6:30
A.M. on September 22, Sara knew that everything had to change. And
she knew, too, that Brad and his little boys would need her more than
they had ever needed her.
Sara couldn't feel any personal sense of loss for Cheryl Keeton,
although all human life mattered to her. That was why she was a
physician.
When she learned that Cheryl had been beaten to death, Sara, long
inured to disasters of the flesh, would shudder. The police believed
that she had been murdered, and Brad seemed to agree with them. But
how could Sara grieve personally for Cheryl? She had never known her,
she had never seen her except at a distance. She had never talked to
her.
The last time she saw Cheryl, it was through a car window, and her
voice had been muted by distance and rainy wind and thick glass so that
Sara had only seen her mouth moving. Cheryl had seemed angry, liar
ried, and rather desperate on that last Friday night before she was
murdered.
From what Brad had told her, Sara knew that Cheryl's life was untidy
and full of unsavory characters. She had not been a fit mother for the
children, Brad had said that often enough, too. But now Cheryl was
gone, and her little boys had loved her, as all children loved their
mothers.
Sara's heart broke for Jess, Michael, and Phillip, and she vowed to try
to be there for them. She wondered what part she would play in their
lives now. She loved them, that was certain. Would they be with Brad
all the timeþor would they go to Cheryl's parents?
Brad had denied having any part at all in Cheryl's murder. He had been
at home with the three boys at the time of her death. It was true that
his voice had sounded rather flat when he told Sara about Cheryl, but
he had probably been in shock. When you lose someone who has been a
part of your world for as many years as Cheryl was part of Brad's,
shock is natural. And then he had been furious with Cheryl for
blocking him at every turn in his efforts to give his children a
peaceful home.
Sara reasoned that Brad couldn't be expected to mourn the woman who had
made his life miserable for so long Sara had continued with her
scheduled surgeries that Monday morning.
Once she was masked and gowned, she had always been able to shut away
the outside world. Her only concern was for the patient beneath her
hands. She had to monitor pulse, respiration, oxygen content in the
patient's blood. For those hours she was in the operating room, she
didn't have to think about how Cheryl died.
rad paged her sometime before ten that morning. He said he had lost
the single car key she had given him for her Cressida. He needed to
come and pick up his Suburban, which was parked in the hospital lot.
Sara arranged to meet him between surgeries.
Carrying two-year-old Phillip, with his two older boys trailing behind,
Brad hurried into the hospital cafeteria and told Sara that he had
taken the MATS, Portland's rapid transit light rail system, to get to
Providence. If he had lost the key to her Cressida, Sara wondered why
he hadn't driven his father's pickup truck, it was parked at the
Madison Tower. Brad shook his head impatiently. Maybe he hadn't even
remembered the pickup. He said he wanted his Suburban. He needed to
consult with an attorney.
Sara watched the little boys as they ate breakfast in the cafeteria.
They seemed completely normal. They hadn't caught the nervous energy
that seemed to vibrate from Brad. When they had finished eating, Sara
gave Brad his keys and walked with him and the boys as far as the
parking lot.
"Do the kids knowþabout Cheryl?" Sara asked.
"I told them she was killed in a car accident," Brad said.
After he drove off, Sara returned to the operating room. She had
backto-back surgeries scheduled until three or four that afternoon, and
when she was finally
A.M. on September 22, Sara knew that everything had to change. And
she knew, too, that Brad and his little boys would need her more than
they had ever needed her.
Sara couldn't feel any personal sense of loss for Cheryl Keeton,
although all human life mattered to her. That was why she was a
physician.
When she learned that Cheryl had been beaten to death, Sara, long
inured to disasters of the flesh, would shudder. The police believed
that she had been murdered, and Brad seemed to agree with them. But
how could Sara grieve personally for Cheryl? She had never known her,
she had never seen her except at a distance. She had never talked to
her.
The last time she saw Cheryl, it was through a car window, and her
voice had been muted by distance and rainy wind and thick glass so that
Sara had only seen her mouth moving. Cheryl had seemed angry, liar
ried, and rather desperate on that last Friday night before she was
murdered.
From what Brad had told her, Sara knew that Cheryl's life was untidy
and full of unsavory characters. She had not been a fit mother for the
children, Brad had said that often enough, too. But now Cheryl was
gone, and her little boys had loved her, as all children loved their
mothers.
Sara's heart broke for Jess, Michael, and Phillip, and she vowed to try
to be there for them. She wondered what part she would play in their
lives now. She loved them, that was certain. Would they be with Brad
all the timeþor would they go to Cheryl's parents?
Brad had denied having any part at all in Cheryl's murder. He had been
at home with the three boys at the time of her death. It was true that
his voice had sounded rather flat when he told Sara about Cheryl, but
he had probably been in shock. When you lose someone who has been a
part of your world for as many years as Cheryl was part of Brad's,
shock is natural. And then he had been furious with Cheryl for
blocking him at every turn in his efforts to give his children a
peaceful home.
Sara reasoned that Brad couldn't be expected to mourn the woman who had
made his life miserable for so long Sara had continued with her
scheduled surgeries that Monday morning.
Once she was masked and gowned, she had always been able to shut away
the outside world. Her only concern was for the patient beneath her
hands. She had to monitor pulse, respiration, oxygen content in the
patient's blood. For those hours she was in the operating room, she
didn't have to think about how Cheryl died.
rad paged her sometime before ten that morning. He said he had lost
the single car key she had given him for her Cressida. He needed to
come and pick up his Suburban, which was parked in the hospital lot.
Sara arranged to meet him between surgeries.
Carrying two-year-old Phillip, with his two older boys trailing behind,
Brad hurried into the hospital cafeteria and told Sara that he had
taken the MATS, Portland's rapid transit light rail system, to get to
Providence. If he had lost the key to her Cressida, Sara wondered why
he hadn't driven his father's pickup truck, it was parked at the
Madison Tower. Brad shook his head impatiently. Maybe he hadn't even
remembered the pickup. He said he wanted his Suburban. He needed to
consult with an attorney.
Sara watched the little boys as they ate breakfast in the cafeteria.
They seemed completely normal. They hadn't caught the nervous energy
that seemed to vibrate from Brad. When they had finished eating, Sara
gave Brad his keys and walked with him and the boys as far as the
parking lot.
"Do the kids knowþabout Cheryl?" Sara asked.
"I told them she was killed in a car accident," Brad said.
After he drove off, Sara returned to the operating room. She had
backto-back surgeries scheduled until three or four that afternoon, and
when she was finally
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