“Auditions!” Rhonda stopped laughing, her eyes wide. She stood and slid around to the other side of the booth, her face serious. “We have to finish callbacks.”
“I’ve been trying to say that.” Katy gave her cell phone to Rhonda and studied the next audition sheet. “Mary Reed, she gets a callback.”
“We’ve already called Tim.” Rhonda had caught her breath, and now she looked worried. “They won’t mind two calls, will they?”
“Some shows we’re not as organized as others. Anyway, a callback’s a callback.”
“Right.” Rhonda checked the list and tapped out the number on the cell phone. In a minute she’d informed the Reed family that Mary also was being called back for a second round of auditions.
The callbacks continued until eleven thirty. Only a few of the kids hadn’t been home, including Sarah Jo Stryker. Katy was surprised. After the auditions for Tom Sawyer, Alice Stryker had answered the phone on the first ring, as if she’d been sitting next to it waiting for the call. Either way, they’d left a message. Sarah Jo would definitely be at auditions in the morning.
Katy stretched her legs out in front of her. “I can’t believe we finished before midnight. Must be some kind of record.”
“We need to be at the church in eight hours.” Rhonda downed the last of her espresso. “If I can sleep at all after this.”
Katy was about to say something about the callbacks or Stanley, but Rhonda’s cell rang before she could say anything.
“Who’d be calling this late?” Rhonda frowned and flipped open the phone. “Hello?”
Almost immediately the expression on Rhonda’s face changed. Her smile faded and her eyes grew wide, her expression stricken.
“What is it?” Katy leaned in, her voice a whisper. “What happened?”
Rhonda shook her head, the color draining from her cheeks. “How . . . how’d it happen?”
“What?” Katy stared at her friend.
Rhonda held up her finger. There was another stretch of silence, while her expression grew from stricken to horrified. “No.” The word was more of a gasp. “No, we won’t.”
Katy’s heart was pounding. Whatever it was, the news was bad. She held her breath, waiting for Rhonda to finish the call.
“Okay.” Rhonda shaded her brow with her free hand. “Talk to you in the morning.” She closed the phone and stared at Katy.
“What is it?” Katy reached out and put her hand over Rhonda’s.
Rhonda’s voice was breathy, filled with shock. As she spoke, tears brimmed in her eyes. “Katy . . . there’s been an accident.”
John Baxter almost never took a shift at St. Anne’s Hospital. He was one of the senior doctors on staff at the university, with a practice that left him no time for the hospital shifts he’d had as a younger man. That night he’d already been in bed thinking about the vegetables he’d get at the farmers’ market when the phone rang.
“Dr. Baxter, there’s been a bad accident, at least one fatality, numerous injuries.” The admitting clerk in the emergency room made a weary sound. “We have just one ER doc on staff tonight.” She paused. “You have more experience than anyone else. Could you please come?”
John didn’t hesitate. “I’m on my way.”
He walked through the doors of the emergency room twenty minutes later. By then the ambulances had brought in both the injured and the deceased. It was standard procedure. Victims were brought to the hospital, a final determination was made, and the coroner was notified. That would give the nurses a chance to clean up the bodies, cover them as much as possible, and notify the next of kin.
In Bloomington, fatal accidents were uncommon. When they happened, they rocked the emergency room staff. John could tell that was the case as soon as he walked in. His colleagues were hurrying about in what looked like an organized state of shock.
The admitting clerk who had called John filled him in on the details. “A van full of kids was coming out of a strip mall. The driver turned right, and two seconds later a full-size pickup driven by some young guy and coming from the other direction crossed the center divider. Hit them head-on.”
John cringed. A van full of kids. “Teenagers in both vehicles?”
“No.” Her face was pale. “The van had four young kids, six to twelve. Two from one family, two from another.”
A groan came from John. He leaned on the counter and tried to imagine the way those families’ lives had changed in a single evening. “What about the truck driver?”
“We don’t have the reading yet, but he was loaded. Drunk way beyond the legal limit.”
“He lived?”
The clerk made a face. “He’s fine. Naturally.” She picked up a stack of papers and straightened them, her movements sharp, frustrated. Her eyes found John’s again. “The fatality is a little boy, a six-year-old boy. The twelve-year-old is in a coma; she might not make it. They’re the worst, and they’re from two different families. The other two kids are in serious condition.”
“Thanks.” John rolled up his sleeves and entered the emergency area through the double doors. Inside, he washed his hands, taking extra time the way he always did. The news made his stomach hurt. It was why he couldn’t have spent a career in the ER, even though he had started there. Back when the kids were younger, every child who came in on a stretcher had the face of Kari or the eyes of Luke. They were the age of Ashley or Erin or Brooke. One of them. And now that he had grand-children, it was no different.
He felt a tap on his shoulder, and he turned.
“John.” The ER doctor handed over a chart. “Thanks for coming. I’ve got a girl clinging to life, two kids in serious condition, and a mother in critical. I need you in with the mother. She’s got a bleed somewhere, losing pressure fast. A transfusion’s been ordered.”
“How’s she look?” John fell into step beside his friend and one of the most respected ER doctors on staff.
“She might make it. We knocked her out.” The doctor kept his pace fast as they headed down a short hallway to the triage area. “She was hysterical, shouting something about auditions for Annie.”
“Auditions for . . .” John looked at his friend, his heart rate suddenly twice as fast. “That’s the next Christian Kids Theater show. Were the kids coming from auditions?”
“I don’t know. The woman’s quiet now so we can work on her.”
They reached the room. John had to know if there was a connection. “What about next of kin?”
The doctor read the notes on his clipboard. “I’ve got the woman’s husband on his way in from Indianapolis. When we reached him, we were able to get identities on the other kids. Just contacted the parents, and they’re on their way.”
John looked in at the still woman on the gurney. From down the hall, a lab tech rushed off the elevator with two bags of blood. John patted his friend’s shoulder. The man was a regular at church. “Looks like it’s time to pray.”
“I’ve been talking to Him nonstop.” He brought his lips together and shook his head. “Nights like this there’s no other option.”
John didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. His friend had been there when he’d gone through the tough times with Landon, who had nearly died after being hurt in a fire, and with little Hayley, after her drowning accident. They exchanged a last look, and John entered the hospital room.
The tech was preparing the blood transfusion. John approached the woman, going through the initial procedures, checking her stats and her chart. Only then did he take a closer look at her. Something about her was familiar, and he considered what his friend had just said—the woman had mentioned something about Annie auditions. He checked her chart and felt his heart do a stutter step. The woman’s daughter had played a lead part in Tom Sawyer, the recent summer production.
If her daughter died, the tragedy unfolding in the ER would have a wide-reaching impact. In fact, it would very likely bring the community of Bloomington to its knees.
Katy and Rhonda
hurried through the doors of the emergency room. Katy couldn’t believe it was happening. A car accident with injured CKT kids? Something like this had never happened before, and Katy could barely breathe by the time they tore into the lobby, desperate for answers.
The call had come from Bethany Allen, the new CKT area coordinator, and the news was bad, horrible. From what Bethany had said, after auditions Alice Stryker had gone out for pizza and ice cream with her two kids and two other children from another CKT family. They were on their way home when they were hit head-on by a drunk driver.
Alice Stryker’s husband was on his way to the hospital from a conference he’d been at in Indianapolis. He’d called Bethany asking for prayers and support.
Now Katy rushed to the front desk. “Hi.” She spread her hands on the counter. “Friends of ours were brought in a little while ago. They were in a car accident. The woman’s name is Alice Stry—”
“Katy!” a voice screamed from somewhere behind her, near the entrance.
She turned and saw the Hanovers running across the lobby. Their kids, Ben and Brandy, had been with Alice Stryker in the van.
Katy caught Mrs. Hanover in her arms and hugged her. “We just got here.”
The woman behind the desk stood. “You’re the Hanovers?”
“Yes.” Mr. Hanover took a step closer. “Our kids . . . are they okay? They said to get right down here.”
“Why don’t you follow me.” She looked at Katy and Rhonda. “We can only take immediate family back. Maybe you could wait in the lobby.”
Katy felt stiff and unnatural. Her heart was racing, as if it were too afraid to slow down and listen to the news, whatever the news was. She gave a final look to Mrs. Hanover, then led Rhonda to a vinyl sofa in the waiting area. Katy sat down next to her. Her arms were shaking as she pressed her elbows into her knees and covered her face with her hands. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
It was then, before Rhonda could say a word, that they heard the scream. A shrill, piercing scream that exploded beyond the walls of the reception area and filled the waiting room.
Katy’s hands fell to her lap, and she stared at Rhonda. But there was no need to say anything. The scream almost certainly belonged to Mrs. Hanover, and a person didn’t cry out like that unless . . .
The scream came again, and this time it was a series of words. “No . . . no, please no!”
A pain started in Katy’s chest and burned a trail around to her back. “Was that Mrs. Hanover?” she asked Rhonda, her voice scratchy.
Rhonda didn’t say anything. She only stared at her lap and shook her head. She was still shaking it when a doctor came out and took steady steps in their direction.
Katy grabbed on to the vinyl sofa seat. “He’s coming toward us.”
“No.” Rhonda lifted her eyes. They were wide and unblinking, scared to death.
When the doctor reached them, he said, “Katy Hart?”
She wanted to run, wanted to get in her car and speed back to the theater, back to the way things had been four hours earlier with all the kids in one place, singing and listening to their peers and dreaming of a role in Annie. Instead she looked up and said, “I’m Katy.”
“Well . . .” The doctor crossed his arms, his lips a straight line. “Mr. Stryker and the Hanovers have asked me to talk to you.”
Katy could barely concentrate. All she could think about was something her mother had always told her. That sometimes on the journey to being a grown-up, something would happen that would advance the trip a whole year in a single day. Graduation or a first speeding ticket or the first night in your own apartment. Katy pressed her elbows to her sides, bracing herself. This was one of those times.
The doctor met Katy’s eyes. “Alice Stryker and both her kids are alive, but they all have serious injuries. The Hanovers’ daughter, Brandy, is in serious condition. She has a punctured lung and a shattered femur. She’s going to need surgery yet tonight, but we feel good about her chances. The most critical is the twelve-year-old, Sarah Jo Stryker. She has severe head injuries. The next twenty-four hours will be critical.”
Katy touched her fingers to her throat. Sarah Jo had head injuries? What would that mean when she had time to recover? And what if . . . ? No, she couldn’t think like that. She massaged the muscles in her neck and caught a glimpse of Rhonda. Her thumb and forefinger were pressing against her temples. Rhonda kept her head low, her eyes focused on her knees. No question she wasn’t ready for whatever else might be coming.
The doctor seemed to look at something near his feet. Then he released a slow sigh, and Katy knew. She knew without a doubt that whatever news the doctor was about to share, it wouldn’t be good. It wouldn’t be mildly terrible. Rather it would be devastating. “I’m afraid the Hanovers’ son, Ben, didn’t make it. He died on the way to the hospital.”
The news came at Katy like a battering ram. She bent over her knees and rocked forward. Not little Ben. Not the pixie-haired, brown-eyed kid who at six years old was only this week able to take his first CKT class. Katy closed her eyes and pictured him, sitting next to his mother at auditions earlier today, swinging his legs and grinning. Before they left he’d come up to her and tugged on her sleeve.
“Guess what?” He had been so excited he could barely get the words out. “My mommy says in two years I get to try out. Can we do Peter Pan in two years, Katy?”
Now there would be no Peter Pan for Ben, no CKT class to attend, nothing. She moaned and sat up a bit. Her body knew the way through this type of pain. Losing her boyfriend, Tad, three years earlier had prepared her for this sort of moment, but Tad had killed himself with drugs. Ben Hanover never even got the chance to live.
Rhonda was crying, her head still in her hands. Katy’s eyes were dry, but only because fear and shock hadn’t given sorrow the upper hand. She looked at the doctor. “How are the Hanovers?”
“Times like this are never easy.” The doctor pursed his lips. “They want to be alone with their daughter.”
“Of course.” Katy pressed her fists against her middle, trying to relieve the tightness there. Ben was gone, and now what about the injured kids? “Have they told Brandy?”
“Not yet.”
She held the doctor’s eyes for a few more seconds. Then she put her hand on Rhonda’s shoulder. “We’ll be okay.”
The doctor gave them a sad nod, turned, and walked back through the doors into the emergency room.
Another low moan came from Katy as her eyes met Rhonda’s. “What’re we supposed to do next?”
“I don’t know.”
Katy leaned back against the vinyl seat, and her eyes welled up. They’d lost little Ben, and now they would have to wait and see about Sarah Jo. The scream from a few minutes ago played again in Katy’s mind. Of course the Hanovers weren’t okay. They’d never be the same again.
“Alice Stryker never takes kids out after CKT.” Rhonda pulled her knees up to her chest. “She’s the most standoffish woman in the group, and now . . .”
“Now this.”
They were quiet for a while. There was nothing to say, no words that could undo the news they’d learned. They had practical concerns too. A decision had to be made about the next day. Katy drew a long, sad-sounding breath. “What about auditions tomorrow?”
Rhonda shook her head, her eyes distant. “We can hardly cancel it now. Besides, canceling it wouldn’t change anything here.”
She was right. Katy thought about the options. They could cancel auditions with a round of calls in the morning. But that would send shock waves throughout the organization. They would have to reschedule the session, anyway. And with everyone knowing the truth about what happened, it would be even harder to get through.
Finally Katy pulled her cell phone from her pocket. “I’m calling Bethany. She’ll know what to do.”
The call was short. She explained the situation, that Ben Hanover was dead and the rest were seriously injured. “Sarah Jo’s in bad shape. They’ll
know more in twenty-four hours.”
“Okay, then.” Bethany was emotional. “Go ahead with callbacks. Then you can make an announcement when auditions are finished.”
“Right.” Katy brushed her hair off her face. “That’ll work.” Tears fell onto her cheeks, and she caught them on her fingertips. “Keep praying.”
Bethany’s voice was thick. “I haven’t stopped.”
When she folded her cell phone, Katy and Rhonda bowed their heads and begged God to breathe life into Sarah Jo and the others.
After that, there was nothing to do but go home. On the way, Katy caught herself humming an old show tune, one that filled the car even as tears slid down her face. The song was “I’m Flying,” a favorite from the musical Peter Pan, and one that all the kids liked. A few had sung it at auditions just hours ago.
But the song was especially loved by a little six-year-old boy, a boy who would never tug on her sleeve again.
Dayne Matthews made the decision over the weekend. He would go to Bloomington a few days early, get familiar with the location, and have a little quiet time. At least that’s what he was about to tell Mitch Henry, the director of Dream On.
He pulled into the studio parking lot and looked—for a second—at the place where the yellow Honda had parked during the summer. The place where Margie Madden—the psycho fan who called herself Chloe and Anna and probably a dozen other names—would sit for hours, watching, waiting for him. She had tried to kill him and Katy Hart on Katy’s last visit to Hollywood. Now he couldn’t pull into the studio lot without remembering the Madden woman and chiding himself. Why hadn’t he noticed her sooner? Katy might be starring opposite him in the film if not for that woman’s attack on them in Paradise Cove.
Dayne let the thought pass. He was inside in two minutes, walking down the hall to Mitch’s office. The man had been hired as casting director for the film, but the big dogs with the money had put him in charge of the whole thing.
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