familiar e-mail address. He was about to open it when Janice stuck her head into the office. “That Julia Lawson lady called again. She sounded upset.”
“Find out who handled the sale. I’m not going to handle any complaint until the salesman’s had first crack at it.”
“I don’t think she’s a customer. She said she was calling about an old friend of yours—David Payne.”
Mark looked at the e-mail on his screen and laughed. “Don’t tell me—she’s his secretary and she’s calling to talk me into going on a trip.”
“She’s his wife. She wants you to know that David Payne is dead.”
Atlanta
Who dies at forty-two?
In the men’s room at the Genuine Old Time Candy corporate office, Kevin Carter looked into the mirror above the sink and studied a face that suddenly seemed years older.
The note from the general office receptionist was still crumpled in his hand. He spread the paper against his palm and reread the message: David Payne killed yesterday in auto accident. Funeral Monday, Boston. For more information, call Julia Lawson, 617.555.1214.
Hard to believe David would be the first of their group to go. Kevin had always expected to get this kind of news about Mark, who could have been voted most likely to be killed in a hunting accident or racing down some interstate in a sports car.
But Payne ? David was the salt of the earth, the most settled man Kevin knew. He’d set out to be a surgeon back at FSU, and though Kevin privately thought the guy might as well aim for the moon, David had hung tough through medical school, an internship, and his residency. He’d specialized in pediatric surgery, a choice that made no sense to Kevin until he held Sarah in his clumsy hands and realized that David must have known what he was doing. Sarah was a squalling bundle of health, but if she had been born with a problem, Kevin would have kissed the feet of any surgeon with the ability to save his little girl’s life.
A gust from the overhead AC vent blew the message into the sink. Kevin watched it fall, then gripped the porcelain rim with both hands. Something roiled in his gut, and for a moment he was sure he would lose his breakfast.
The world was royally screwed up if someone like David Payne could be wiped out for no reason. The man had a wife, a young kid, and God alone knew how many others who counted on him. He had been ready to take that adventure trip, so somewhere on the other side of the globe, other people were depending on David Payne too.
Kevin turned on the water, wet his hands, and splashed the dampness of perspiration from his temples. After pulling a length of paper towel from the dispenser, he wiped the back of his neck and stared into the mirror again.
This was going to be rough, but death had to strike their group eventually. After all, none of them were invincible . . . even if they once thought they were.
He wadded the paper towel and tossed it in the trash, then stepped out to tell the executives in his office to continue the meeting without him.
He needed a minute at his secretary’s computer to book a flight to Boston.
Houston
Susan Brantley Dodson curled in the center of a dozen decorator pillows and pressed her fist to her mouth in a stifled scream. She’d been crying ever since receiving Julia’s call; now she wanted nothing more than to lie here and shriek that life wasn’t fair.
How could David be dead? He’d never been a reckless driver; he wasn’t a daredevil. He was so calm and steady. Karyn used to joke that David was the most likely to be elected president.
Susan would have surrendered the family silver to be his first lady, but at FSU David had been more concerned about getting his degree than starting his family. So she went her way while David went to medical school and a Boston hospital. Eventually he married and had a son; what was the kid’s name? Nicholas. The boy had to be school-age—
And now the poor kid had no father.
Fresh tears
“Find out who handled the sale. I’m not going to handle any complaint until the salesman’s had first crack at it.”
“I don’t think she’s a customer. She said she was calling about an old friend of yours—David Payne.”
Mark looked at the e-mail on his screen and laughed. “Don’t tell me—she’s his secretary and she’s calling to talk me into going on a trip.”
“She’s his wife. She wants you to know that David Payne is dead.”
Atlanta
Who dies at forty-two?
In the men’s room at the Genuine Old Time Candy corporate office, Kevin Carter looked into the mirror above the sink and studied a face that suddenly seemed years older.
The note from the general office receptionist was still crumpled in his hand. He spread the paper against his palm and reread the message: David Payne killed yesterday in auto accident. Funeral Monday, Boston. For more information, call Julia Lawson, 617.555.1214.
Hard to believe David would be the first of their group to go. Kevin had always expected to get this kind of news about Mark, who could have been voted most likely to be killed in a hunting accident or racing down some interstate in a sports car.
But Payne ? David was the salt of the earth, the most settled man Kevin knew. He’d set out to be a surgeon back at FSU, and though Kevin privately thought the guy might as well aim for the moon, David had hung tough through medical school, an internship, and his residency. He’d specialized in pediatric surgery, a choice that made no sense to Kevin until he held Sarah in his clumsy hands and realized that David must have known what he was doing. Sarah was a squalling bundle of health, but if she had been born with a problem, Kevin would have kissed the feet of any surgeon with the ability to save his little girl’s life.
A gust from the overhead AC vent blew the message into the sink. Kevin watched it fall, then gripped the porcelain rim with both hands. Something roiled in his gut, and for a moment he was sure he would lose his breakfast.
The world was royally screwed up if someone like David Payne could be wiped out for no reason. The man had a wife, a young kid, and God alone knew how many others who counted on him. He had been ready to take that adventure trip, so somewhere on the other side of the globe, other people were depending on David Payne too.
Kevin turned on the water, wet his hands, and splashed the dampness of perspiration from his temples. After pulling a length of paper towel from the dispenser, he wiped the back of his neck and stared into the mirror again.
This was going to be rough, but death had to strike their group eventually. After all, none of them were invincible . . . even if they once thought they were.
He wadded the paper towel and tossed it in the trash, then stepped out to tell the executives in his office to continue the meeting without him.
He needed a minute at his secretary’s computer to book a flight to Boston.
Houston
Susan Brantley Dodson curled in the center of a dozen decorator pillows and pressed her fist to her mouth in a stifled scream. She’d been crying ever since receiving Julia’s call; now she wanted nothing more than to lie here and shriek that life wasn’t fair.
How could David be dead? He’d never been a reckless driver; he wasn’t a daredevil. He was so calm and steady. Karyn used to joke that David was the most likely to be elected president.
Susan would have surrendered the family silver to be his first lady, but at FSU David had been more concerned about getting his degree than starting his family. So she went her way while David went to medical school and a Boston hospital. Eventually he married and had a son; what was the kid’s name? Nicholas. The boy had to be school-age—
And now the poor kid had no father.
Fresh tears
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