Out of Character. Diana Miller

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      “Of course not.”

      “You go out and have fun. I’ll just sit alone in the dark.”

      Despite herself, Jillian laughed at Kristen’s whining tone. “You always claim your mother says that, but I’ve never heard her.”

      “That’s because you’re aren’t her kid. She claims guilting us is one of the obligations of motherhood.” Kristen’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you decided not to let that bastard ruin your vacation.”

      “I won’t. I don’t feel like going out because I’m tired. I was wounded a couple days ago.”

      “You can’t blame me for being concerned,” Kristen said. “Look how long you hibernated after Andy.”

      “Getting dumped by a man you’ve been with for over two years is a little different than a disastrous one-night stand.”

      “He was more than a one-night stand, and you know it. That’s why you’re still upset.”

      “I’m not upset.” When Kristen looked dubious, Jillian’s lips twisted into a rueful half-smile. “Okay, maybe I am a little. I need to sit around and feel sorry for myself for one night. But only one.” She raised her hand. “I hereby swear that after tonight, I won’t waste another nanosecond thinking about Mark Jefferson. Except what complete and total pond scum he turned out to be.”

      “That’s the spirit.” Kristen stood up. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”

      “Why, you want some competition for Patrick?”

      Kristen tilted her head, her hair skimming one shoulder. “He’s rather hot, isn’t he?”

      “Rather.” Patrick was a lawyer from Seattle who could have moonlighted as a GQ model. “The car keys are on the kitchen table.”

      “I can take a cab and get a ride home.”

      “Taking the car is easier, and I certainly won’t need it tonight. I think I’ll order pizza.”

      “Thanks. I’ll see you—sometime.” Kristen shrugged unapologetically. “It’s vacation.”

      After Kristen left, Jillian sat staring out the glass patio doors. The blinds were open, the outside lamp illuminating the deck and surrounding dark. It was snowing, just like that night in the chairlift, the same fat, lazy flakes. Then Mark had kissed her—

      She flipped the blinds, shutting out the annoying snowflakes. Despite what she’d told Kristen, she was not thinking about Mark tonight. She’d eat something, watch a little TV, then go to bed early.

      She didn’t feel like pizza. She’d toast a bagel. She walked over to the refrigerator.

      A deafening blast shook the townhouse.

      Jillian rammed against the refrigerator. She grabbed the handle as she struggled to stay on her feet. Glasses, dishes, pots, and pans crashed around her. A shelf of cookbooks slammed onto the floor, then the telephone and microwave. She covered her head with one arm, bracing herself for a barrage of wood and tiles.

      The room stilled, walls and ceiling still intact.

      Her pulse raced. The explosion had been close by. Someone could be hurt and need her help. Adrenaline surged the way it did in the ER. Jillian ran to the front door and jerked it open.

      Cold air pummeled her. Cold air and smoke and gasoline. The smell of burning.

      She stepped outside. An inferno blazed at the end of the driveway, ferocious flames licking in all directions as they devoured a car.

      Her car.

      Chapter 5

      Jillian sprinted across the snow, her heart jackhammering her chest. She was only a few feet from her car when a hand grabbed her.

      A man pulled her back. “Stay away. It might explode.”

      “Kristen.” She fought him. “Kristen’s inside.”

      The man’s grip tightened, and he dragged her up the driveway. “You have to stay back. It’s not safe.”

      “Let me go.” She yanked her arm, over and over, her eyes riveted to the flaming car. “My friend’s in there. It’s my car.”

      The smoke, the smell, was suffocating her. She had to get Kristen out, had to make the man restraining her understand. “Kristen’s burning,” she screamed, pounding him with one fist as she tried to free her other arm from his grip. “Don’t you understand? I have to save her. She’s burning.”

      The man held tight, letting her hit him. “There’s nothing you can do.”

      “I’m a doctor.” Her voice broke, tears streaming down her cheeks.

      “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing anyone can do.” The man released her.

      He was right. It was too late. Jillian slumped forward, hugging herself, trying to press away the excruciating pain in her stomach and chest. “Not Kristen. It can’t be Kristen.” Icy tears frosted her cheeks. She heard voices, but couldn’t process words or even syllables.

      “Come to our place. You must be freezing.” A woman draped her arm around Jillian’s shoulders and led her, still doubled over, across the snowy sidewalk to the townhouse next door.

      A siren blared in the distance, getting louder. Like at work, except this time no adrenaline flowed. This time she already knew it was hopeless. “Not Kristen.” Her chest felt as if a broken jar had wedged inside, slicing her heart. “Why Kristen?”

      “I’m so sorry.” The woman steered Jillian into the townhouse and onto a sofa. “I’ll get you something to drink. Tea or brandy?”

      Jillian couldn’t answer. She couldn’t even sit upright, had to lean forward to keep from passing out from the pain. More sirens, engines revved, and people yelled. She squeezed her eyes shut and clasped her hands over her ears, trying to block out the sights and sounds. Trying to make the horror go away.

      It wouldn’t. She still heard the muffled sounds. She still pictured it against her closed lids, the car, the flames. She still smelled it, on her clothes, in the air. Imprinted forever on her brain.

      Kristen burning.

      * * * *

      A policeman drove Jillian to the Keystone Police Station. She sipped overheated coffee from a Styrofoam cup and answered his questions, trying to pretend she was in the ER talking about some victim she’d never seen before the paramedics had brought her in. She waited in the office until the policeman returned with her typed statement. He asked her to review it, but she couldn’t make out the words, so she simply stared at it for a while then signed her name.

      Kristen’s ex-husband Jason was driving there to talk to the police and could give her a ride back to Denver. So Jillian trudged to the reception area and sank onto a ripped vinyl sofa to wait for him. She closed her eyes, lay down, and tried not to think.

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