more. And I’ve loved you for much longer than he has.”
I am seething as I stare at the glass of orange juice sitting dangerously at the edge of the coffee table. A half-inch of glass hovers over the very expensive cream colored area rug.
“Whose glass of juice is that?” I snap.
Claire looks at me with wide eyes and doesn’t dare say a word. She simply reaches for the glass. Her little pudgy hand slides it to a safe location in the middle of the table. “Sorry.”
I’m moody and I think everyone has noticed. We’re playing a game of Kids Monopoly. I roll the dice absent-mindedly, and move my plastic yellow dog the three spaces to one of Chloe’s property. I owe her five dollars. She is ecstatic. I frown as I hand her the small purple paper bill.
“I’m so going to win,” she squeals, rubbing it in.
Gabe lounges on the sofa, with a can of Coke in one hand and a slice in the other. After the day I’ve had, I was in no mood to cook, so we ordered pizza. The girls love game night and pizza in the living room. It’s very cheap fun.
Gabe clicks through the channels at record speed. This habit of his usually drives me insane, but tonight, I just don’t care. He usually stops here and there at repeats of old sitcoms, sports coverage, and the news. He doesn’t usually linger too long on the dramas and reality shows. I watch Claire as she moves the red plastic car excruciatingly slowly across the board. She’s only seven, I remind myself.
This is another very ordinary moment; one I would never remember if it were not for what happens in the next few seconds.
A single sentence delivered with the usual measured tone of a newscaster; in this case, a middle-aged blonde in a grey suit.
“Local developer and philanthropist Weston Hanson in hospital tonight…”
Gabe goes right past as he clicks away, shock morphing his features as he takes in what he’s just heard. He freezes at the realization.
My mouth goes dry as I look up at the television — pot-stickers in a pan — a cooking show. “Go back!” I scream.
Gabe fiddles with the remote control, scurrying to get back to the news channel.
When we finally see the blonde in the grey suit, my stomach drops as my eyes are drawn to the box in the upper right corner of the screen — a photo of Weston’s mangled black sports car.
Gabe gawks at me without a word.
“Weston Hanson is still in critical condition, with multiple injuries after the horrific crash on interstate eighty-eight. This was a single car accident. Initial investigations indicate the car has skidded off the highway and flipped numerous times. It is unknown at this time, if alcohol or reckless driving were involved.”
I bring my hand to my mouth, not believing what I’m hearing.
“Your turn, Mommy,” Claire says.
I remain motionless, not able to speak.
“Your turn, Mommy,” she repeats a little louder.
I roll the dice and move the little dog, the actions automatic, carried out without awareness.
“Weston Hanson is a well-known local developer and philanthropist, a pillar of our community. His real-estate development company Hanson & Hersch has been a leader in the development of sustainable living condos. He has also been a fixture in the increased awareness of a more green style of living, and he is a great benefactor to many charities.”
The woman in the grey suit goes on, but I don’t hear a word. Everything is a blur as visions of a horrific crash flash through my mind — Weston’s body slamming against the roof of his car, his body mangled, bloody. I’m suddenly nauseous. I feel like I’m going to vomit.
I close my eyes and breathe, willing myself to settle down. I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s strong.
He’ll be fine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Have you seen my baby?
Once the shock finally subsides, the waterworks officially start. “Why is she talking about him like he’s dead?”
Chloe looks at me with wide eyes, concern clouding her features. She finally turns to the TV screen and sees a photo of Weston in the upper right corner. “What happened?”
Gabe bites his bottom lip and doesn’t say a word. The slice of pizza sits on the coffee table beside the game of monopoly, which oddly enough, I’m still playing.
“Uh…” the newscaster falters a bit. “He is married to Bridget Hanson, attorney at Williams, Hanson and Brown. They have two children.”
Claire who hadn’t been paying attention, stares at me, openmouthed.