No, she didn’t suppose she did.
And then in the ambulance she stretched out. Her baby slept next to her. “The baby is alive,” she said.
“The baby is alive,” echoed Rich.
“You know,” Didi said, after the paramedics cut the cord and set up an IV drip, “I don’t feel too bad, considering I’ve just had a baby.”
Rich groaned.
“Really,” she said. “Listen, this labor, though, must have been harder than I ever imagined. I think I went into delirium.”
“Really?” he said, kissing her head. “Why do you say that?”
“I must have been in tremendous pain. I dreamed—no, it’s just too silly. I dreamed—will you believe it—that I was kidnapped, and beaten and cut, and had my nose broken, and was nearly killed, can you believe it?”
Rich couldn’t look at her.
“I was right, Richie, wasn’t I?” she said, taking his hand and squeezing it. “Karma came knocking. I was right.”
Through his tears he shook his head and smiled crookedly. “Karma has nothing on you, my darling. Karma didn’t know what it was dealing with when it picked you.”
Didi almost smiled.
Rich was thinking about something. “What, Richie?” she said.
“Didi, we were both wrong.”
Didi didn’t have enough energy to be surprised. She let go his hand.
Rich took her hand in his and rubbed it gently. She was glad it wasn’t the injured hand. “We were both wrong, and I’ll tell you why. I just figured it out. He wasn’t your karma, Didi. You were his. God didn’t forget you at all. He didn’t abandon you. He sent you to get that man out of His world, to put him out of his misery and out of our misery. And who better to send than you? God sent you because He knew you would do what you were meant to do—kill him and live yourself.”
Didi closed her eyes. God had sent her to kill Lyle. “I don’t think we should be second-guessing God, Richard,” she said. “How did God know I would…”
“He knew,” Rich said. “He knew.”
They fell quiet. She reached out to him, touching his face. “Richie,” she said. “Maybe after I’ve recovered from all this birth stuff, we can take a vacation?”
Wiping his face, he said. “Anywhere, Didi, anywhere.” And then later, “Where would you like to go?”
Hoarsely, her answer came. “Anywhere but Mazatlán.”
EPILOGUE
Rich opened the car door for Didi. She slowly got out and squinted even though she was wearing sunglasses. The bright sun this Sunday reflected wildly off the water. The family had come to feed the ducks. The girls piled out from the back of the minivan, squabbling over who was going to hold the bag of bread.
Rich opened up the new hunter-green stroller and then gently lifted the boy out of his car seat and put him in. The baby twitched but continued to sleep, barely disturbed by the change of napping quarters. Didi came around to push the stroller. She walked slowly, favoring her right leg. A bone in her ankle had been fractured in the fall from the car.
In her heavily bandaged left hand, she held a bottle of water and every few minutes sipped from it. It was ten in the morning and still bearable outside. Didi knew that they could only stay out until noon because it would get too hot for the baby.
“I’ll push, I’ll push,” Rich said to her.
“It’s okay—”
“No, please. Let me.”
She let him.
At the lake, they watched the girls feed the ducks. Rich stood close by Didi. She stood with her hands on the stroller, taking little sips out of her water bottle. Amanda and Irene were squealing as the white geese waddled over to them and the ducks from the lake scrambled up the embankment, squawking, feed me, feed me. The delight turned quickly to hysteria when one of the overzealous geese nipped Irene’s finger. Rich picked her up, and for the rest of the feeding she threw the bread down while safely perched in his arms. Pushing the stroller, Didi went to sit down on the nearby bench. She adjusted the baby’s hat and settled back.
Rich came over with Irene and sat down next to Didi. “You okay?” he said to Didi. Irene wiggled out and ran to Amanda.
“I’m great,” she said, turning her face to him. “I just wanted to get the baby out of the sun.”
When Rich said nothing, she patted his face. “Don’t worry.”
Nodding, he sighed deeply.
They were quiet for a moment. Didi felt hot.
She said, “About dinner tonight. What does Scott like to eat?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t get that far.”
Smiling, she said, “I don’t know why. You had plenty of time to chat.”
“Yeah, but oddly, we were talking about other things,” Rich replied.
Pausing, Didi said, “Well, I have to make him something. Does he like spaghetti?”
“I’m sure he does,” Rich tried to assure her.
“Hmm. What about steak? Everyone likes a good steak.”
“Steak is good,” Rich agreed.
She thought about it. “What if he’s a vegetarian? Then what?”
Rich studied Didi’s face; her eyes were hidden from him by her wide sunglasses. “Scott put away a roast beef sandwich right in front of me. Make him a steak,” he said.
“Steak it is, then,” said Didi.
When they were finished feeding the ducks, Amanda put on her Rollerblades and, with Irene running alongside, skated ahead of Rich and Didi.
Didi had difficulty walking and stopped for a rest every few minutes. Two young women passing by slowed down near the stroller and looked in.
“My,” said one, “what a cute baby!”
“Thanks,” said Didi.
“How old?”
“Two weeks.”
“Oh, he’s a cutie. And look at that red hair!” The woman looked at brown-haired Didi and then at blond Rich. “Where’s the hair from?”
Pointing at Rich, Didi said, “He’s guilty. His dad’s very red.”
“Oh, so adorable.”
The other woman, who had been standing quietly beside her friend, moved forward and said to Didi, “I’m pregnant myself. Thirteen weeks. My first. Scared to death. The whole labor thing.” Lowering her voice, she asked, “How was it for you?”
Didi said, adjusting her sunglasses, “Oh, it wasn’t bad.” She paused. “Not bad at all.”
The woman looked at her and said, “You got a bit of a sore throat, huh? Losing your voice?”
“Yeah,” Didi said. “It’s coming back though. You should have heard me last week.”
Rich put his hand on Didi’s back.
“Where’d you have your baby? I’m having mine at the Columbia Medical Center in Plano.”
Nodding, Didi said, “That’s a good hospital. I—I didn’t have mine locally.”
The pregnant young woman peered closer at Didi’s son and said, “Hey, what happened to his arm? Is that a bandage?”
“Yeah,” said Didi, reaching down to adjust the receiving blanket to cover her boy up to his neck. “He—I fell and he broke his arm when he was still in utero.”
The women looked horrified.
“He’ll be okay,” Didi said. “Really.”
“Come on, honey,” Rich interrupted. “Let’s go.”
“Okay,” Didi said, raising her hand in a wave to the two women. “Good luck,” she said.
“Yeah, thanks,” muttered the pregnant woman. “Good luck to you.” The women sped up and passed them.
Rich and Didi slowly followed the girls. Didi was limping. “Girls, come back,” she said hoarsely in a low voice, but they didn’t hear her.
“Amanda, Irene! Listen to your mother! Don’t go so far out!” Rich yelled.
The girls slowed down.
Rich asked, “Are you okay, honey? You want to go back home?”
“No, I’m okay,” Didi said, taking off her glasses. The seven stitches over the left eyebrow had been removed last week and the dark, ragged wound
was healing. The black-and-blue marks around her eyes were now turning yellow. The broken nose was still swollen and misshapen.
Rich said, “Women. They just want to know everything, don’t they?”
“They mean well,” Didi said. “And they don’t know.”
“I guess. I wish they would just keep going.”
Didi took Rich’s arm as he pushed the stroller. “Richie, people mean well. They’re trying to be nice. It’s okay.”
“Yeah, but those questions, those questions. How do you do it?”
“It’s easy,” she said, smiling at him and putting her glasses back on as she saw a man and a woman with a stroller approaching them. “Watch.”
They stopped again, and Didi and the other woman oohed and aahed over each other’s baby. When was he born? July 13? Wasn’t that the hottest day in seventy years? Yes, said Didi. It was. Oh, look how cute. How big was he? Was the labor terrible? Oh, mine was the pits, said the other woman. Mine wasn’t too bad, said Didi.
Rich stood silently, with his arm around his wife.
The baby woke up and Didi carefully took him out of his stroller. Rich offered to carry him, but Didi said, “No, that’s okay. I’ll carry him.” He remained in her arms for the rest of the walk.
ST. MARTIN’S PAPERBACKS TITLES
BY
PAULLINA SIMONS
Tully
Red Leaves
Eleven Hours
EXTRAORDINARY ACCLAIM FOR PAULLINA SIMONS
Eleven Hours
“ELEVEN HOURS reminded me of Steven Spielberg’s Duel—a story with minimalist style and a powerful scare.”
—Martin Cruz Smith, author of Gorky Park
“Simons does a wonderful job pulling you into the story … it’s a ticking time bomb!”
—Adrianne Lee, author of Little Girl Lost and Night Terror
Red Leaves
“A haunting page-turner.”
—Los Angeles Times
“Suspenseful. Creates mystery from the ordinary, protected lives of Ivy League kids, slowly peeling away their deceptions to reveal denial, cowardice, and chilling indifference. Engrossing.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Simons’s characterizations are excellent, and she quickly draws the reader deeply into the nuances of the story. Highly recommended.”
—Library Journal
“A wonderful mystery–suspense story with marvelous twists and turns that keep you guessing—and turning pages—right to the very end.”
—Detroit Free Press
Tully
“Reads fast, like a sudden surge of wind over the plains, and the book’s momentum builds to tornado force.”
—USA Today
“What a lovely and resonant evocation of that first great bond between women—it’s deeply moving.”
—Anne Rivers Siddons
“An impressive and enviable first novel … Powerful and telling … There is a reader involvement that almost becomes a compulsion.”
—Richmond Times-Dispatch
“Complex, diverse, multi-faceted … Lush in emotion and rich in detail.”
—Denver Post
“Beautifully written … Hard to put down … Highly recommended.”
—Library Journal
“An extraordinary and massive novel … Simons piques your curiosity with delicate finesse at every turn … Impressive … Remarkable … Truly exciting … One hopes we will see other books by Paullina Simons.”
—Bookpage
PAULLINA SIMONS is the author of the acclaimed novels Tully and Red Leaves, both published by St. Martin’s Paperbacks. Born and raised in St. Petersburg, Russia, she graduated from Kansas University in Lawrence, Kansas, and has lived in Rome, London, and New York. She currently lives in Dallas, Texas, with her husband and three children. Her e-mail address is [email protected].
ELEVEN HOURS
Copyright © 1998 by Paullina Simons.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 98-10203
ISBN: 0-312-96700-4
St. Martin’s Press hardcover edition / June 1998
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / October 1999
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
eISBN 9781466851498
First eBook edition: July 2013
Eleven Hours Page 26