Read Online Before I Say Good-Bye by Mary Higgins Clark - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Higgins Clark
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was inevitable.
The message light on the phone was flashing, but Peter ignored it. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to get into a conversation with anyone about the accident. And it probably was a reporter. Since he had become something of a “man-about-town,” he reflected, everything he did had become fodder for the gossip columns.
Carrying his drink, he walked across the room, opened the door to the porch and stepped outside. On the drive from the hospital the rain had been getting steadily heavier. Now it was pouring down and driven by the force of the wind. Even the porch’s long overhang did not fully protect him from the downpour. It was so dark that he could not see the ocean, but there was no doubting its presence, as the crescendo of the waves broke forcefully around him. The temperature was dropping sharply, and the sunny afternoon he had spent on the golf course seemed now to have been something in the distant past. Shivering, he went back inside, locked the door and headed upstairs.
Fifteen minutes later, and feeling somewhat better after a hot shower, he got into bed. Remembering to turn off the ringer on the telephone, he flipped on the radio and set the timer for fifteen minutes, just long enough for him to catch the eleven o’clock news.
He fell asleep, however, before he heard the lead story about the explosion of Cornelia II earlier that day in New York harbor, and among the facts he missed was that he, Peter Lang, prominent New York real estate entrepreneur, was one of the people presumed lost in the tragedy.
fourteen
A T 7:30, Lisa began to listen for Jimmy’s car. She was looking forward to surprising him with the chicken-and-rice dinner that was his favorite meal.
Her last appointment at the salon had been canceled, and she’d been able to leave early, in time to do grocery shopping and still have the kids fed by 6:30. She’d decided to wait and eat with Jimmy. She had set the dinette table for the two of them and even had wine chilling in the refrigerator, a special treat. The vague uneasiness she had felt all day demanded that she take action. Jimmy had looked so lost, so defeated, when he left the house this morning. She hadn’t been able to get that image out of her head all day, and she felt an urgent need to put her arms around him, to show him how much she loved him.
Now the kids, Kyle, Kelly and Charley, were at the kitchen table, doing their homework. Kyle, the oldest, was twelve, and as usual needed no urging; he was a good student. Kelly was ten and a dreamer. “Kelly, you haven’t written a word in five minutes,” Lisa prodded.
Charley, the seven-year-old, was elaborately copying his spelling words. He knew he was in hot water because of the note from the teacher he had brought home saying that he had been talking in class again.
“Don’t even think about television for a week,” Lisa had warned him.
As usual the house seemed empty without Jimmy. Even though he just wasn’t himself these days—too quiet, sometimes too edgy—he was always a powerful and protectivepresence in their lives, and the rare evenings he wasn’t with them felt odd and uncomfortable.
Maybe I’ve been bugging him, Lisa thought, always asking if he’s feeling better or nagging him to talk to me about what’s bothering him or begging him to go to a doctor. I’m going to back off on that, she promised herself as she checked the dinner keeping warm in the oven.
He had looked so troubled when he went out this morning, she thought. Was it possible that I heard him right, that he said, “I’m sorry,” just as he was leaving?
Sorry, for what? she wondered.
By 8:30 she was starting to worry. Where was Jimmy? Certainly he was not still on the boat. The weather was changing fast. Overcast skies had turned into a storm. It wouldn’t be safe to get caught out on the water in this.
He’s probably on the way home, she told herself. Traffic was always terrible on Friday
The message light on the phone was flashing, but Peter ignored it. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to get into a conversation with anyone about the accident. And it probably was a reporter. Since he had become something of a “man-about-town,” he reflected, everything he did had become fodder for the gossip columns.
Carrying his drink, he walked across the room, opened the door to the porch and stepped outside. On the drive from the hospital the rain had been getting steadily heavier. Now it was pouring down and driven by the force of the wind. Even the porch’s long overhang did not fully protect him from the downpour. It was so dark that he could not see the ocean, but there was no doubting its presence, as the crescendo of the waves broke forcefully around him. The temperature was dropping sharply, and the sunny afternoon he had spent on the golf course seemed now to have been something in the distant past. Shivering, he went back inside, locked the door and headed upstairs.
Fifteen minutes later, and feeling somewhat better after a hot shower, he got into bed. Remembering to turn off the ringer on the telephone, he flipped on the radio and set the timer for fifteen minutes, just long enough for him to catch the eleven o’clock news.
He fell asleep, however, before he heard the lead story about the explosion of Cornelia II earlier that day in New York harbor, and among the facts he missed was that he, Peter Lang, prominent New York real estate entrepreneur, was one of the people presumed lost in the tragedy.
fourteen
A T 7:30, Lisa began to listen for Jimmy’s car. She was looking forward to surprising him with the chicken-and-rice dinner that was his favorite meal.
Her last appointment at the salon had been canceled, and she’d been able to leave early, in time to do grocery shopping and still have the kids fed by 6:30. She’d decided to wait and eat with Jimmy. She had set the dinette table for the two of them and even had wine chilling in the refrigerator, a special treat. The vague uneasiness she had felt all day demanded that she take action. Jimmy had looked so lost, so defeated, when he left the house this morning. She hadn’t been able to get that image out of her head all day, and she felt an urgent need to put her arms around him, to show him how much she loved him.
Now the kids, Kyle, Kelly and Charley, were at the kitchen table, doing their homework. Kyle, the oldest, was twelve, and as usual needed no urging; he was a good student. Kelly was ten and a dreamer. “Kelly, you haven’t written a word in five minutes,” Lisa prodded.
Charley, the seven-year-old, was elaborately copying his spelling words. He knew he was in hot water because of the note from the teacher he had brought home saying that he had been talking in class again.
“Don’t even think about television for a week,” Lisa had warned him.
As usual the house seemed empty without Jimmy. Even though he just wasn’t himself these days—too quiet, sometimes too edgy—he was always a powerful and protectivepresence in their lives, and the rare evenings he wasn’t with them felt odd and uncomfortable.
Maybe I’ve been bugging him, Lisa thought, always asking if he’s feeling better or nagging him to talk to me about what’s bothering him or begging him to go to a doctor. I’m going to back off on that, she promised herself as she checked the dinner keeping warm in the oven.
He had looked so troubled when he went out this morning, she thought. Was it possible that I heard him right, that he said, “I’m sorry,” just as he was leaving?
Sorry, for what? she wondered.
By 8:30 she was starting to worry. Where was Jimmy? Certainly he was not still on the boat. The weather was changing fast. Overcast skies had turned into a storm. It wouldn’t be safe to get caught out on the water in this.
He’s probably on the way home, she told herself. Traffic was always terrible on Friday
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