The Forgiving Hour (36 page)

After that, a series of images flashed in her head.

The blacktop country road …

Tall field grass on an embankment …

A creosoted telephone pole …

The car crashed to an abrupt halt. The seat belt cut into her chest and waist as she flew forward. Her head struck the steering wheel. Pain shot through her.

And then she mercifully blacked out.

S
ARA WAS
too numb, too cold, too empty, to realize where Dakota was taking her until he pulled into his driveway. She stiffened as she gazed at his house. “What are we doing here? I thought you were taking me home.”

“Not until we talk.”

Without a word, she unfastened her seat belt, got out of the vehicle, and started running.

Dakota was too quick. He caught up with her before she reached the corner. Grasping her firmly by the arm, he spun her to face him. “We’re going to talk.”

“Let me go!” She tried to pull free.

“No.”

She pulled harder.

With a look of grim determination on his face, he said, “If that’s the way you want it, then that’s how it’ll be.” He picked her up, slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and carried her toward the house with long, purposeful strides.

The fight went out of her. She hadn’t the strength to continue. It was hopeless anyway. Everything was hopeless.

Dakota stopped at the Jeep and pulled his keys from the ignition, then proceeded to the back door, unlocked it, and entered. He carried Sara into the living room and set her on her feet in front of the sofa. With a gentle but firm hand, he caused her to sit.

“Now,” he said, “you
are
going to tell me what just happened at my mother’s. I don’t care if we have to stay here until the Second Coming; we’re going to get to the bottom of this. I want the truth.”

The truth?
Nausea rose in her throat, and all she could do was shake her head while pressing her hand over her mouth.

He sat beside her and grasped her other hand. “I love you. There isn’t anything we can’t overcome with love. You know that.”

“Not this,” she managed to whisper.

“Even this.” A pause. “Whatever this is.”

“Not this. I’m being judged, Dakota. This is my punishment for the sins I committed.”

Pain, like the blade of a knife, pierced her middle. She bent over, moaning, hugging her belly.

Why didn’t You just take me, God? Why must Dakota suffer for what I did? It was my sin. Not his.

“Sara, sweetheart, please.” He tried to draw her into his embrace, but she wouldn’t let him.

I want to die. Be merciful, Jesus. Just let me die.

THIRTY-SIX

Claire awakened to bansheelike screaming. It took a few moments to realize that she was in an ambulance, its siren wailing directly overhead.

Cautiously, she opened her eyes. Her vision was blurred at first, but then it began to clear.

A male attendant leaned over her. “Hello.”

“What —”

“Don’t try to talk, Mrs. Conway.”

She wondered how he knew her name.

“You’ve been in an automobile accident. You’re on the way to the hospital.”

An accident?

“You smacked your head and have a nasty bump. You’ve also broken your left arm. But you’re going to be all right. You don’t need to worry.”

She must have been driving somewhere. But where? She couldn’t remember.

“Was I … was I alone?”

“Yes. The sheriff’s deputy found your ID in your wallet. He said your family would be notified.”

Her family … Dakota …

Something twisted inside her at the thought of his name, but for the life of her, she didn’t know why.

Dakota listened from the other side of the bathroom door while Sara emptied her stomach into the toilet bowl. He wanted to go in, wanted to hold her, wanted to comfort her, to help in some way. But he sensed it would be a mistake to try, no matter how well intentioned.

He placed his hands on the doorjambs and closed his eyes.
Father, I need answers.
He leaned his forehead against the door.
Help me help her.

The toilet flushed, and water started running in the sink.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe now she would be able to talk to him. He took a step back from the door, waiting for her to come out.

The disruptive jangle of the telephone broke the silence. He ignored it. Let the machine pick it up. He wasn’t moving from this spot.

“This is Dakota …” The words of his recorded message droned from the kitchen. “So leave a message and I’ll get back to you. Thanks.”

Beep!

“Mr. Conway, this is Ms. Barth at St. Alphonsus Hospital. Your mother has been in an accident. She’s in with the doctors right now and will probably be staying —”

Heart racing, he grabbed the phone. “Hello? This is Dakota Conway. What about my mother?”

The woman briefly told him what had happened.

“Tell her I’ll be right there.” He hung up.

What more could go wrong? When would this nightmarish day end?

He’d never felt so helpless in his life. He didn’t know which way to turn. He knew he should pray, but he couldn’t seem to gather his thoughts enough to do so.

He turned. Sara was standing in the hallway, watching him. She looked wan and shaken, like he felt.

“It’s Mom,” he told her. “She was in a car accident. I’ve got to go to the hospital.”

She nodded, silent, expressionless.

“I need you to come with me, Sara.”

She shook her head.

“Please. I
need
you.” He took a step forward. “Please, Sara.”

He thought she was going to refuse. But after a long pause, she said, “All right. I’ll come with you.”

Claire felt just a moment of solace when Dakota appeared around the curtain. And then she saw Sara.

He’d brought
her
with him.

Claire had remembered, of course, what had happened prior to her accident. She’d remembered why she was out driving aimlessly. She wished she hadn’t. The temporary memory loss had been bliss compared with this gnawing pain and the return of an ancient bitterness, a bitterness made worse by its brief absence.

I hate you.
She willed Sara to read her thoughts.
I hate you.

“Mom, are you all right?”

She tore her gaze from Sara and looked at her son as he approached her hospital bed. “They tell me I’ll be fine.”

“What happened?” He took hold of her hand.

“I swerved to keep from hitting a child, and my car went off the road. I hit a pole.” She lifted her left arm, showing the cast. She tried to keep her tone light. “Six weeks. That’s not so long.”

“But the nurse told me you’ve got a concussion and that you’re going to have to stay in the hospital for a day or two.”

“It’s nothing. Just routine observation.”

“I think I’d better talk to the doctor.” He turned around. “Stay with her, Sara. Please. I’ll be back as soon as I can find someone to tell me something more.” He hurried out into the corridor.

The expression on Sara’s face mirrored the feeling in Claire’s heart. Neither wanted to be alone with the other.

Tramp. Adulteress.

Claire wanted to do Sara physical harm, to get even. If she could get out of this bed …

“You don’t have to worry, Ms. Conway. I told Dakota that I can’t marry him.”

Claire took in a quick breath, surprised. “Then why are you here?”

“He made me come. He begged me to. He was worried about you. I couldn’t … I couldn’t refuse when he didn’t know how badly you were hurt.”

“How kind of you.” Sarcasm dripped from each word. “It would have been convenient for you if I’d died, wouldn’t it?”

Sara took a step backward, as if Claire had struck her.

She wished she had.

“I’m sorry,” Sara whispered. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry for everything.”

A likely story.

“I was young and stupid. I never meant —”

“Stop!” Despite the pain it caused, Claire sat up. “Do you think being young and stupid excuses you for what you did to my family?”

“No.” Tears ran down Sara’s cheeks. “No, it doesn’t excuse anything.”

“Leave Dakota alone before you destroy him.” She lay down and turned onto her right side, showing Sara her back. “Leave us both alone. Just go away.”

Claire held her breath, listening to the hospital sounds — the swish of rolling gurneys, footsteps muffled by paper shoe-covers, whispered conversations between staff members. She wasn’t certain how, but she knew the moment Sara slipped out of the hospital room.

It should have made her feel better to know she was gone.

It didn’t.

Maybe nothing ever would again.

THIRTY-SEVEN

Claire leaned against Dakota as he unlocked the front door of her house. Exhausted by the drive home, she desperately needed to lie down. Before they’d left the hospital, she’d thought the doctor’s lengthy list of do’s and don’ts and other precautions were unnecessary. Not so. She was weaker than she’d realized.

The two of them were midway across the living room before her gaze fell on the scattered china cups and other items from the coffee tray.

Dakota must have seen the mess at the same time. “You sit down and I’ll clean it up.”

She scarcely heard him, her thoughts plummeting back to that moment two days before when she’d dropped the tray, spilling its contents.

“Mom.” With his hand in the small of her back, he urged her toward the sofa. “Sit down.”

She did as she was told, watching him as he carefully returned all the items to the tray, and then carried it into the kitchen. A minute or two later, he returned with a damp rag and some spray cleaner and began working to remove the cream and coffee stains from the carpet.

“Look.” He held something up between thumb and forefinger. “I found the chip out of the sugar bowl. A little glue and it’ll be like new.”

“I’m glad.” Claire leaned back and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to remember how the bowl had been broken. She wanted to forget it all. She wanted it to go away. She wanted to pretend it never happened.

Moments or minutes passed. She didn’t know which.

“Are you asleep?”

“No.” She opened her eyes to find her son seated on the chair next to the sofa. “But I’d like to be. I think I’ll take one of those pills they sent home with me. They knock me out pretty good.”

“Before you do, I need to ask you about Saturday.” He raised a hand to forestall any protest she might offer. “I let it be while you were in the hospital, but I can’t wait any longer. I haven’t seen or talked to Sara since I left her with you in the emergency room. I’ve left countless messages on her answering machine. I’ve been by her apartment. Her car’s there, but she doesn’t answer the door. I called her office this morning, but they said she’s out sick.”

I hope she
is
sick. I hope she’s deathly ill.
Claire pressed her lips together to keep from speaking her thoughts aloud.
I hope she’s suffering the tortures of hell itself … just as I am.

“I need your help, Mom. What happened between you two?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to blurt it all out. But then the haze of her hatred lifted enough for her to see his agony, and she knew she couldn’t be the one to tell him the truth. It was going to break his heart, perhaps irrevocably. It was better for him to be confused than destroyed.

“I can’t tell you,” she said, closing her eyes again. “And it’s for the best that you don’t know. Honest, it is. Just forget you ever knew her.”

“I’m not going to let her go without a fight.” His voice rose. “I love her, and I want the
truth!”

She sighed deeply. “Then you’ll have to get it from Sara.” In a whisper, she added, “It doesn’t always set you free, you know.”

The silence that stretched between them caused her nerves to screech. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, she opened her eyes. He was heading for the door.

“Dakota, where are you going?”

“To do just what you suggested. Get Sara to tell me the truth.”