She moved down the hall to Jason’s room and opened the door. He was in his bed, the covers twisted around his feet, one arm thrown over the teddy bear he still occasionally slept with. Sally gently freed the covers and tucked her son in. Jason moved in his sleep and turned over. In the dim glow from the window, he looked like a miniature version of his father, his blond hair tangled, his little jaw square, with the same dimple in his chin that Sally had always thought made Steve look sexy. How many hearts are you going to break when you grow up? Sally wondered. She leaned over, and kissed Jason gently.
“Aw, Mom,” the little boy said.
Sally pretended to scowl at her son. “You were supposed to be asleep.”
“I was playin’ possum,” Jason replied. “Is something wrong?”
“Can’t a mother say good night anymore?” Sally asked.
“You’re always kissin’ me,” Jason complained.
Sally leaned down and kissed him again. “Be glad someone does. Not every kid is so lucky.” She straightened up and started out of the room. “And don’t kick the covers off. You’ll catch pneumonia.” She left Jason’s room, knowing he’d kick the covers off again in five minutes, and that he wouldn’t catch pneumonia. If Julie grew up as healthily as Jason had, she would be twice blessed. As she approached Julie’s room, she began trying to calculate the odds of raising two children without having to cope with any sicknesses. The odds, she decided, were too narrow to be worth thinking about.
She let herself into the room, and suddenly her sense of apprehension flooded back to her.
She crossed to the crib and looked down at Julie. The baby was as different from her brother as she was from Steve. Julie had Sally’s own almost-black hair, dark eyes, and even in her infancy the same delicate bone structure. She’s like a doll, Sally thought. A tiny little doll. In the dim light the baby’s skin was pale, nearly white, and Sally thought she looked cold, though the pink blanket was still tucked around her shoulders as Sally had left it earlier.
Sally frowned.
Julie was an active baby, never lying still for very long.
Apparently she hadn’t moved for more than an hour.
Sally reached down, and touched Julie’s face.
It was as cold as it looked.
As she picked up her tiny daughter, Sally Montgomery felt her life falling apart around her.
It wasn’t true.
It couldn’t be true.
There was nothing wrong with Julie.
She was cold. That’s all, just cold. All she had to do was cuddle the baby, and warm her, and everything would be all right again.
Sally Montgomery began screaming—a high, thin, piercing wail that shattered the night.
Steve Montgomery stood in the doorway staring at his wife. “Sally? Sally, what’s wrong?” He moved forward tentatively, watching her as she stood near the window, rocking back and forth, muttering in a strangled voice to the tiny form in her arms. Then he was beside her, trying to take the baby out of her arms. Sally’s hold on the child tightened, and her eyes, wide and beseeching, found his.
“Call the hospital,” she whispered, her voice desperate. “Call now. She’s sick. Oh, Steve, she’s sick!”
Steve touched Julie’s icy flesh and his mind reeled. No! No, she can’t be. She just can’t be. He turned away and started out of the room, only to be stopped by Jason, who was standing just inside the door, his eyes wide and curious.
“What’s wrong?” the little boy asked, looking up at his father. Then he looked past Steve, toward his mother. “Did something happen to Julie?”
“She’s—she’s sick,” Steve said, desperately wanting to believe it. “She’s sick, and we have to call the doctor. Come on.”
Pulling Jason with him, Steve went into the next room and picked up the phone on the bedside table, dialing frantically. While he waited for someone to answer, he reached out and pulled his son to him, but Jason wriggled out of his father’s arms.
“Is she dead?” he asked. “Is Julie dead?”
Steve nodded mutely, and then the operator at Eastbury Community Hospital came on the line. While he was ordering an ambulance for his daughter, he kept his eyes on his son, but after a moment Jason, his face impassive, turned and left the room.
Chapter 2
EASTBURY COMMUNITY HOSPITAL, despite its name, was truly neither a hospital, nor a community service. It was, in actuality, a privately owned clinic. It had started, thirty years