“You've given him a lot,” Page said softly. “He's a lucky man.” He wanted to tell her he thought Brad was too. From what he'd seen that night, he thought she was a remarkable woman. She had taken a blow that would have shattered most people on the spot, and she was weathering it, and helping him, and still managing to think about everyone else, her husband, her son, even the Chapmans.

“He deserves it, Page. Bjorn is a great guy. I can't even bear to think of what his life might have been like in an institution. Maybe he'd never have grown to this point, or maybe he would have. I don't know. He buys our groceries, you know, and he's very proud of it. Sometimes, I can rely on him more than I can on Chloe.” They both smiled at that, teenage girls definitely had their own sets of limitations.

“Doesn't it make you angry sometimes, wishing he would have been more?”

“He never could have, Page. This was the very best he could be. Maybe it's easier that way. All I am is proud.” They both knew it would be different if Allyson were seriously brain damaged, after all she had been.

“I just keep asking myself how you adjust to it. Maybe you have to throw away all the old measuring sticks, and start all over again, grateful for every step, every word, every tiny bit of growth and accomplishment …but how do you forget? How do you forget what she was, and learn to accept so little?”

“I don't know,” he said sadly, unable to even fathom it. “Maybe you just have to be grateful she's alive, and take it from there,” he said, as she nodded her head, realizing how lucky she'd be if Allyson lived through it.

“I guess I'm not even there yet.”

It was almost eight in the morning by then, and Page decided to call one of Brad's associates, to see if she could locate him in Cleveland.

With apologies, she woke Dan Ballantine and his wife, and explained briefly to Dan what had happened. She said that Brad was planning to play golf with the president of the company in Cleveland that day and if Dan had no clues as to what hotel he'd used, maybe he could call the president and leave a message with him for Brad to call her. It was a roundabout way to get hold of Brad, but it was the best she could think of. And Dan promised to get on it right away, and leave the number at Marin General for Brad without saying too much to frighten him. Dan told her too how sorry he was about the accident, and hoped Allie'd be okay.

“Me too,” Page said, thanking him again for his help. And it was less than an hour later when Dan called her in the emergency room. He had called the president of the company they were dealing with in Cleveland, and he did have an appointment with Brad the next day. But according to him, they had never made plans to play golf, or meet on Sunday morning.

“That's odd. Brad said …never mind, I probably misunderstood. I'll just have to wait till he calls,” she said tiredly. She was too exhausted to worry about why he had said he was playing golf with the man when he wasn't. She figured it had probably gotten canceled, and Dan had misunderstood. At least they had tried, so he'd hear eventually. And maybe by then the news would be a little better.

“They couldn't locate him,” she said to Trygve as she came back and sat down next to him in an uncomfortable chair. His beard had grown overnight, though it was pale, and he looked as tired and worn-out as she did. “He'll call eventually, and Jane will tell him to call here. Poor guy. It makes me sick to think of telling him.”

“I know. I called Dana in London while you were on the phone. She just got back from a weekend in Venice. She was horrified, and blamed me, as usual. It was all my fault, why did I let her out of the house, why didn't I know who she was going with, what was wrong with me not to suspect she was up to no good. Maybe she's right. I was awfully dumb, but once in a while you have to trust them, or they drive you nuts. You can't play cop constantly, and to tell you the truth, most of the time she's pretty good. Just now and then, she does something foolish.”

“Allie's like that too. It's pretty rare for her to go off the deep end. I guess they were just trying their wings. Normal stuff, I guess …except for some very rotten luck in this instance.”

“Yeah, really …anyway, Dana says it's all my fault.”

“Do you believe that?” Page asked quietly.

“Not really. But a part of you always wonders. She could be right, you know. Though I don't like to think so.”

“She's not right, and you know it. This isn't your fault. It's a miserable twist of fate, but it's no one's fault, except maybe the other driver's.” They both wanted to feel it was Laura Hutchin-son's fault, and not Phillip Chapman's. At least if the accident had been a terrible stroke of fate, and not Phillip's fault, it might be easier to bear. Or maybe it wouldn't make any difference.

And before they could discuss it anymore, the orthopedic surgeon came to tell him that Chloe's operation had gone well. She had lost a lot of blood, and she would be uncomfortable for quite a while, but they felt optimistic that she would regain the use of her legs. The pelvis was in place, the hip had been replaced, and she had steel rods and pins in both legs which would be removed in a year or two. There would be no more ballet, but with any luck at all, there would be walking and even dancing …and maybe even one day, children. A lot would depend on how the next few weeks went, but the surgeon was very pleased with his repairs and how Chloe had come through it. Trygve cried as he listened.

She was still in the recovery room, and the doctor wanted her to stay there until at least noon. And then they would move her into intensive care for a week or so, and eventually to her own room. He said he might like to give her a couple of transfusions later in the day, and asked if he or either of his sons were the same blood type. And he was pleased to hear they all were.

“Why don't you go home and rest for a few hours. She's all right now. And then you can come back this afternoon, when we move her to ICU. It's going to be a long haul, you know. She's going to be in the hospital for at least a month, or more. There's no point wearing yourself out in the first few innings.” Trygve smiled at the image, and a quick nap held a lot of appeal, but he hated to leave Page, with Allyson still in surgery, and no one to keep her company. In the end, he decided to stay, and stretched out on a couch in the waiting room. She would have done the same for him, and he felt an obligation to stay with her.

Noon came and went, and at two o'clock, they finally moved Chloe to the ICU. She was still all doped up, but she recognized him, and she seemed to be out of pain, which was remarkable given all they'd done to her, and the mountain of apparatus that seemed to be attached to her body. But he was relieved that the doctors were both pleased and hopeful.

“How is she?” Page asked when he returned. She had just called Jane and talked to Andy. He was worried about her being gone, and even more so about his sister. But Page was still trying to underplay it. It was too soon to explain the situation to him, and she hadn't even told Brad yet. He still hadn't called, but Jane was waiting to hear from him so she could give him the message.

“She's pretty stoned,” Trygve explained with a smile. “But she looks okay, if you don't look at all the stuff hanging off her. She's got all sorts of tubes and rods hanging out of her hip, more rods and pins in her legs. She'll get casts eventually but not yet. She's a mess, but I guess we've got to be grateful.”

“I've always wondered about that,” Page said, looking and sounding exhausted. “In situations like this, people are always telling you to be grateful. This time yesterday, Allie was a perfectly normal, healthy fifteen-year-old girl, nagging me about borrowing my pink sweater. Today, she's in brain surgery, fighting for her life, and I'm supposed to be grateful she's not dead. I am …but compared to yesterday, this is the shits. You know what I mean?” He laughed, it was perverse, but he understood it. People used to tell him that about Bjorn, too, that he should be grateful he wasn't more retarded. Why did he have to be retarded at all? What was there to be grateful for? A lot maybe. Things could have been worse, it turned out, with very little effort.

He finally went home at three that afternoon, just to shower and change, and see his boys. He was going to bring them by to see Chloe in the late afternoon. Nick had said that Bjorn was very worried about her, and very agitated, and Trygve thought it might be better for him if he could see her. He worried a lot about people dying, which was typical of young children, and in his case, the fact that he was eighteen didn't change that.

Trygve told Page to call him if she needed anything, and she continued her vigil alone, and thought about calling her mother. But she just couldn't face it. And she still hadn't told Brad. It didn't seem fair to tell her first. She sat there for an hour, willing Brad to call her.

She hadn't heard anything about Allyson since four o'clock, when they had come to tell her that she was weathering the surgery well, and her condition was as stable as could be expected. She was going to need several more transfusions, too, and Page was relieved to know that she was the same blood type. She went ahead and let them take a pint of blood from her, and it was right after that that Brad finally called. He called the number at the desk at the E.R., and they let Page take it in a separate office.

“My God, Page, where are you?” Jane had only told him to call her at the number she gave him. “It sounded like they said Marin General.”

“They did.” She fought back her fatigue, looking for the right words to tell him, and not finding them for a moment. “Brad …baby …” She started to cry and could go no further.

“Are you all right? Did something happen to you?” For a crazy instant he wondered if she had been pregnant and hadn't told him, or had fallen off a ladder again. What else could it be? He couldn't even begin to imagine.

“Sweetheart …Allie had an accident.” She paused for breath and he immediately questioned her.

“Is she all right?”

Page shook her head as the tears coursed down her cheeks. “No …she isn't …she was in a car accident last night. I'm so sorry to tell you this. I tried everything I could to reach you, but you'd canceled your golf game.”

“I …oh …yeah. He was busy or something. Who'd you call?”

“Dan Ballantine. He called the guy in Cleveland, and left a message for you. You didn't leave me the name of your hotel, or the number.”

“I forgot.” He sounded annoyed and curt, which surprised her, as though he was irritated with her for having Dan call Cleveland. “So how is she? And what do you mean, a car accident? Who was driving her? Trygve Thorensen?”

“No, he wasn't. That's what she told us, but she was out with a bunch of kids. They got in a head-on collision, and …” It made her sick to tell him, but she knew she had to. “She has a head injury, Brad, a very serious one. She's critical, and she's in surgery now.”

“You let them operate? Without asking me? For chrissake, how could you do that?”

“Brad, I had to. The surgeon told me she'd be dead by six o'clock this morning if I didn't.”

“Bullshit. You had a right to a second opinion. You owed that to me, and to Allie.” He wasn't sounding rational, but Page knew it was his way of coping. The shock of the news was just too great to withstand in a single moment.

“There was no time, Brad. No time for anything.” Except prayers. And miracles. It was all in God's hands now, and the surgeons'.

“How is she now?”

“She's still in surgery. It's been over twelve hours.”

“Oh my God.” There was a long silence at his end, and Page suspected he was crying. “How did it happen? Who was driving?” What did it matter?

“A boy named Phillip Chapman.”

“The little sonofabitch. Was he drunk? I'll sue the shit out of them for this …” His voice was shaking as he said it, and Page shook her head.

“He's dead, Brad …there were four of them in the car. One had a minor concussion. Chloe is very badly injured too, but she's going to be all right …and Allie …she may not make it, Brad … or if she does …you have to come home, sweetheart … we need you.”

“I'll be there in an hour.” That was impossible, they both knew, but he could be there in six, if he got a plane immediately. She was sure he'd be able to pull strings and get a seat on the first plane out, for special circumstances, and she was glad he had finally called. She needed him desperately. Trygve had been a godsend, but Brad was her husband.