“Of course it does. Have you spoken to him since the crash?” Gayle asked.
She shook her head. “He’s never returned my phone calls.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re having trouble putting all this behind you. Maybe you need to see this guy so you can move on with your life.”
Gayle’s suggestion wasn’t new to Kristen. She’d had the same thought herself. Ever since the crash, Tyler Brant had been in her thoughts a lot. She longed to know how he was coping. Whether the crash had changed his life. Did he question why he was chosen to survive while the others had died? Did he ever think about that day? Did he ever think about her?
That last question was the one that nagged her the most. Did he feel a sense of responsibility for saving her life? While she was in the hospital, she’d expected him to visit or at least call.
He hadn’t.
On several occasions, she’d tried to reach him at his office only to be told he was unavailable. Then she’d been bold enough to call his home only to have some woman tell her he was out of town on business. Finally, she had put her thoughts in a letter and mailed it to him.
Still, she’d heard nothing from him. Obviously, he didn’t want to see her again. And yet he’d been so kind that day of the crash. He’d seemed so interested in her, asking about her family and giving her the impression that because they had survived a tragedy together, they would always share a special bond of friendship. Then he had left the Hibbing hospital without so much as a goodbye.
“I’m not going to force him to talk to me. If he doesn’t think we have anything to say to one another, I’m not going to push the issue,” she told Gayle.
“But it’s not over for you, is it?”
“Not yet,” she answered quietly. “But it will be when I’m not cooped up in this apartment. This cast on my leg is making me feel claustrophobic.”
“Maybe we can drive around in the car and listen to the police scanner,” Gayle suggested.
Kristen gave her a weak smile.
“We could take in a movie.”
“And drag this monstrosity of a cast down those narrow theater aisles? No thanks.”
“Then I’ll go get us a couple of videos.”
“You should go home. You have a daughter who needs you.”
“It’s Tom’s turn to take her to her swimming lesson. He can easily get her ready for bed.”
“He’s been doing that far too often because you’ve been over here fussing over me. Go home and be with your family. Please.”
Gayle glanced at her watch. “It is getting late. Are you sure you’re going to be all right?”
Kristen nodded. “Positive. I have everything I need. A good book, the remote control and a bottle of diet soda. What more could I want?” she quipped.
She didn’t fool her best friend. “There’s a light at the end of the tunnel. You just have to be patient.”
Kristen nodded. “I know.”
Gayle ejected the rewound tape and slipped it back into its case. “You know any time you want to get back into the swing of things you can always tag along with me. You don’t have to go back to the news desk.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m not ready to go back yet,” she said a bit more defensively than she intended.
Gayle placed an understanding hand on her arm. “Then don’t. Take whatever time you need to feel like your old self again.”
Long after Gayle had gone, Kristen thought about those words. Would she ever feel like her old self again? How could she when she was having difficulty remembering who that person was?
It was true that she’d been through the kind of thing that caused people to reassess their priorities in life. To stop and smell the roses, so to speak. But it was more than that. It was...
It was what? she wondered. Why did she feel so restless? Why did she have periods of weakness even though the doctor had said there was nothing wrong with her physically? Why did she want to cry for no apparent reason? And why could she not stop thinking about Tyler Brant?
TYLER DID NOT HAVE a good day. It shouldn’t have surprised him. He’d had a restless night. When he hadn’t been tossing and turning, he’d slept fitfully, and most of his dreams—none of them pleasant—had involved Brittany.
In each of them, she was out of reach. At the top of an escalator, astride a painted horse on a revolving carousel, in a car speeding away from his home. She would call out to him for help, yet although he could see her, he couldn’t reach her.
They were the nightmares that had haunted him often during the past five years. He didn’t need a therapist to interpret their meaning. He had a fear of losing his daughter. What father didn’t?
That’s why he hadn’t been pleased when his mother had announced that Brittany was going on a field trip with her class. To the Science Museum, of all places. How was one teacher with the help of three parents going to keep track of twenty-two first-graders in a place that big?
He’d been tempted to keep Brittany home from school that morning. The last thing he needed was to spend his day worrying about her getting snatched by some pervert wandering the halls of the Science Museum. He knew his fear was irrational, yet he couldn’t stop himself from imagining all sorts of awful things that could happen to his daughter. It was only when his mother said that she would go along on the trip that he had signed his consent.
Then he’d had a flat tire on the way to work. Not only had he missed his meeting with the director of marketing, he’d had his lunch appointment canceled at the last minute. To top it off, the entire afternoon had been spent with engineers trying to figure out a solution to a mechanical problem that kept automatically shutting down one of the assembly lines.
By the time he arrived home that evening, he was tired and irritable. He wasn’t the only one. Brittany whined her way through dinner, which only confirmed one thing. The trip to the museum had been too much for her. As much as he wanted to tell his mother this, he wisely held his tongue and patiently put up with Brittany’s whining.
When the phone rang shortly after dinner, it was his mother who answered it “It’s Keith Jaxson from the Channel 12 news!” Excitement danced in her eyes. “He wants to speak to you.”
Tyler groaned. Had he known the media were still pursuing that story, he would have let the answering machine take the call. He’d managed to avoid all reporters up to now.
“Yes, this is Tyler Brant,” he said into the receiver.
“Mr. Brant, Keith Jaxson with Channel 12 news. How are you this evening?”
“I’ve been better, Mr. Jaxson.” Tyler could see no reason for social niceties.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I won’t take up much of your time. The reason I’m calling has to do with Kristen
