“Edward? Oh, right. I’m sure I will.”
“What are you going to do? Dinner?” I knew I was pressing, but I was desperate to learn more about the boyfriend.
“Probably. We’ll decide later.”
“Rebecca, I want you to be careful. I don’t know what the moving air means but I have a feeling it’s not something good.”
She blinked a few times. “Why do you say that?”
I crumbled a fortune cookie into tiny pieces on my plate. “I saw the air around someone who died a few days later,” I said. “But I also saw it over the head of a little girl. She nearly drowned, but I was able to save her.”
Rebecca signed the receipt and waved over the waiter to pick it up.
“Are you going to save me?” she asked. I flinched at her tone. This was ridiculous. I had no idea what the aura meant. I should have kept quiet until I knew more. Pushing her chair back, she stood up. “I hope the scan goes well tomorrow,” she said. “Maybe they’ll work out what’s causing these bizarre visions of moving air. Let me know, won’t you?”
I didn’t blame her for being upset with me. I would be too, if someone had dumped that on me. I stood up, picked up my coat from the back of the chair and put it on.
Rebecca suddenly smiled. She gave me a hug. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. How about doing our theater trip next Saturday? I’ll get the tickets and call you with the time and where to meet?”
“Yes, definitely,” I said, although Saturday was far away and the air was moving fast. I was staring too obviously, I realized. Self-consciously, she smoothed the hair on the crown of her head.
“I must run,” she said. “See you soon, sweetie.”
8
At lunchtime on Monday, grabbing my bag and coat, I hurried towards the elevator, glad that my knees had mended well enough for me to move with some speed. Praying that I wouldn’t run into Alan, I crossed the lobby and hailed a taxi.
Ten minutes after arriving at the hospital, I was shivering in a changing room, wearing an ugly grey gown that hung almost to my ankles. I felt like a novice nun, a most unlikely vocation for me, a practicing agnostic.
I clutched the gown tightly around me. Hospitals made me nervous, really stomach-clenching, sweaty-palm nervous. A nurse took me into a room dominated by a massive machine that whirred and clicked, like an alien spider crouching over me.
A young technician gave me instructions. He was rather handsome, which motivated me to be brave. I followed his directions carefully, lay still, and managed to smile at his jokes even though I was scared. Not so much about the process, but of the potential result.
In fact all I had to do was lie very still, while the machine moved over me. It was loud, but not as bad as I’d feared. When it was over, the technician gave me a high five.
“Good job. You’re a model patient. Wait for a few minutes just outside there,” he said, pointing the way to a small waiting area furnished with several tan-colored sofas and end tables piled with magazines and papers. “I just need to check the scan to make sure I got everything.”
Trying to ignore the churning in my stomach, I picked up the local newspaper, and flicked through it, not really able to concentrate on stories of celebrity misbehavior and political shenanigans. But on page six, a headline caught my eye. “Tragic death of toddler in park.”
Sophie McDonald died after falling into the park’s boating pond, the article said. A passerby pulled her from the water and the child was taken to the ER, where she died late on Sunday. The mother was treated for shock and released.
My head began to spin with the memory of what had happened. Sophie had been safe, I thought. The paramedics were there. She should have been all right.
“All good,” the technician said, poking his head into the waiting area. “You’re free to go. Your doctor will call you with the results.”
He turned and disappeared through the double doors into his strange, technological universe. The newspaper fell from my lap to the floor just as a nurse accompanied another patient into the waiting room.
“Are you all right? You look very pale,” the nurse said to me. She hurried over with a paper cup of water. “Drink this. Do you feel dizzy?”
I nodded. The waiting room began to swirl around me, a nauseating carousel of tan sofas and beige walls. I gripped the arms of my chair. I couldn’t breathe. A whirlpool of brown, churning water was dragging me down and my limbs wouldn’t move. I couldn’t reach the surface. Panicking, I was taking in gulps of water. I knew I was going to drown.
When the spinning stopped, I was lying on a gurney in a cubicle with white curtains. A nurse took my blood pressure and my temperature and told me to lie still until the doctor arrived. I seemed to be hooked up to a monitor that beeped occasionally. Twisting my head around, I saw green lines scrolling across a screen.
“I’m fine,” I protested, but the nurse insisted I stay still.
It seemed to take a long time until a young Indian doctor arrived. He examined my eyes and ears and checked the information on a chart at the foot of the bed.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. “The wound on your head appears to be healing nicely but I wondered how it came to be there?”
I told him that I’d been in a hit and run, and had suffered some injuries to my legs and head.
He clucked sympathetically. “Dear, dear,” he said. “I’m very sorry to hear it. The good news is that I see no sign of damage to the head apart from the superficial external wound. I’ve reviewed your CT scan and everything is clear. Sometimes, just the stress of having the scan can induce symptoms such as vertigo. I think that’s what happened here. Do you mind if I check your other injuries? Your legs, you said?”
He gently peeled the sheet to one side and folded my gown back to expose my knees. His fingers were soft on my legs. He murmured to himself before straightening up, pulling the sheet. back in place.
“You said you were hit by a car?”
I nodded.
“These injuries don’t seem consistent with the impact of a car,” he said, with a frown. “Did you have any other injuries? To the hip or shoulder, perhaps? Were you facing the car when it happened, or crossing a street?”
I felt dizzy again, felt the blood draining from my head. The bright lights were dazzling and hurt my eyes. Telling Leo the real story hadn’t worked very well. I could only imagine the reaction if I told the truth to the nice young doctor. He was watching the heart monitor and scribbling notes on my chart.
“Don’t talk,” he said. “Just rest for thirty minutes. Then we’ll check on you again.”
“I really need to go,” I said. “I’m late for work.”
“I can’t discharge you when your heart rate is so high. I’ll be back soon. Stay calm and rest.”
A nurse appeared to place a warm coverlet over me. The heaviness of it seemed disproportionate to its fluffy whiteness. Lying still, held captive by the blanket, I tried deep breathing to slow my heart down. My watch and cell phone were with my clothes in a locker in the changing room, so I had no idea whether one minute had passed, or five or ten. The achromatic cubicle was timeless and ephemeral, a space where patients and doctors passed through; a brief interaction and a myriad of outcomes.
Maybe I dozed for a while, maybe the time vortex spun faster than I thought, but the doctor was soon back and he smiled at me when I opened my eyes.
“Very good. All vital signs are normal. Do you have anyone who can come to fetch you?”
“No.” The only person who might possibly come was Leo and he was in Italy.
“I could send you home in an ambulance, I suppose,” the doctor said, taking off his glasses to clean them with a corner of his white coat. “You must have assistance to get home.”
Embarrassed by the attention, his concern, and the thought of using up an ambulance driver’s valuable time, I decided to call Josh, hoping that he’d have his cell phone on. I also hoped that Alan wasn’t around to prevent him from an
swering it. The doctor gave me my bag and I found my cell phone. When Josh picked up on one ring, I explained what had happened.
“I’ll be right there,” he said.
It took some time to convince him I was well enough to go back to work, especially as the nurse had told him I should go straight home. In the taxi, Josh was quiet, sensing that I wasn’t up to talking. When we reached the office, he helped me out of the cab and put his hand under my elbow to walk me to the elevator.
“Don’t want you falling,” he said.
Inevitably, the elevator stopped on the second floor and Alan got in. There must be some mathematical equation that calculates the chances of such a thing, but it seemed preordained that I’d bump into the one person in the universe that I wanted to avoid.
“So nice of you to make an appearance, Kate. What was it this time? Shopping, quick jet set to Tuscany?”
“I had a doctor’s appointment during my lunch hour. It went longer than I thought it would,” I said, my head beginning to ache again. “I’ll make up the time this evening, I promise.”
“You bet you will,” he said. “We’re not running a resort here.”
“Alan, be nice,” said Josh. “Kate was injured and she needed a CT scan. You know she’ll get the work done.”
Alan just scowled at us. He got off on the next floor. Leaning against the wall of the elevator, I closed my eyes briefly. I felt Josh take my hand in his.
“You okay?” he asked. Without thinking, I moved towards him, resting my head against his shoulder. I felt his arms go around me. For a few seconds, I felt warm and safe, until a loud ping signaled our floor and the doors slid open.
I kept my wits about me for long enough to thank Josh for coming to my aid and wandered off towards my office, thinking of how his arms had felt, how concerned he’d looked. Seated at my desk, I picked up a pencil. It felt alien in my fingers. I had no idea what to do with it. Francesca and Sophie were both dead. They’d both had the moving air around them. My mouth was dry and my headache had come back. Could the strange visual phenomenon predict death? It seemed crazy, but both Francesca and Sophie had died. I couldn’t help thinking it.
If so, Rebecca was in great danger.
I texted her but there was no response, which wasn’t surprising. It was the middle of a workday and she was probably in a meeting. Seeing Alan stroll past my door, I slipped my phone back into my bag, quickly picking up a pencil again.
Late in the afternoon, I got a text from Josh, asking if I’d have dinner with him that evening. Warmth flooded my neck and chest, and my fingertips tingled. I stood up and stretched, feeling the release in my shoulder muscles. Outside, street lamps and headlights shone in the growing darkness like fairy lights on a Christmas tree.
9
The interior of the restaurant was warm and filled with the fragrance of curry spices. The red, flocked wallpaper was bright and cheerful. Bollywood music played a soft accompaniment to the clink of cutlery and murmur of voices.
Josh was waiting for me, sitting at a corner table near the window. He immediately stood up to take my coat. Some of the office staff mocked him for being old-fashioned, but I liked it. He worked as hard as anyone, yet always found time to ask his colleagues how their weekends had been or how their families were doing. Not many people, in my experience, made that effort to interact with their peers.
When we were seated, Josh ordered me a glass of wine. He took a sip of his beer.
“I’m glad you were free this evening,” he said. “Alan suggested I have a chat with you. He’s unhappy with all the time you’ve taken off, and being what he calls distracted.”
The mellowness I was feeling melted away. So this was a business meeting after all.
“How mad is he?”
“On a scale of one to ten? Maybe eleven.”
“Ouch.”
Josh broke a pappadum in half and handed me a piece. “He said he’s going to let you stay on the Montgomery project but blathered on about this being your last chance. Get this one right or consider yourself out. You know what he’s like. Anyway, I’ve done what he told me to do, and now we can forget about it and enjoy the evening. He’s just grandstanding. There’s no way he’d let you go.”
“I feel as though I’ve let you down; I’m sorry. I’ll work hard on the project from now on. I know how important it is to the company.”
Josh took another sip of his beer. “No need to apologize to me. Your work is always first class. But I am worried about you. Since that accident in Italy you’ve been different. I’m not being critical. I just want to help. If you need medical leave, you’ll get it. Even Alan can’t object to that.”
Crumbling a piece of pappadum, I shook my head. “No, I don’t need medical leave. I’m healing quickly. My knees are much better and my head, well, physically, it’s fine. Mentally, I’m not so sure, but I promise I’m okay.”
“If you want to talk, I’m really happy to listen.”
I was saved from answering right away by the arrival of our waiter with dishes of steaming chicken tikka masala, sag aloo and rice. Suddenly I realized how hungry I was and scooped food on to my plate, savoring the aromas.
Having devoured most of his food, Josh put his fork down.
“I wish you’d tell me what’s going on,” he said.
I looked around the restaurant, at the couples and groups of business people, men with loosened ties and women in business suits with their jackets off, an Indian family laughing together. So normal. I was jealous of them all. There was nothing normal about my life now.
I felt tears welling in my eyes and Josh handed me his napkin. Then he called the waiter over to ask for our bill.
“Why don’t we go have a cup of tea at your place, as it’s closest?” he suggested. He’d been over a couple of times, walking me home after a company dinner or drinks.
Too tired to argue, I nodded. We walked out of the restaurant into a steady drizzle that soon soaked our shoes and coats. With our collars turned up and heads bowed against the wind, we hurried along the few blocks to my apartment.
“I’ll get you a towel,” I said to Josh, once we were inside. I gave it to him, then went to my room to change out of my wet clothes into a sweatshirt and jeans. When I got back to the kitchen, Josh had put the kettle on and was measuring tea into a pot. I smiled. He reminded me of Leo, always calm and practical. He’d rubbed his hair dry and it was sticking up slightly, in a way that I couldn’t help finding adorable. We took our mugs into the living room, where I sat on the sofa. Josh perched on the edge of the opposite armchair.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “I took my shoes off and left them by the door. The rest of me will air out gradually.”
“Of course not.” I looked at his socked feet. Navy blue. Cashmere, I guessed.
“So are you going to tell me what’s worrying you?” he asked.
“I’m stressing about all the work time I’ve missed because of the accident.”
It seemed easiest to explain a single, tangible concern than to launch into a description of the weird moving air phenomenon.
Josh put his cup down on the coffee table and came to sit next to me. He took my hand in his squeezing it gently. “Ignore Alan. He’s full of pith and vinegar, as my mother would say. He gets over-excited and doesn’t know when to stop talking, but you’re keeping up with your project deadlines. The work you’ve done this week is good, really good. He has nothing to complain about.”
“There is something else,” I began, but a lump in my throat stopped the rest of my words. Josh moved closer and put his arms around me. With my head on his shoulder, I felt warm and protected. Tears spilled out, soaking into his blue shirt that smelled of laundry soap.
After a while, I lifted my head to look at him. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Listen, Kate, I really care about you. Not just as a friend. Don’t get me wrong, I like being friends, but for me there’s more to it.”
I didn’t
answer and the silence built between us like a tangible wall. I could almost hear the clink of bricks, one on top of the other. Letting go of me, he leaned back into the sofa cushions.
“You don’t feel the same way, I guess.”
“Josh, I do.” Again, my throat clogged up and I couldn’t speak. Josh smiled, a wonderful smile that made his eyes sparkle, and he wrapped his arms around me again.
“But there is something I need to sort out first,” I said.
“We can sort it out together,” he said. “Whatever it is.”
I eased myself out of his arms and went to the kitchen for a paper towel to dry my eyes. I wanted to tell him everything, about the visions I was having, about Francesca and Sophie. But it sounded so outlandish. I couldn’t dump all that on him. I just couldn’t open myself up to the risk of ridicule or rejection.
I walked to the window and looked outside. The rain had stopped, and a half-moon shone, partially obscured by the soft edges of a dark cloud. I slid the window up and leaned out, breathing in the scent of rain-soaked slate. Traffic hummed on the main road a few blocks away, and a group of teenagers shouted and laughed in the street below. I should be thrilled, happy, singing with joy. But the timing was all wrong.
He came to stand behind me. “What are you thinking?” he asked.
I leaned into him for a few seconds, then twisted out of his arms and turned to face him. “I just need some time.”
“And you can’t tell me why?” he asked. When I didn’t answer, he frowned, a vertical line between his dark brows. I reached up to smooth it away.
“Is there someone else?” he asked.
“No, no. Nothing like that.”
“I don’t want to pry. But, if you can trust me with whatever it is, I’ll be there for you.”
I wanted to tell him. I needed to, if I had any chance of being with him in the way I wanted to be. If I said nothing, then I was telling him a lie.
“I can see when someone is going to die.”
The Complete Kate Benedict Cozy British Mysteries Page 5