Finding you, p.8
Finding You, page 8
“Yeah, maybe you should keep your money. I do know your luck!” She heard a shuffling on his end of the phone line. “Look, sweetie, Roger already went on ahead to the airport. I can’t delay any longer. I have to catch a cab.”
Sammy’s heart skidded to a stop.
“What? What did you just say?” Perhaps she heard wrong.
“I said I have to catch a cab. Or maybe they have a second shuttle to the airport. I sent Roger on ahead and decided to call you one last time. But I’m really late. I have to go.”
“Michael, listen to me. I—”
He cut her off. “Honey, I know you want to warn me to be careful, but I have to go. I love you. Okay, gotta run.”
“Michael, listen. I—” The line died. “Michael?”
What were the odds he would cut her off mid-conversation? He never did that. Terrified, she frantically tried to redial the number he’d called from. Based on the caller ID, she knew it hadn’t been his cell. When Michael didn’t answer, Sammy tried his iPhone. It immediately went to voicemail. Sammy growled aloud and tore through the kitchen, trying to find the main number for the hotel. Where the hell had she been when she jotted down the details of his stay?
He still had to check out. She had time. She found what she was looking for in the bedroom, but her hands shook so badly, she misdialed—twice.
“Dammit!” Sammy was ready to pull her hair out. Hysteria, raw and ugly, flooded her. She finally connected with the front desk clerk.
“Sir, when Michael Anselin in two-twenty-five checks out, please tell him to call home. It’s an emergency. He should be on his way there now.”
“Sorry, ma’am, he checked out twenty minutes ago. He did say he had to run back to the room. I could try to ring him for you,” the clerk offered in an attempt to be helpful.
“Yes, please.”
After ten rings, the call returned to the switchboard.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. No answer. Would you like me to try again?”
Chapter 9
Sammy dreaded the drive to Melanie’s. To delay her departure, she meandered from room to room. Michael was in every aspect of their home from the design to the decorating to the beat-up recliner in the corner.
Walking into the bathroom, she looked at herself in the mirror. God, she was pale. Maybe even a little gaunt. Had stress done that this last week? She hadn’t realized she lost weight. Regardless, it was time to make herself presentable. Switching to autopilot, she applied her makeup and dressed.
There could still be the slightest chance her premonition wouldn’t come to pass. Sammy prayed that would be the case. The probability these flashes of the future would happen was too terrifying to contemplate. She stayed lost in her thoughts until she arrived at Melanie’s. The knock on the driver’s side window jerked her back to the present and to reality.
“Sammy?”
As her surroundings came into focus, incredulity took over. Apparently, her autopilot mode had bled into her driving. The idea of driving in such a daze sickened her. She could have hurt other drivers or pedestrians and been totally unaware, such was her distracted state of mind.
“Sammy? Are you okay?” Melanie’s concern helped Sammy focus.
“Fine. I hope you don’t mind me waiting here with you.”
“No problem. Our kids are at a sleepover. I could use the company.”
They conversed about Melanie’s children for about twenty minutes. Their antics never failed to entertain. When Melanie suddenly became morose, Sammy asked, “What is it, Mel?”
“I’m not sure if Michael told you, or if he even knows, but Roger and I are going to separate.”
Unsure what to say, Sammy sat back against the couch cushions, breathless from the wind being knocked from her lungs.
“No, he didn’t.” Sadness crept in and settled for a long visit. Mel and Roger had been married for about fifteen years. They were one of the good couples. The ones who stayed together, not for the kids, but because they honestly loved one another. Sammy hated to see her friends dissolve their marriage.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this. For whatever reason, I’ve been feeling overly sentimental today. Maybe my hormones are out of whack. Still, I need someone objective to talk to. Of course, Roger doesn’t want to split up, but I can’t stand the arguing anymore.”
“Do you still love him?”
“I’m not sure what love is this late in the game.”
“Yes, you do. It’s that warm fuzzy you get when the person you care about has done something considerate. The passion both in bed and out. Overlooking their morning breath for a kiss. That particular one helps if your partner is hot, and it’s not like Roger’s a troll.”
“Oh, Sammy.” Melanie’s laugh ended on a choked sob. “That type of closeness has been long gone in our relationship.”
“Okay, maybe. But do you want it back? Or do you look at Roger and feel nothing?”
“I want to be loved like everyone else. I can’t stand the anger anymore. Mine toward him and vice versa. Along the way, we forgot how to talk to each other. We agree on nothing. Not even how to raise the kids. I’m sick to death of the fighting.”
“Do either of you try to sit and talk? Are you both thoughtful and considerate of the other person’s feelings if you have a legitimate complaint, or is it more of a war zone?” Sammy fought to ease her friend’s mind. Perhaps to give her hope even when she herself had none. “If you don’t agree on how to raise the children, maybe you can compromise. Just think of the disagreements you are going to have if one gets custody and the other doesn’t.” She tried to force Melanie to see it would take both parties to make the marriage work.
If fate allowed Roger to live, sneered the ugly voice in her head.
“You’re right. I know you’re right.” Her friend wiped shaky fingers below her eyes. “We can’t say a word without hurting one another. Not a day goes by without an argument. I have to wonder, where did we go wrong?”
Before Sammy could respond, Melanie’s cell rang.
“I wonder who that could be at this time of night.” Melanie frowned as she stood and headed for her phone.
From her spot across the room, Sammy heard the screaming and sobbing through the receiver. While she couldn’t make out the exact words being said, she had a damned good idea. Panic closed her throat.
“What? No. No, I can’t remember. What channel? There’s only one flight from Dallas that I know of. Hold on.” Melanie looked worried. “It’s my sister-in-law. She was watching TV and said she saw the breaking news on CBN. A plane crash in the Gulf of Mexico. Barb thinks it’s the Dallas flight. Channel forty-three.”
After a frantic, unsuccessful search for the remote, Sammy rushed to the television and flipped it on. The television screen showed the view from the angle of the station’s news helicopter of a plane on fire, half-sunken. Searchlights veered left and right, front to back. “Fire rages out of control as Coast Guard workers and divers struggle to locate survivors. The cause of the crash has been undetermined. Search and rescue…”
The newscaster droned on and on, but Sammy couldn’t process the words. The scene resembled her dream. So much for the idea of her premonition being only a manifestation of her fears.
Her chest constricted. Bile rose in her throat and sweat beaded her brow. She rushed to the hall powder room and dislodged the contents of her stomach. After waiting a minute to make certain she wasn’t going to vomit again, Sammy rinsed her mouth and hurried back out to the living room.
Melanie sat, deathly pale, with the phone face up in her lap. Barb’s shouting echoed out of the receiver. Sammy snatched up the device. “Barb? Barb, listen. Please, calm down. Barbara!”
The hysteria continued coming from the other end. Sammy stared at the screen, helpless and unsure what to do. She looked at Melanie, who seemed to be heading toward shock. Once more, she tried to calm Barbara. With no recourse, Sammy hung up the phone and dialed nine-one-one. She explained the circumstances, gave them Barb’s number, then Melanie’s address. After apprising them of her friend’s condition, she requested a policeman or paramedic to be sent for Melanie. She didn’t know what else to do.
Once she disconnected the call, she rushed to the nearest bedroom and pulled the comforter off the bed. She was sure she’d read somewhere it was important to keep a shock victim warm. After wrapping up Melanie mummy-tight, she headed for the liquor cabinet. Sammy poured a finger of Fireball whisky, eyeballed the amount, and added another finger or two. She held the tumbler to Melanie’s lips and encouraged her to drink. But her friend sat sightless, refusing to acknowledge her in any way. Sammy touched her face and found it was ice cold.
Tears gathered in her own eyes. What the hell was she supposed to do?
“Dammit, Mel. Please snap out of it.” Sammy endeavored to rub warmth back into the other woman’s hands. “What’s taking them so fucking long?” she ranted as she tried to ignore the newscast, not wanting to hear how they had, at this time, found no survivors. If she could have located the goddamned remote, she would have muted that monotonous dialogue.
Last night’s dream flashed back to her. Silent tears continued to stream down her face, though she struggled to remain calm. Tried not to wonder whether Michael had caught that flight. How long she sat there, she couldn’t say. It could have been a minute or thirty. Her goal was to keep Melanie as warm as possible, so she held her and rocked. All the while whispering nonsense phrases like “It’s going to be all right.” “We’ll get through this.” “Maybe there was a second flight.” None of it helped.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Ma’am, this is Deputy Daniels of the Sheriff’s Department. We received a call from this address. Could you please open the door?”
Thank God! If she had to sit there another moment with Melanie in her unresponsive stupor, Sammy would lose it, too. She flung open the door to admit the officer and the paramedics, then hung back and hugged the wall as they hovered over Melanie. As she watched, they took her pulse and checked the dilation of her eyes.
“She’s in shock,” one of the men said.
No shit. Sammy rubbed her arms and stomped her feet. She hadn’t noticed the temperature drop.
“Ma’am, what exactly happened here tonight?” Deputy Daniels asked. “Ma’am?”
It finally registered that he was talking to her. She looked into his eyes. Oddly enough, although they were a slightly different shade, they reminded her of Michael’s. Unable to take her gaze away from those warm brown eyes, she waved her hand to gesture at the television. He seemed to understand.
“Did it have something to do with the news? Ma’am?”
“Yes, our… her... they were… the plane.”
She barely made sense, but it was enough.
“Ma’am, are you trying to tell me she knew someone on that flight?”
Her teeth started to chatter, and she clamped her jaw tight.
“Yes, h-her husband,” she acknowledged. “R-Roger. May-maybe Michael, t-too.”
Trembles wracked her body. When did it become so cold? It was her last thought before her knees buckled.
* * *
Sound was the first sense to return. Following closely on its heels came light as Sammy cracked open her lids. Confused, she stared at the ceiling a moment to absorb the noise and people moving about the living room. A squawking radio reminded her what had transpired.
She sat up with great care, taking inventory of all her parts. The deputy must have caught her as she fell because nothing felt bruised. That same deputy now spoke to Melanie and Roger’s children, Cory and Penny. They saw Sammy shift and ran into her arms. As the only familiar person in the room, they were looking for comfort. She didn’t know what she had left to offer.
“They took Mom away, Ms. Sammy. That man said she was sick. Where’s my dad? Mom said when we got back from the party tomorrow, Dad would be back from Dallas.” In that moment, Cory seemed more grown up than a ten-year-old child should’ve. “We were supposed to spend the night, but Mrs. Connor saw the cop cars and brought us home. Where’s Mom and Dad?”
Sammy stared at him, helpless to formulate the words. How did one tell a kid, his dad was never coming home or that his mother was just carted away in shock?
Penny, at seven, could only cry and bury her head in the crook of Sammy’s neck. “I want my mommy.”
“I know you do, baby. Mommy had to go…” Sammy struggled to soothe the children, a task beyond her ability. She shifted to address the cop. “I... I don’t know what to say to them. Did you hear anything else? Where did they take Melanie?”
“They took your friend to the Flagler Memorial Hospital for observation.”
He gestured to the hallway with a head tilt. Sammy nodded her understanding and settled the kids on the sofa to follow him the short distance away for a private conversation.
“Their aunt Barbara called while you were out. She’s calmer now and is on her way to care for the children. Is there someone we can call for you?”
“Yes… no… I… how do I find out if someone was on that plane?” she questioned numbly.
He offered to have dispatch contact the airline to find out about the flight manifest. “What’s the name of the person you are trying to locate?”
“Michael… Michael Anselin. He… he may have missed his flight. He was on the phone with me and worried he wouldn’t find a ride to the airport.” She looked up at him, hopeful. “I came to pick him up when they got in. But maybe he missed the flight?”
Pity was reflected in the deputy’s face, and Sammy died a little inside.
Chapter 10
A pounding on the door disturbed Sammy’s sleep.
“Michael,” she murmured. The knock registered a second time, and she threw back the covers. She raced down the steps as if all the demons in hell were after her, all the while praying to God that Michael had returned. Just shy of the door, she stopped, afraid to answer. He had a key and would never need to knock. If she opened the door right now, reality would set in, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to face facts just yet.
“Samantha? Honey, are you there?” Violet called out.
A sob gathered in Sammy’s chest, and she choked it back. She wanted to scream. To rage at the uncertainty of it all. Where the hell was Michael? With a glance skyward, she tried to get a grip, or maybe it was a search for guidance from a higher power. She wasn’t certain of anything at this point. Struggling for composure, she opened the door.
“Honey, we were so worried about you.” Violet wrapped her in a tight embrace. After a long minute, she pulled back to look at Sammy. Lines of strain were etched around her eyes and mouth. Tears seeped from her mom’s beautiful gray eyes. “We heard what happened. Is there any additional news yet?”
Sammy indicated no with a simple shake of her head.
“Sammy, we are all so sorry about Michael,” Margie said, giving her sister the first genuine hug of their relationship.
If it had been any other situation, Sammy would have appreciated and returned the embrace. Right now, she just wanted to be left alone. It wasn’t to be.
Most of the Holt clan crowded through the open doorway: Mom, Dad, Margie, Annie, Annie’s husband, Charlie, and even Great Aunt Aggie. Sammy was still unsure how they were related, but she loved the old curmudgeon. The woman had to be eighty if she was a day.
The only person missing was James, who was wrapping up a home-rebuild project for their uncle up in North Carolina.
Sammy bit her lip. “Why are you all here?”
From the range of shocked expressions, she’d say everyone was flabbergasted.
“We didn’t think you should be alone at a time like this.” Martin gave her a tight hug and a pat on the back. “We were worried.”
“A time like this?” She couldn’t stop the bitchy edge to her tone. “Michael’s not gone.”
Again, her words paralyzed everyone. Margie got snippy in return. The underlying animosity they’d always shared came to the forefront. “What the hell’s the matter with you? We love you. We came here to offer our sympathy and support.” She sighed and made a concerted effort to control her temper. “I know you’re hurting and it’s a bad time for you, but we’re here to help you through it.”
“When Michael gets back, he can help me just fine.”
No one could believe she refused to accept the situation. Granted, the crash had only happened a few hours ago, but based on their blank expressions, none of them expected this reaction from her.
“Sammy, Michael’s dead,” Annie said quietly.
Sammy shot her a look that would melt stone. “No.”
“You saw the news report. You had to have seen the wreckage. It’s all they’ve talked about for hours. Samantha, no one survived,” Violet insisted, moderating her tone so as not to set her daughter off.
“No. You’re wrong. Michael wasn’t on that plane,” Sammy argued, her voice hoarse. “When the sheriff’s office calls, I’ll prove it.”
“It was a horrible tragedy, but it’s real, honey.” Violet attempted to embrace her again.
Sammy rejected a second hug and dodged to the side. She didn’t want their grief to cloud her mind. Having them here was torment enough. “Can you all leave? Please? I don’t want anyone around me right now. Please understand.”
“We aren’t leaving Sammy. Deal with it,” Margie snapped.
Her sister’s attitude set off the spark of fire that had been brewing just below the surface, ready to ignite. “You are in my fucking house! Don’t you ever tell me to ‘deal with it’ again! With anything for that matter, do you understand? I… I…” Her anger dissipated as swiftly as it had come. Her sister meant well even if her delivery was clumsy as hell. “I’m sorry, Margie. I…”
What could she say? She was one gaping wound, and they were the salt. Sammy darted up the stairs, stopping on the landing just out of their sight but within hearing.
