Rescue - By Anita Shreve Page 0,44

wait much longer. At least he didn’t have to worry about waking his daughter when he came in at night. Rowan had turned out to be an excellent sleeper.

Sheila, from the bedroom, called his name.

“Be right in,” he said.

She came to the door of the bedroom. She had on a pair of black thigh-high stockings with a matching lacy bra and panties. Her stomach was perfectly flat. How had she done that?

“Wow,” he said. “To what do I owe this?”

“Come on in and see,” she said in a coquettish voice.

He took off his clothes in front of the washer and dryer and had one of the fastest showers of his life. He dove into bed with his wife. No smell of cigarettes. No whiff of alcohol. Webster began to relax.

Sheila lay on top of him and stretched his arms wide. “I love you, Mr. Webster,” she said, “and I want you to always remember that.” She bent down for a kiss.

She released his hands, and he ran them up and down the back of her body, a wonderful sensation. She kissed him again and rose up while he admired the lacy purchases. He grabbed her and twisted her so that she was lying in the crook of his arm, and he was able to examine her face. Their eyes met, and he felt that each was saying a hundred words to the other, all the sorrys and double sorrys, but in a language unknown to either of them. He told her he loved her, and she kissed him hard, igniting the kind of competitive lovemaking they’d had in the old days. Webster felt anguish and lust in equal measure. Anguish for all that had been lost and lust for Sheila’s body, which had never failed to excite him. He knew that each was trying to break the other, and that in this contest neither of them would win. He wanted Sheila. He wanted her forever. Most of all, he wanted everything to be different from how it was.

Sheila held herself back, though he could see that it was taking all of her will. When the moment came, they looked nowhere but at each other. When they fell back, they were laughing.

Webster, for a week and another week, lived his life.

The tones came in at one forty-five in the afternoon. Webster took the call. Burrows glanced up from his winning hand.

“Ten-fifty,” Webster said. “Two vehicles. Route 222, north of town.”

“Four minutes, twenty seconds,” Burrows said without even needing to think about it. He bolted for the Bullet, Webster right behind him.

“Asleep at the wheel,” Burrows said when they were under way. “Wanna take the bet?”

Webster thought. One forty-five in the afternoon. No traffic. No weather. Could be a drunk, but unlikely. Could be a cardiac, more unlikely.

“Too easy,” Webster said as he set off all the bells and whistles. He stepped on the gas. “Could be a deer.”

“I was about to win seven bucks off you,” Burrows said. He smoothed the top of his crew cut.

“So you think.”

“You had nothing,” Burrows said.

“You actually have to play the hand to win,” Webster reminded him.

Burrows gave him the finger. “We it?” he asked. “Or are we backup?”

“We’re it for now. Their medics are at a fire.”

“A guy speeding to the scene? Volunteer firefighter?”

“Could be,” Webster said.

“Head on?” Burrows asked.

“Sounded like it.”

“Oh, jeez.”

They sped past the old jalousie porch. He took a sharp turn onto 222.

“How far up?” Burrows asked.

“Not sure.”

Webster hated 222. All hills and winding curves, the route was dangerous. It was hard to go fast when you couldn’t see more than fifty feet ahead of you.

He stood on the brakes when he spotted the flashing lights. A green and gold state police car, its doors open, blocked his view.

But not Burrows’s. “Shit,” the medic said, opening the door. He grabbed the med box and a backboard and ran.

It was then that Webster saw the Buick.

His chest ignited. He couldn’t get out of the rig fast enough.

He ran to the car, saw Sheila in the front seat, Burrows already treating her. Webster opened the door to the backseat. Where was Rowan? Day care? He tried to think. Had Sheila left her off with his mother? What was Sheila doing on 222 anyway?

A state cop stood in front of him. “Unconscious woman in driver’s seat of Buick,” he reported. “Toddler thrown thirty feet. Other driver, male, swerved at the last minute. Pinned in truck. We’re trying to get him out now.”

“I need someone