she disappeared behind, and it was only when another person brushed past, the EMT finally seemed to snap back to attention. He shook his head and ambled toward the counter, passing Robbie. The frown on the man's face deepened when he caught sight of Robbie, and he looked away, probably trying not to draw attention to himself, hoping Robbie wouldn't ask him anything.
Once Carrie had disappeared from view, a few of the patrons slowly turned and looked at Robbie in a way that left Robbie even more unnerved. Yes, he knew there was a certai
n lack of anonymity that came with living in a small town, and over the years he'd learned to embrace it, but this was different, and it bothered him so much he had half a mind just to leave.
In fact, he was going to make that suggestion to Carrie when she returned, or he would have had she not been smiling so brilliantly there were nothing in the world that could change her mood. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words quickly died away, leaving him sitting there like a bump on a log.
If she knew he was frustrated, Carrie said nothing. Instead, she kept staring ahead, lost in thought, and happy with whatever ran through her mind. He opened his mouth to speak his mind, despite Carrie's jovial mood, but he really didn't get a chance, not with the waitress approaching with their food in hand. As she leaned close to set the plates before them, the waitress also gave them both a once-over, and Robbie had never felt quite so much like an alien as now. He hated when people stared, and this was frustrating him to no end. He needed to get out of here so he could breathe. While Carrie might be oblivious to those around her, he wasn't.
Still, with the food in front of him, he went about eating, all the while wondering how long was it going to take for people to forget about the accident.
"It looks good," his wife said shyly as she tried to ease down into her seat. Then again, Robbie didn't think it would be possible for anyone to move gracefully if they were that pregnant.
"Here's the syrup," Robbie said, handing her the bottle. As she took it, their fingers collided, and his wrapped around hers. A flush crept into her cheeks, much like when he'd first asked her out back in high school, just one of the many endearing things he loved about Carrie.
"Thanks," she said. Although her tone was still just a little awkward, at least Carrie was starting to sound much more like Carrie, and that was an incredible improvement.
Robbie smirked and nodded. "Yeah, you do love French toast. You'd have it for every meal if you could, and I'm beginning to think our son--"
"Daughter," Carrie gently corrected, pouring syrup over the toast. "What if it' a girl."
Robbie sipped his drink. "You wish. Just wait until our son pops out. Then you're going to have your hands full."
Although Robbie had made a conscious effort not to focus so much on the baby, at that moment he could't help it. Typically, he was suspicious, and he feared Carrie might miscarry if he talked too much about their child. It was probably stupid, but he didn't care. He was sure they were going to have a son--at least until he looked into his wife's eyes and something stopped him cold.
"No," she said again. "I think it's going to be a girl."
Where there had been a playful undercurrent to Robbie's tone, there was only quiet consideration in Carrie's response, almost as though she really did know something he and the rest of the world didn't, and that bothered Robbie, even though he wasn't sure why. She was guessing just like the rest of them. Still, when she set her fork down and stroked her belly, Robbie was blindsided by the impression she wasn't taking a stab in the dark.
Robbie wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Oh. And how exactly do you know that? I was there during the sonogram, and we both decided we didn't want the doctor to tell us anything."
She smiled down at her very pregnant belly for a few seconds more, then her eyes met his. "It isn't about doctors, Robbie. It's about what I feel inside, and I feel this is a girl."
He started to argue but then, as he saw a stranger watching Carrie, he stopped abruptly. That stranger rose and headed toward them. He was just a little shorter than Robbie and slightly less muscular. The pasty color of his skin suggested he spent many hours inside, and he seemed to have a sort of bookwormishness to him. Of course it could have been his thick glasses.
Don't do it, Robbie thought. Don't interrupt this moment. Just walk past.
But he didn't, which failed to surprise Robbie, who had sensed this moment coming, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it from taking hold, no matter how he wanted to.
"Excuse me," the stranger said, first glancing at Robbie and then settling his on Carrie. She was, after all, the reason he'd come. "Could I have a moment of your time?"
Although the question was directed at his wife and Carrie had already opened her mouth to answer, Robbie shook his head. "Right now isn't a good time. We're in the middle of eating."
At that, Carrie pursed her lips and shifted her focus to Robbie, confusion swirling in her eyes.
"Ms. Williams?" the stranger said. "It won't take much time. I just have a few questions." He waved his hand around the room, and as he moved. Everyone looked at them, waiting for Carrie to respond. She must have seen it, too, because her eyes widened, and she swallowed hard.
"I said we are eating breakfast." Robbie spoke louder, as though hearing impairment might be responsible for the man's stubbornness. Still, even with Robbie's louder voice and more demanding tone, the stranger didn't budge. No, his attention was on Carrie as he completely ignored whatever her husband might have to say on the matter, fueling Robbie's rage all the more.
"I was speaking to your wife." He looked at Carrie, still awaiting her answer.
Robbie threw his napkin on the table and stood. "Clearly you aren't from around her because if you were, you'd know not to go sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. Carrie isn't up to your questions, and I'd appreciate your leaving--now."
"Not feeling up to it, eh?" he asked, finally facing Robbie. He narrowed his eyes and sized Robbie up. "The way I heard it is that Carrie is just fine. Actually better than fine. There wasn't a scratch on her after the wreck in spite of all the blood everywhere."
Carrie gasped, and the color quickly drained from her face. The fork she'd been holding tumbled and chimed against the plate. Robbie looked at her as the fury surged through him, and as he saw her dazed expression, he stepped toward the stranger.
"You have no business here. Leave me and my wife alone. Period." He walked around the table and stepped between the stranger and Carrie. Although there was no danger, not in a restaurant in the middle of the day, there was something primal and unnerving about this guy, and Robbie tended to believe he was intently preying on Carrie, not that that was going to happen. Ever.
"It's just a simple interview."
Robbie knew there was nothing simple in this--nothing--and whatever had happened in that car, the last thing Carrie wanted to do was talk about it with anyone, and he wasn't going to make her.
"Get out." It came out as a growl.
The stranger finally shook his head in frustrated resignation. "All right. Maybe I can't get you to say a word to me, but I'm sure there are others I can get to say plenty. Don't say I didn't give you first dibs."
Robbie felt his fingers curl into fists, and every part of him wanted to slug this piece of crap, but he was wise enough to know that, too, would end up in whatever story the man wrote.
The stranger shook his head and finally walked away, his eyes still staring at Carrie. He expected her to change her mind, but she didn't. No, now she looked at the floor as though she suddenly wanted to just disappear.
Robbie, on the other hand, watched until the stranger left, wishing he could make things return to the way they had been before this whole nightmare started, but it was a wish he knew was never going to come true.
Chapter Ten
Didn’t people realize that a wailing siren meant for them to get out of the way? Dallas Stanton thought, irritated. There was a little old lady in a Toyota right in front of him, and it was only when he laid on the horn did she even think to turn so he could get through the intersection.
What if someone they loved were dying? he wondered. Would they move then?
Guy Matthews pointed up ahead. “There’s the wreck.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Dallas responded. Although he knew Guy was just trying to be helpful, stating the obvious was definitely one of his annoying traits.
As if the wreck wasn’t obvious by all the people standing around and the way cars tooled p
ast like there was a show going on. Yeah, somebody was dying. Is that what they wanted to see?
Cops were already there and trying to herd people out of the way so the fire truck could park as close as possible. Dallas cut the engine and jumped out of the engine to ascertain as much as he could before they started.
He was halfway to the wreck when he saw the yellow car, or what was left of it. He was approaching from the rear, and for some reason, his gaze drifted to the license plate, taking in the letters. That was his first mistake.
He knew that car.
“Deb!” he yelled, suddenly sprinting toward the car. He felt everyone watching him, but all he could do was look ahead at his wife’s car.
People were yelling at him, but he couldn’t hear them over his heartbeat. One guy, he didn’t have a clue who, tried to grab him, but he wrestled free and kept running until he reached the driver’s door. Then he understood.
Deb was covered in blood and lying against the seat. The scarlet made her hair unnaturally auburn. Her eyes were opened, but she didn’t look at him.
“Deb!” he yelled, thinking she was just in shock. They needed to get her out of the car now!
“Get the Jaws!” he screamed, trying to open her door. It wouldn’t give. The frame of the car was too badly bent.
“Let us do it,” a voice said, lightly grabbing his shoulder.
“No! That’s my wife!” He turned to see Greg Vinley there, his best friend and a cop on the Rochester Police Department.
“I know. We’ll get her.” Greg said calmly.
“She’s bleeding out! We have to move now! She’s pregnant!” He tried to jerk free.
“Dallas, she’s already gone.”
“No!” Dallas jerked the door harder, desperate to get it open. That’s when he looked inside the car. The front half of the car was compacted into the front seat, and the lower half of Deb’s body was crumpled in with the wreckage. The baby was dead and so was Deb.
Dallas jerked upright in his bed, and even as he opened his eyes, he knew he was crying. For a moment, it was all he could do just to rock back and forth, waiting for the world to stop spinning. He felt so cold and he wished to hell he’d been in that car when it wrecked. At least that way he would have been with Deb and the baby, not stuck here, wondering what the point was without them.
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