As Courtney doubled back down a corridor, she let her thoughts meander toward James and her love for him. She’d come to a fairly significant conclusion today—a surrendering of all thoughts of having James Vickerey’s children.

  So what would their married life be like?

  Okay, well, that took her breath away.

  She forced herself to consider it practically, in reality. She imagined waking up in bed with him next to her, sharing meals, and laundry, and the normal annoyances like a broken drain pipe, for she would not allow herself the luxury of imagining them in a problem-free future where drain pipes never broke. First, she thought of laughter, because James could change the mood of a room with one of his smiles. She thought of how they would talk—about books, medicine, politics, movies—they had always talked a lot. She thought of living every day with him—

  And where would that be? If she was going to insert broken pipes into her dream of a future, she couldn’t allow herself to conjure a bed floating in thin air. James was here now, for the summer, but as he’d said, he would probably be based in Boston or New York. He traveled all over the world for conferences, and Courtney could easily envision going along with him. She’d love to see foreign countries!

  But where would home be? James wanted to be based in a metropolitan region, one near a good international airport, with international companies.

  For example, Boston. Courtney and Robin had stayed in the Vickereys’ Back Bay apartment a few times when they wanted to see a play, a ballet, or do some serious shopping. The apartment seemed a funny old place to Courtney, who had grown up in flat country, where people built their houses low and long, because they had lots of land to build on. Her neighborhood was a forest of trees, flowers, and bushes, and one of her mother’s greatest pleasures was tending to her vegetable garden. The Vickereys’ Boston apartment was narrow and high, four large floors with two rooms on each floor. Sleeping in the bedroom at the top of the house felt like sleeping in a tree house, except for the noise that reminded Courtney she was in a city. At home, at night, she heard crickets, bobolinks, owls, and occasionally a passing car. She kept her window open and floated to sleep on the fragrant breeze. In Boston, they shut the windows for peace from traffic honks and sirens and adjusted the temperature on a thermostat.

  In Kansas City, her rented apartment was one of several carved out of an old Victorian mansion. It had a small backyard, hedged in with privet, and Courtney liked to take her first cup of coffee out to the backyard to drink while she listened to birds sing and the breeze stir the trees. The university was only a short bike ride away, and a quick drive away the Country Club Plaza with its fabulous stores and restaurants provided all the charms of urban life. She knew there were plenty of suburbs around Boston that would make the pleasures of city and country life possible. If she married James, she could have the city and Nantucket—and of course they would visit her family in Kansas.

  She turned a corner and reentered the emergency waiting room.

  —

  There was a television in the waiting room, set on a high shelf, and a network comedy show was flashing from the screen. It was odd, Robin thought, how it attracted her attention—and soothed her, too. It reminded her of the world out there, where people ate and laughed and worried about laxatives and teeth whiteners. She found herself staring at it, checking her watch, then jumping up and race-walking down the corridors, returning to watch the television again.

  When Robin spotted Courtney, she raced up to her. “I want you to walk with me. I want you to stay with me. Cling to me like Saran wrap.”

  “Sure, but why?”

  “I don’t want Quinn to have a chance to talk to me. I’m afraid I’ll say something I’ll regret. I’m so damned mad at him I could scream.”

  They were walking now, walking fast, past the doors labeled “Lab,” “Radiology,” “Restroom,” “Office.”

  “It’s normal to worry about your own children,” Courtney said.

  “Yeah, but to try to blame James for something Christabel did?”

  “I know. It’s a shabby thing to do.”

  “And there wasn’t any reason to shift the blame! The police said it was an accident! Oh, damn Quinn, he’s ruined everything! Imagine how my parents must feel about him now. He was like part of our family, and now he’s made it quite clear that it’s only Christabel he cares about.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “Are you sure? I’m not. My parents must feel betrayed.”

  “Robin, I think your parents are so worried about James—and about Henry, and about Christabel. I’m sure they have no time for thinking about anything else. And in times like this, when there’s a crisis, who knows what people will say. It’s the shock. We’re all in shock.”

  As they turned into the main corridor, a nurse came running up to them. Jane Hardy was an island girl. She and Robin had been in the same class in school together, but Jane had married early and they had drifted apart with their very separate lives. Still, Jane’s pretty face was like a glowing light in a dark room.

  “Jane!” Robin cried.

  “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry, but you know he’s going to be okay. He’s going to be fine.” Jane hugged Robin hard, then stepped back. “You’re Courtney, right?”

  “Yes. Hi, Jane.”

  “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Me?” Courtney’s heart kicked in her chest. “Is James…?”

  “James is still in the operating room. But Christabel is conscious now. She wants to see you.”

  “Me?”

  “She requested that you come to her room. Only you. And not for long. I’ll escort you.” Jane took Courtney’s arm and gently led her away from the group.

  “I don’t understand,” Courtney said as they strode through the corridors and out a heavy door leading to the stairs.

  “She can’t talk, but she can write. She’s on pain medication at the moment, so she’s rather woozy. But she made it clear she wants to see you. You know there’s an elevator to the second floor,” Jane said, “but it’s slow as molasses. We can climb these stairs before the damned elevator door even closes.”

  She pulled open another fire door and they stepped inside the second-floor hallway.

  “Jane,” Courtney began, but Jane answered her question before Courtney could frame it.

  Jane stopped and faced Courtney, holding her hands as if she were a little girl. “Christabel looks hideous, actually, so be prepared. Her nose has been taped. Her face is swollen. She’s wearing a cervical collar. She’s got a nasal cannula up her nose and an IV in her arm for pain, and a saline drip for her electrolytes. She can’t actually speak, so she communicates by writing. She’s lucid, but slowed down by the pain meds.”

  “Okay,” Courtney said. “This only freaks me out a little,” she added with a smile.

  Jane smiled back. “That’s it, be cheerful with Christabel. She’s going to need a lot of dental surgery, and we aren’t sure when the dental surgeon can get here. But she’s alive in spite of crashing headfirst into a truck.”

  “Does she know about James?”

  “She’s been told he’s in surgery for internal bleeding, but he’ll be fine. Which is the truth, Courtney. If she asks about him, tell her that.”

  They passed other patients’ rooms as they walked down the hall. Courtney caught a glimpse of a wheelchair, a flickering television set high on the wall, a curtain hanging around a bed. Outside a room with a closed door, Jane stopped.

  “Ready?”

  Courtney paused. “I can’t imagine why she wants to see me. I’m afraid I’ll say the wrong thing. I don’t understand why she chose me.” She wanted to say: Does Christabel love James? Is she going to tell me something extremely personal, ask me to pass a note of passionate love to him?

  Jane grinned. “I wouldn’t worry. The first thing she asked when we gave her a pencil and paper was whether or not the turtle lived.”

  Courtney burst out laughing with surprise and then with relief. That was such an island thing to ask, and it made Courtney like Christabel more than she ever had.

  “I’m ready.”

  Jane opened the door and led Courtney inside.

  Christabel was in a hospital bed with the metal sides drawn up. The back of the bed had been cranked up, allowing her to sit. She was sinking into a pillow, wearing a hospital gown, covered with light blankets. The nearby table had been swung over for her to write on.

  She did look terrible. Jane hadn’t told her that Christabel’s long blond hair would be pulled harshly back and shaved in several places so stitches could be put in her scalp. Her lovely blue eyes were puffed up and multi-colored, and the tube in her nose made her seem like a sci-fi creature.

  Courtney forced herself to smile. Foolish, lovely, impish Christabel. She went to the bed, pecked a kiss on the top of her head, and pulled up a chair as close as she could get it to Christabel.

  She took Christabel’s hand in hers. “We’re all so glad you’re alive!”

  Christabel pulled her hand away. For one brief moment, Courtney felt a sting of rejection. Why did she even ask me in here if she’s going to be that way? Courtney thought, and then she saw that Christabel had taken up a pencil with that hand and was holding down a sheet of paper with her other hand.

  “I’ll step outside for a while,” Jane said. “I’ll be back, and, Christabel, you know what button to push if you need me.”

  It was difficult to sit still, waiting, as Christabel wrote a seemingly endless note.

  Finally, Christabel shoved the note toward Courtney, staring at her with blazing raptor eyes.

  Courtney picked up the paper. It read, in shaky, slanted handwriting:

  Call 617 555 5345 Julian Moreau tell him 2 come now.

  “I don’t understand,” Courtney said. “Who’s Julian Moreau? Is he a dental surgeon? Shouldn’t the hospital—”

  A loud moaning grunt came from Christabel’s throat. It obviously meant: Why r u frustrating me, u idiot? Snatching another piece of paper, she began to scribble again, fast.

  Art dealer. Fiancé. Did not tell Dad yet. He’ll be sad when I tell him I’m getting married. Leaving island. Vickereys r 2 emotional, can’t keep secrets. Please do this for me.

  Courtney’s jaw dropped. “Get out of town!” she cried. “You have a fiancé we don’t even know about? Someone named Julian Moreau? Could his name be any more fabulous? Christabel, you little sneak!”

  Christabel scribbled large letters and held the paper up. Smiling.

  “Let me get this straight. Don’t be impatient, if you want me to call him, you have to satisfy my curiosity first. You met Julian when he saw your paintings at a gallery?”

  Christabel wrote, Yes. 2 years ago.

  “Where does he live?”

  Boston. Art gallery on Newbury Street.

  “That’s just about the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. Christabel, why didn’t you tell us? We’ll all be so happy for you!”

  Wait. He’s 20 years older. Married. 3 children. Getting divorced. Dad will freak.

  Courtney’s jaw dropped. “He’s married, has three children, he’s getting divorced, and he’s twenty years older than you? Christabel!”

  Who made you pope?

  “I’m not criticizing. I’m just, well, I guess I’m trying to take it all in. It’s a lot to learn, Christabel.”

  Christabel wrote something else and tossed the paper at Courtney.

  PLEASE GO CALL HIM NOW!!!

  “Yes, sorry, sorry, yes, I’ll go. I’ll go right now.”

  Don’t tell Dad or anyone.

  “Okay. Look, I have to go outside to use my cell. I’ll come back to tell you what he says.” Courtney went to the door, then looked back, smiling. “You are full of surprises!”

  Christabel made the thumbs-up with both hands and sank back into her pillows.

  Courtney raced down the stairs and out a fire exit. She was far from the waiting room, so none of the Vickereys or Quinn could see her. It was still light out, though hazy, dimmed by the fog, and full of tiny drops of water that she could see settle on the leaves of the dogwood tree near her. It was very warm, still summer, and all around birds were singing their evening songs. Such a contrast from the atmosphere inside the waiting room.

  Clicking on her cell, she tapped in the numbers Christabel had given her and almost immediately a man answered.

  “Julian?”

  He sounded wary. “Yes?”

  “This is Courtney Hendricks. I’m calling about Christabel Eliot. She’s been in a car accident—”

  “Dear god. Is she alive?”

  “Alive, yes, and she’s going to be fine. Her jaw was fractured, her nose broken, she lost some teeth, but everything else is good. She can’t talk but she wanted me to contact you. To tell you.” Courtney couldn’t help it, but she felt a tiny frisson of pleasure at being chosen to share this secret, to talk to Christabel’s lover.

  “It’s after seven,” Julian said curtly. “Too late for planes flying in from Boston. I’ll charter a plane and—”

  “No, the fog is terrible here. I doubt that you’d be able to land. Anyway, she’s on pain medication and an oral surgeon will be here soon, or maybe tomorrow morning, we don’t know yet, and also—I know this isn’t my place to say anything, but her father doesn’t know about you and he’s out of his mind worried about Christabel.”

  “It’s time he knew about me,” Julian Moreau snapped, then softened his tone. “Very well. I’ll come first thing tomorrow. Will you convey a message from me to Christabel?”

  “Of course.”

  “Tell her I love her. I’ll be there tomorrow morning. Tell her I will pray for her.”

  Courtney was touched by his simple message. “Yes. I’ll tell her.”

  “Thank you for calling me, Courtney Hendricks. I look forward to meeting you.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll go tell Christabel now.”

  She retraced her steps, her mind dazzled by Christabel’s secret, by Julian Moreau’s elegant, cultured voice. Parents and children, she thought, honestly! If Christabel didn’t want her father to know because he’d be miserable if she left the island, maybe when Quinn did know, which would probably be tomorrow, he would feel released, he could let everyone know that he and Robin loved each other. So many secrets! Courtney was oddly cheerful as she reentered Christabel’s room.

  Jane Hardy was there, checking Christabel’s blood pressure. “She’s in pain,” Jane told Courtney, her eyes focused on the digital readout in her hand. “She’s getting more morphine.”

  Christabel’s body was limp as she slid into a pain-free sleep.

  “I’ll go back to the waiting room,” Courtney said to the nurse.

  “Tell them we’re still waiting for the oral surgeon. Until then, Christabel will be on a morphine drip and not lucid.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Jane.”

  Back in the hall, Courtney stood for a moment, thinking. What explanation could she give the others, especially Quinn, to explain why Christabel had chosen her to see?

  Like the proverbial lightbulb switching on, the answer presented itself clearly: she would say that Christabel knew she looked spaced-out and she didn’t want the others to see her so druggy and zonked. Everyone would believe that of Christabel; she was so vain. Courtney smiled as she headed back to the waiting room.

  As if in a game of musical chairs, everyone had changed places. Pearl sat with her arm around Iris. Monty sat talking in a low voice to Dr. V. Susanna and Robin and Quinn were clustered together, talking. They all stood up when Courtney walked in.

  “I just spoke to the nurse, Jane Hardy. Christabel’s on a morphine drip for the pain. An oral surgeon is on his way. Christabel’s asleep.”

  But Quinn was not satisfied by the explanation. “That makes no sense at all!” he said angrily. “I want to speak to that nurse.”

  “The nurses’ station and the hospital rooms are on the second floor,” Courtney told him.

  “I know the hospital,” Robin said, putting a hand on his arm. “I’ll take you there.”

  But Quinn shook off her hand. “I know where to go.” He strode off, shaking with anger.

  He returned fifteen minutes later, looking ill. He fell into a chair as if his body could no longer bear his weight.

  “Quinn?” Susanna went to him. “Did you see Christabel?”

  “My poor child.” Quinn raised his head. “She was sleeping—peacefully, the nurse said. She’s on a morphine drip. The oral surgeon will come early tomorrow morning to assess her and probably to wire her mouth shut. She’s lost some teeth…” He dropped his head again and his shoulders shook.

  Susanna put her arm around his shoulders. “She will be all right, Quinn. She’s in good hands. We’ve got good nurses and doctors here, you know that…”

  “Not enough!” Quinn raged, lifting a red and tear-streaked face. “This is only a little hospital thirty miles out at sea. It’s classified as rural, did you know that? And when the fog comes in as it did tonight, planes can’t land, the medical flights can’t get here, and we’re stuck with the few overworked doctors we have!”

  “But Christabel is alive. That’s the main thing to remember.” Susanna’s voice was calm. “Just think, if we weren’t on this little island, Christabel might have been driving faster.”

  “You’re such a Pollyanna, Susanna,” Quinn said, sniffing.

  “Sounds like a song,” Susanna replied peacefully.

  Quinn snorted. He dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. “I apologize for my outburst,” he said, addressing the entire room. His eyes lingered for a moment on Robin. “I’m not myself right now.”

  “We’re all on edge,” Susanna told him. “All we can do is wait.”

  When Courtney returned to the waiting room to give them Christabel’s message, Robin said nothing, but secretly she was sure Courtney was lying. And why was that? It almost rang true that Christabel didn’t want those who loved her most to see her in a damaged state—which Robin, and she was fairly certain everyone else, including Quinn—translated into Christabel not wanting anyone to see her looking less than breathtakingly gorgeous.