get the seat moved up so she could actually reach the pedals. She managed to get the key in the ignition and turned it. The engine caught immediately. Claire carefully adjusted her mirrors, then drew in a breath. She was practically on her way.
Next she turned to the GPS system. It greeted her in French.
Claire stared at it. What on earth?
She pushed a few buttons. Yup, it was speaking French. Okay, sure, she also spoke the language, but not well enough to deal with it while driving. The potential to freak while on the road seemed big enough without adding a foreign language to the mix.
She punched buttons until she’d scrolled through Dutch and Japanese. Finally she heard the pleasant female voice in English.
The need to run screaming into the night faded slightly.
She continued reading the instruction card, then carefully punched in the address of the bakery. She’d forgotten to ask Jesse for the name of the hospital where Nicole would have her surgery, so the bakery seemed like the best place to start. Finally, she braced herself to drive out of the space.
Her chest was tight. She ignored that, along with the prickling that started on her back and moved over her whole body.
Not now, she thought frantically. Not now. She could panic later, when she wasn’t about to drive.
She closed her eyes and breathed, pictured her sister lying in a hospital bed, in desperate need of help. That’s where she needed to be, she reminded herself. With Nicole.
The sense of panic faded a little. She opened her eyes and began her journey.
The parking structure seemed dark and closed. Fortunately there weren’t any cars in the row in front of her, so she would have extra room to turn as she drove out.
Slowly, carefully, she put the car in Drive. It started to move right away. She jammed her foot on the brake. The whole car jerked. She eased up on the brake and it moved again. Moving six or eight inches at a time, she managed to make it out of her space. Fifteen minutes later she’d made her way out of the parking structure and onto the road that led out of the airport.
“In five hundred feet, stay to the right. I-5 is on the right.”
The voice from the GPS system was very commanding, as if it knew Claire was totally clueless about driving in general and where she was going in particular.
“I-5 what?” Claire asked before she saw a sign for the I-5 freeway. She shrieked. “I can’t go on the freeway,” she told the GPS. “We need to go on regular streets.”
There was a ding. “Stay to the right.”
“But I don’t want to.”
She looked around frantically, but there didn’t seem to be any other way to go. The road she was on just sort of eased into the freeway. She couldn’t move to her left—there were too many cars in her way. Cars that suddenly started going really, really fast.
Claire clutched the steering wheel with both hands, her body stiff, her mind filled with images of fiery crashes.
“I can do this,” she whispered to herself. “I can do this.”
She pressed a little harder on the accelerator, until she was going nearly forty-five. That had to be fast enough, didn’t it? Who needed to go faster than that?
A big truck came up behind her and honked its horn. She jumped. More cars came up behind her, some getting really, really close. She was so busy trying not to be scared by the cars zipping around her that she forgot about merging until the GPS system reminded her, “I-5 north is to the right.”
“What? What right? Do I want to go north?”
And then the road was turning and she was turning with it. She desperately wanted to close her eyes, but knew that would be bad. Fear made her sweat. She really wanted to rip off her coat, but couldn’t. Not and keep from crashing. She was clutching the steering wheel so hard, her fingers ached.
She was doing this for Nicole, she reminded herself. For her sister. For family.
Her lane merged onto I-5. Still going forty-five, Claire eased into the right lane and vowed to stay there until it was time to exit.
By the time she got off, just north of the University district, she was shaking all over. She hated driving. Hated it. Cars were awful and drivers were rude, mean people who screamed at her. But she’d made it and that was what mattered.
She followed the directions from the GPS and managed to make her way into the parking lot next to the bakery. She turned off the car, leaned her forehead against the steering wheel and did her best to breathe.
When her heartbeat had slowed from hummingbird rate to that for a medium-size mammal, she straightened, then stared at the building in front of her.
The Keyes bakery had been in the same location for all of its eighty years of operation. Originally, her great-grandparents had rented only half the storefront. Over time, the business had grown. They’d bought out their neighbor’s lease, then had bought the whole place about sixty years ago.
Pastries, cakes and breads filled the lower half of the two display windows. Delicate lettering listing other options covered the top half. A big sign above the door proclaimed Keyes Bakery—Home of the World’s Best Chocolate Cake.
The multilayer chocolate confection had been praised by royalty and presidents, served by brides and written into several celebrity contracts as a “must have” on location shoots or backstage at concerts. It was about a billion calories of flour, sugar, butter, chocolate and a secret ingredient passed on through the family. Not that Claire knew what it was. But she would. She was confident Nicole would want to tell her immediately.
She got out of the car and smoothed the front of her sweater. It was cool enough that she kept on her coat, hoping it wasn’t too wrinkled from the drive. After collecting her purse, she carefully locked the driver’s door. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the bakery.
It was midafternoon and relatively quiet. There were two young moms sitting at a corner table with pastries and coffee. Two strollers with babies were between their chairs. Claire offered a smile as she made her way to the long counter. The teenage girl there looked at her.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes. I hope so. I’m Claire. Claire Keyes.”
The teenager, a plump brunette with big, brown eyes sighed. “Okay. What can I get you? The rosemary garlic bread is hot out of the oven.”
Claire smiled hopefully. “I’m Claire Keyes,” she repeated.
“Heard that the first time.”
Claire pointed to the sign on the wall. “Keyes, as in Nicole’s sister.”
The teenager’s eyes got even bigger. “Oh, my God. No way. Are you really? The piano player?”
Claire winced. “Technically I’m a concert pianist.” A soloist, but why quibble? “I’m here because of Nicole’s surgery. Jesse called and asked me to—”
“Jesse?”
