Just a Wish Away (30 page)

He stared at her for a long moment. She wanted to see him weaken, watch the reassuring smile come into his eyes and spread across his face. She wanted him to say, “Yes, that’s what I want, too.”

“I can’t.”

His words didn’t register for a moment, but slowly they sank in. His expression was definite, unyielding. God!
He wasn't going to change his mind
. A feeling of desperation swept over her.
Was this it? Was this really the end?

If Colin wouldn’t agree to the insemination, they were done. It was over. She would never have a baby. She would never feel that tiny life inside her. She pressed her hand to her empty womb, an ache spreading down deep in her soul.

She’d touched her sisters’ pregnant stomachs many times, feeling the kicks and flutters of their babies, and she’d wanted that incredible and special feeling inside her own body. She’d always thought she’d have that moment. The idea that she wouldn’t was too much to handle. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, as though the walls were closing in on her.

“It will get easier,” Colin told her, a hint of desperation in his voice. “We’ll fill up our days. We’ll make ourselves happy. It will be all right.”

Before she could say anything else, the kitchen door flew open and her mother walked in, holding a cake lit up with candles. Her sisters, their husbands, their children, and the rest of the party crowded into the small kitchen.

She stared down at the cake, the blaze of thirty-five candles surrounding the words
Happy Birthday Angela
.

“Make a wish,” her mother said, setting the cake down on the table in front of her.

She had tried wishing. It didn’t work. But everyone was waiting. They were calling out suggestions for wishes…
A new car… A trip around the world.
They were suffocating her with their desire to have her move on, give up her dream and wish for something that wouldn’t take a miracle. Then they could go on, too. They wouldn’t have to watch what they said or worry about her.

She had to give them what they wanted. It was what she always did.

But when she closed her eyes to make her secret wish there was only one thought in her mind.

Please, God, give me a baby.

She blew out the candles to applause and laughter and an off-key version of
Happy Birthday
. Her mother suggested they take the cake back out to the dining room to cut it, and Angela was grateful when the group moved out of the kitchen, leaving her and Colin alone again.

He gave her a pleading look, silently begging her to stop arguing, to accept what was done. “Let’s get some cake,” he said. “It’s your favorite.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Her Uncle Rico popped back into the room. “We need more wine, Colin. Time for the secret stash every good Italian keeps down in the cellar.”

“I don’t have a secret stash or a cellar,” Colin said. “But the liquor store down the street has plenty of wine.”

“I’ll go.” Angela grabbed the excuse like a lifeline. She had to get out of this room, out of this party, out of this life.

“You can’t leave – it’s your party. I’ll go,” Colin said.

“No, I need some air.”

He frowned, obviously unhappy with her decision. “What do you want me to tell your mother?”

“Tell her I’ve had all the surprises I can take for one night.”

“Angela.”

“What?”

“Don’t take too long.”

“I’m just going to get wine,” she said. “How long could that take?”

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A Secret Wish

EXCERPT - SILENT RUN

Sanders Brothers - Book One

Excerpt @ Copyright 2011 Barbara Freethy

All Rights Reserved

Prologue

Large raindrops streamed against her windshield as she sped along the dark, narrow highway north of Los Angeles. She’d been traveling for over an hour along the wild and beautiful Pacific coastline. She’d passed the busy beach cities of Venice and Santa Monica, the celebrity-studded hills of Malibu and Santa Barbara. Thank God it was a big state. She could start over again, find a safe place to stay, but she had to get there first.

The pair of headlights in her rearview mirror drew closer with each passing mile. Her nerves began to tighten, and goose bumps rose along her arms and the back of her neck. She’d been running too long not to recognize danger. But where had the car come from? She’d been so sure that no one had followed her out of LA. After sixty miles of constantly checking her rearview mirror she’d begun to relax, but now the fear came rushing back.

It was too dark to see the car behind her, but there was something about the speed with which it was approaching that made her nervous. She pressed her foot down harder on the gas, clinging to the wheel as gale-force winds blowing in off the ocean rocketed through the car, making the driving even more treacherous.

A few miles later the road veered inland. She looked for a place to exit. Finally she saw a sign for an upcoming turnoff heading into the Santa Ynez Mountains. Maybe with a few twists and turns she could lose the car on her tail, and if her imagination were simply playing tricks on her, the car behind her would just continue down the road.

The exit came up fast. She took the turn on two wheels. Five minutes later the pair of headlights was once again directly behind her. There was no mistake: He was coming after her.

She had to get away from him. Adrenaline raced through her bloodstream, giving her courage and strength. She was so tired of running for her life, but she couldn’t quit now. She’d probably made a huge mistake leaving the main highway. There was no traffic on this two-lane road. If he caught her now there would be no one to come to her rescue.

The gap between their cars lessened. He was so close she could see the silhouette of a man in her rearview mirror. He was bearing down on her.

She took the next turn too sharply, her tires sliding on the slick, wet pavement.

Sudden lights coming from the opposite direction blinded her. She hit the brakes hard. The car skidded out of control. She flew across the road, crashed through a wooden barrier, and hurtled down a steep embankment. Rocks splintered the windshield as she threw up her hands in protest and prayer.

When the impact finally came it was crushing, the pain intense. It was too much. All she wanted to do was to sink into oblivion. It was over. She was finished.

But some voice deep inside her screamed at her to stay awake, because if she wasn’t dead yet, she soon would be.

Chapter One

The blackness in her mind began to lessen. There was a light behind her eyelids that beckoned and called to her. She was afraid to answer that call, terrified to open her eyes. Maybe it was the white light people talked about, the one to follow when you were dead. But she wasn’t dead, was she?

It was just a nightmare, she told herself. She was dreaming; she’d wake up in a minute. But something was wrong. Her bed didn’t feel right. The mattress was hard beneath her back. There were odd bells going off in her head. She smelled antiseptic and chlorine bleach. A siren wailed in the distance. Someone was talking to her, a man.

Her stomach clenched with inexplicable fear as she felt a strong hand on her shoulder. Her eyes flew open, and she blinked rapidly, the scene before her confusing.

She wasn’t home in her bedroom, as she’d expected. A man in a long white coat stood next to the bed. He appeared to be in his fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair, dark eyes, and a serious expression. He held a clipboard in one hand. A stethoscope hung around his neck, and a pair of glasses rested on his long, narrow nose. Next to him stood a short, plump brunette dressed in blue scrubs, offering a compassionate, encouraging smile that seemed to match the name on her name tag, Rosie.

What was going on? Where was she?

“You’re awake,” the doctor said, a brisk note in his voice, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. “That’s good. We were getting concerned about you. You’ve been unconscious for hours."

Unconscious
? She gazed down the length of her body, suddenly aware of the thin blue gown, the hospital identification band on her wrist, the IV strapped to her left arm. And pain -- there was pain... in her head, her right wrist, and her knees. Her right cheek throbbed. She raised a hand to her temple and was surprised to encounter a bandage. What on earth had happened to her?

“You were in an automobile accident last night,” the doctor told her. “You have some injuries, but you’re going to be all right. You’re at St. Mary’s Hospital just outside of Los Olivos in Santa Barbara County. I’m Dr. Carmichael. Do you understand what I’m saying?"

She shook her head, his brisk words jumbling up in her brain, making little to no sense. “Am I dreaming?” she whispered.

“You’re not dreaming, but you do have a head injury. It’s not unusual to be confused,” the doctor replied. He offered her a small, practiced smile that was edged with impatience. “Now, do you feel up to a few questions? Why don’t we start with your name?"

She opened her mouth to reply, thinking that was an easy question, until nothing came to mind. Her brain was blank. What was her name? She had to have one. Everyone did. What on earth was wrong with her? She gave a helpless shake of her head. “I’m... I’m not sure,” she murmured, shocked by the realization.

The doctor frowned, his gaze narrowing on her face. “You don’t remember your name? What about your address, or where you’re from?"

She bit down on her bottom lip, straining to think of the right answers. Numbers danced in her head, but no streets, no cities, no states. A wave of terror rushed through her. She had to be dreaming -- lost in a nightmare. She wanted to run, to scream, to wake herself up, but she couldn’t do any of those things.

“You don’t know, do you?” the nurse interjected.

“I... I should know. Why don’t I know? What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I remember my name, where I’m from? What’s going on?” Her voice rose with each desperate question.

“Your brain suffered a traumatic injury,” Dr. Carmichael explained. “It may take some time for you to feel completely back to normal. It’s probably nothing to worry about. You just need to rest, let the swelling go down."

His words were meant to be reassuring, but anxiety ran like fire through her veins. She struggled to remember something about herself. Glancing down at her hands, she saw the light pink, somewhat chipped polish on her fingernails and wondered how it could be that her own fingers didn’t look familiar to her. She wore no rings, no jewelry, not even a watch. Her skin was pale, her arms thin. But she had no idea what her face looked like.

“A mirror,” she said abruptly. “Could someone get me a mirror?"

Dr. Carmichael and Rosie exchanged a brief glance, and then he nodded to the nurse, who quickly left the room. “You need to try to stay calm,” he said as he jotted something down on his clipboard. “Getting upset won’t do you any good."

“I don’t know my name. I don’t know what I look like.” Hysteria bubbled in her throat, and panic made her want to jump out of bed and run... but to where, she had no idea. She tried to breathe through the rush of adrenaline. If this were a nightmare, eventually she’d wake up. If it wasn’t... well, then she’d have to figure out what to do next. In the meantime she had to calm down. She had to think.

The doctor said she’d had an accident. Like the car crash in her dream? Was it possible that had been real and not a dream?

Glancing toward the clock, she saw that it was seven thirty. At least she knew how to read the time. “Is it night or morning?” Her gaze traveled to the window, but the heavy blue curtain was drawn, making it impossible for her to see outside.

“It’s morning,” the doctor replied. “You were brought in around nine o’clock last night."

Almost ten hours ago. So much time had passed. “Do you know what happened to me?"

“I’m afraid I don’t know the details, but from what I understand, you were in a serious car accident."

Before she could ask another question, the nurse returned to the room and handed her a small compact mirror.

She opened the compact with shaky fingers, almost afraid of what she would see. She stared at her face for a long minute. Her eyes were light blue, framed by thick black lashes. Her hair was a dull dark brown, long, tangled, and curly, dropping past her shoulders. There were dark circles under her eyes, as well as purple bruises that were accentuated by the pallor of her skin. A white bandage was taped across her temple. Multiple tiny cuts covered her cheekbones. Her face was thin, drawn. She looked like a ghost. Even her eyes were haunted by shadows.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, feeling as if she were looking at a complete stranger. Who was she?

“The cuts will heal,” the nurse said. “Don’t worry. You’ll have your pretty face back before you know it."

It wasn’t the bruises on her face that filled her heart with terror; it was the fact that she didn’t recognize anything about herself. She felt absolutely no connection to the woman in the mirror. She slammed the compact shut, afraid to look any longer. Her pulse raced, and her heart beat in triple time as the reality of her situation sank in. She felt completely vulnerable, and she wanted to run and hide until she figured everything out. She would have jumped out of bed if Dr. Carmichael hadn’t put his hand on her shoulder, perhaps sensing her desperation.