“Like I told the police, the first time I saw her was right before she fell in the river. I pleaded with her not to do it. Next thing I knew she was facedown in the water. It happened so fast.” Robert closed his eyes and rubbed his brow.
“The police found an abandoned car on the highway. Let's hope it belongs to her. If so, they might be able to identify her soon.”
“How long will she be in the hospital?”
“It’s hard to say.”
Robert reached inside his waist pack. “Here’s my card. Please, call me. I'll help in any way I can. That includes flying her family here, or returning her home. Whatever she needs.”
The doctor slipped Robert’s card in his pocket. “You get some rest, Mr. Jaeger. This has been an eventful day for you. I’ll call you as soon as she regains consciousness.”
Robert dumped his cup and blanket at the nurse’s station then left.
# # #
Inside his lodge, he started a fire then took a shower. He stood in the steam fighting the last words the physician had spoken when his wife died. “Your wife didn't make it . . . I’m sorry, Mr. Jaeger. We couldn't stop the hemorrhaging . . . hemorrhaging . . .”
Clad in plaid drawstring pajama pants, Robert slipped into an oversized tee-shirt. With a quick sweep of his hand, he wiped the foggy mirror then examined those Italian features so many women raved about. Like most who lived in Montefalcone, Italy, Robert had cinnamon skin, bright brown eyes. Wavy pitch-black hair made him appear younger than his twenty-seven years. And though he knew he was remarkably handsome, his strict Italian father had told him long ago that good looks don't make the man. Robert dried the mirror with a towel and took a closer look at his stubbled face. He thought about shaving. Not tonight. He was too exhausted. The river had spent all his energy.
Barefooted, he walked into the kitchen as he towel-dried his hair. Robert draped the cloth around his neck then started to put on a pot of coffee, but made tea instead. His wife had enjoyed hot flavored teas with honey. Those memories caused anguish and discomfort.
He sat in front of the fire in a lotus position. He had to think of ways to salvage his computer business from prodigies with better computer skills and less business sense. He fooled himself into thinking his business woes had motivated this trip to Colorado. In reality, he not only needed to stop the downward spiral of sales, he also wanted to drown in his sorrow. He gave himself permission to cry twice—the day his wife died and the day of her funeral. From then on, Robert immersed himself in his work and made every effort to get home at a reasonable hour to spend time with his four-year-old daughter.
The woman he saved today had nothing in common with his wife. Twenty pounds heavier, Christina had fuller hips, a voluptuous chest, and eyes that resembled the Maldives waters. Taller, with porcelain skin, she had cropped hair the color of midnight, burgundy highlights, and serrated bangs.
Flecks of fiery light glistened in Robert's tear-filled eyes. He needed to poke the wood to even out the burn, but he was too tired to move. His eyes toyed with the blaze until a smoky image of Christina impaired his vision. "Dance with me," he said with a smile. Clumsy at it, she'd always danced to R&B soundtracks a second or two off beat. Place her on a ballroom floor, however, and she'd glide with ease. Robert stretched his eyes to see the contours of her face, but she disappeared. His heart ached.
All he had left of her was Mary Elizabeth. Robert held his breath as he reflected on Christina's four hours of labor. He'd told her, "Push! Christina, push. You can do this." She'd strained until her face turned radish-red. After several tries, Christina delivered a healthy six-pound baby girl.
“Mr. Jaeger, stay focused. Your little girl needs you. It’s a miracle your daughter is alive. If that semi had hit the rear of your wife’s car, you’d have lost them both . . . lost them both . . . lost them both . . .”
Robert wiped away his tears and again tried to avoid details of Christina's death. He had Mary Elizabeth to think about. His thoughts drifted to the many afternoons he and his four-year-old played in the sandbox. He oftentimes watched her throw sand in the air. It always took several washings to remove the tiny particles from her hair. Robert didn't care. Mary Elizabeth loved playing in the sand. She giggled the entire time. Put up a fuss when she had to take a bath. Robert smiled. He wouldn't trade one moment spent with her for anything in the world.
After placing his cup on the table, he rubbed his sore knees then relaxed. Before long his eyelids opened and shut as though the moisture inside had altered to a warm sticky resin. He soon fell asleep.
During his nightmarish dream, Christina's image emerged then drifted away. As he reached for her, he fell in a hole then landed on wet asphalt. Dozens of wedding bells sounded. White rose petals fell to the ground. Long loud tolls followed. The sun hid itself. Amid a pool of darkness Robert heard someone rubbing what sounded like two pieces of sandpaper together. When the ground lit up, he realized it was black shoes pounding a gravel road. Soon the sky gave off a faint light. Someone pushed him. He looked up and saw a funeral procession climbing a hill. Ahead of them were six men carrying a charcoal casket decorated with chrome handles. Everyone was dressed the same—men in black suits, black shoes, white shirts, and a black tie. Women wore black dresses, all had long, brown, razor-cut hair. No one had a face—just handsewn stitches in place of eyes and mouths. Robert tried to run, but bodies pressed against him until he was in step with the others.
Black and white cars lined the street. Somewhere off in the distance a wolf howled a dreadful cry and for the first time Robert noticed everything around him was black and white and grey. Even the sky. Without warning water gushed from unforeseen places. Once it receded, a clammy body slammed against his shins. Black hollow sockets frightened him. Fear pushed him back before pulling him forward. He didn't want to touch the dead wet body, but he picked it up anyway and carried it to dry land. It had long, flowing, dark hair. Lips the color of eggplant. Its flesh resembled drenched brown paper bags. As he breathed into the swollen body, air escaped through its ears, mouth, and a large cavity in its abdominal wall.
Robert woke, jerked forward, and stared at a flameless mound of cinder glowing in the dark. Panic-stricken, he looked around the room in search of Mary Elizabeth. Then he remembered. He had left her in Seattle with his housekeeper. Robert ran his trembling hands through his hair numerous times. Then he wept for his wife.
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