Married in Haste. Roz Fox Denny

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      “Oh, yes, please. Thank you, officer. I’m not trying to be difficult.”

      He smiled wearily as he wrote out a permit. Abby rolled up her window, then swung around him in the direction he indicated, heading—she hoped—to his station. A short while later, she found it and parked. Once she’d climbed out of her car and locked it, leaving the tag visible, she took a minute to get her bearings.

      Midway through her hike up a steep sidewalk that led to one of the city’s oldest hospitals, she heard neighborhood dogs begin to bark and howl. Abby automatically braced for another afterquake. Sure enough, within seconds everything began to jump crazily. To her left, a flower bed of tulips rose and fell, reminding her oddly of ocean waves.

      Up to now, she’d been so focused on her destination, she hadn’t really absorbed the surrounding damage. An elegant old home beyond the bed of glads had once boasted mullioned windows. Now jagged, gaping holes left a living room filled with antiques open to the casual passerby. Next door, a neighbor’s wraparound porch had split off the main house. A man, presumably the owner, who’d been surveying his roof from atop a six-foot ladder, scurried down it as the aftershock bared its teeth. He sought refuge under the spreading limbs of a giant fir. As with the previous aftershock, this one quickly subsided. But it made Abby wonder momentarily about the condition of her town house, and also Elliot’s rambling old home that always seemed to be in some stage of reconstruction.

      Feeling the first splatter of raindrops from a cluster of dark, fast-swirling clouds, Abby let her earlier concerns slip away. She zipped her windbreaker and pulled up the hood. Tucking her chin to her chest, she ran the remaining two blocks.

      Thoroughly winded, she stared up at the solid old hospital, which overshadowed clusters of two-and three-story clinic complexes. Once used as apartments, many of them had been renovated into medical offices. Some had been turned into assisted living quarters for the elderly.

      An ambulance screamed past Abby and screeched to a halt under the emergency room awning. She was relieved to note that visible wings of the gray brick hospital appeared to be intact.

      As she entered the main lobby, Abby unzipped her jacket and shook rain from her bangs. She located a horseshoe-shaped reception desk, but was forced to wait while a gray-haired clerk fielded calls via a switchboard lit up like a Christmas tree. Abby strove for a composure she didn’t feel. The aftershocks, along with constant worry over what she’d find here, left her brain addled.

      Between calls the operator glanced up. “May I direct you, miss?”

      “A nurse, Olivia Warren, phoned me. Earlier. Nearly three hours ago,” Abby said in surprise as she checked her watch. “I, uh, need directions to my brother’s room. His name is Elliot Drummond. His son, Sam, is also a patient. And maybe Elliot’s wife, Blair.” Abby sent up a silent prayer for her sister-in-law, and mentally crossed her fingers. Olivia hadn’t found any record of Blair earlier.

      The woman ran a finger down a patient index. She then leafed through a stack of cards piled beside her switchboard. The lighted board constantly went bing, bing, bing in the background. “I—oh, my.” She looked up briefly. “Please take a seat in the lobby. I’ll call a volunteer to assist you.” Making a neat pile of the cards, the clerk again busied herself with insistent callers.

      Abby realized the futility of trying to ask another question. She stepped into the teeming lobby and eventually did sit on the very edge of a chair. She called to let Raina know she’d made it, and got through after numerous attempts. Her friend still had her nephews and Marlo’s girls. How long, Abby wondered after telling Raina goodbye, would the clerk’s “minute” be? Her stomach was jittery, and anxiety nibbled away at her calm attitude. But of course she wasn’t alone in her fear. The lobby was filled with pacing, terrified relatives.

      Half an hour later, a volunteer in a pale-yellow uniform showed up. At a word from the clerk at the desk, the woman turned and sought out Abby—who rose at once. She rushed to meet the volunteer, and repeated her request. Her guide in yellow spun on soundless white shoes, striding quickly along a bustling warren of halls. She walked so fast, Abby barely kept pace. As they sped around the turns, Abby was actually glad she’d been given an escort. After one sharp, right-angled turn down a dead-end hall, Abby’s helper flung open a door and motioned Abby into a dimly lit room. Squinting, Abby stopped short the moment she realized she’d entered a chapel.

      Her teeth began to chatter. She backed up, shrieking No, no, no inside her head. Her mind refused to accept the news she was about to receive. “No!” she shouted, and snatched the front of the woman’s cheery uniform.

      Frightened, the volunteer wrested the material from Abby’s clutching hands.

      Because her already wobbly knees simply gave way, Abby fell heavily onto a padded bench. Nearly blinded by tears, she stared at a wooden cross rising stark and silent at the front of the room, backlit by a pale, shimmering light. Wanting—needing—to run, but unable to make her legs function, Abby shrank from an approaching man. His kind but controlled expression, coupled with a black jacket and white clerical collar, declared him an enemy. Abby heard an awful noise gush from her throat, a scream of denial ripped from her very soul. Shivering, she shut her eyes, covered her ears and rocked to ease the pain in her heart. It thundered so loudly, she missed the name the man offered along with his hand.

      “Easy, Ms. Drummond.” Sitting beside her, he pried apart her icy hands. “Abigail Drummond?” he asked again, forcing Abby to open her eyes and really look at him through a veil of tears.

      She nodded, even though words refused to form on her numb lips.

      “According to Dr. Nelson, your brother, the Reverend Drummond, fought to hang on until you could get here. His chest injuries would have felled a lesser man at the scene of the accident. With God’s help, he managed to attract the attention of a firefighter sent to assess the rubble of the bridge. I understand Elliot’s only request was for the fireman to help his wife and son. Unfortunately—” the man paused, “Mrs. Drummond succumbed in the aid car as paramedics tried desperately to stabilize her breathing.”

      Blair and Elliot, both gone. “No. Nooo!” Abby’s lungs refused to expand and contract as she attempted to haul in air. The priest plucked several tissues from a box and thrust them into her hand. A heaviness invaded her limbs and the glowing cross receded until it was a mere pinprick of light. Then it loomed large again as her burning throat swallowed her curse against an unmerciful God.

      The priest clumsily patted her bent shoulders.

      “Sam?” Abby whispered at last, twisting the tissues into wet clumps. “My brother’s son? How’s he? Dr. Galloway…uh…the senior Dr. Galloway was to evaluate Sam.”

      “The boy is in surgery. Reverend Drummond gave verbal consent. That’s not how the hospital normally operates, but considering this tragedy, our chief of staff accepted your brother’s word. Ms. Drummond, did you come here alone? May I call someone for you? Your parents, perhaps? Or a sibling?”

      “No one. They’re all gone. All but me.” She shook her head and tears rolled down her cheeks. “I’m all that’s left of Elliot’s family. And Blair’s.” Burying her face in her hands, Abigail gave in to the weight of anguish pressing in on her. She sobbed, great gulping sobs, denying everything this man had said. “Someone’s made a horrible mistake. Elliot and Blair’s identification could’ve been mixed up at the bridge. I’m sure—”

      “There’s no mistake.” The priest bowed his head and began to pray aloud. The words meant to comfort Abby landed on deaf ears.

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