She begins haltingly, her voice shaky. “I’m…I’m so sorry, Megan. I didn’t…I had no idea.” She draws a breath. “I don’t really know what else to say except I apologize. Truly. It won’t happen again.”
I’m still angry, but at least she sounds sincere. I scrub a hand over my face. What a way to start a day.
Then Suzanne says something that stops my heart dead in my chest.
“That’s what happened to Theo too.”
All the hair on the back of my neck bristles. “What?”
“I don’t think I ever got around to telling you on Saturday. Theo was on his way home from his girlfriend’s house when his car was hit by a drunk driver who blew through a red light. T-boned in an intersection. Theo’s car was totaled. My nurse friend said that when he arrived at the hospital, he didn’t have a heartbeat.” She makes a small, uncomfortable laugh. “Obviously, they got it restarted.”
Thump. Thump. Thump. My heart throbs to life with a sharp, painful beat that reverberates through every nerve in my body. My head swims with memories, terrible, black memories. I’m so dizzy, I have to clutch the counter for support.
“Are you still there?” Suzanne asks when I’m silent too long.
T-boned in an intersection. Car was totaled. Didn’t have a heartbeat.
What are the odds?
“I’m here,” I rasp. But I’m not really. I’ve traveled back in time, back to an intersection in the middle of the night in Phoenix, where I’m on my knees on the asphalt, sobbing and screaming for help, holding my dying husband in my arms, listening to the last thing he’d ever say to me.
I love you, sweet pea. I’ll love you till the end of time.
I breathe shallowly, my palms sweating, my hands trembling, the room closing in until I can barely draw a breath.
I recognize the signs. I’m about to have a panic attack.
I drop the phone and run through the house until I reach the French doors leading to the back patio. I burst through them, gulping air, my eyes tearing, the cold morning air a slap on my hot face. I run across the patio and down to the beach, stumbling over my feet, and head straight for the water.
It’s freezing cold as it hits my shins, but it’s the shock of reality I need. I stand knee-deep in the ocean, shivering violently, my arms wrapped around my body as waves rock me, the gentle morning surf murmuring soothing things to cool my boiling mind.
I close my eyes and breathe deeply, sucking air into my heaving lungs.
Air scented of blood on asphalt, and the haunting, honey-like perfume of sweet peas.
9
When I finally get myself together and trudge back inside, a half hour has gone by, and I’ve missed four calls from Suzanne on my cell.
I text her back that I can’t talk and we’ll touch base later. Then I change into dry clothes, turn on the TV in my bedroom, and watch the local news with a feeling of cold disbelief.
According to the newscast, the lightning strike on Capstone’s building was massive. The resulting fire engulfed the building within minutes. The whole thing was captured on video by a security camera at a building across the street. The images are insane, like something out of a movie.
The newscaster mentions several times how unusual it is that the lightning didn’t hit the telecommunications spire on the high-rise building one block over—the spire that’s twenty times the height of the tallest point on Capstone’s roof.
There’s a brief discussion about the weather system that caused the lightning, then the station breaks for a commercial. I want to call Craig, but I’m sure he’s got much more important things to deal with this morning. I’ll give him a few days to get his bearings before trying to determine what this means for our project. In the meantime, I send him a quick email just to say I saw the news and am sorry, but grateful no one was hurt, and to take his time getting back to me with the contract.
Within five minutes, my phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Megan, it’s Craig Kennedy.”
He sounds understandably tense. “Oh, Craig, I’m so sorry to hear about what happened! I just sent you an email.”
“I know. It came through on my phone. Thank you, that was thoughtful.”
“I know this is a stupid question, but are you okay?”
“As good as can be expected. I’m out at the building now. It looks like a bomb went off. We’re lucky it didn’t happen during work hours, or there would’ve been a body count.”
A grisly image of barbequed bodies pops into my mind. I force it back, along with a brief wave of nausea. “Yes, that’s true. Equipment can always be replaced.”