Midnight Disclosures. Rita Herron

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СКАЧАТЬ that tragedy is a divorce, the loss of a loved one or a breakup. If you’d like to talk, or share tips on how you’ve overcome a loss, please call me at 555-3456. We’d love to hear from you.”

      The first caller was experiencing the empty-nest syndrome. Claire suggested the woman get a job or join a volunteer organization or club, something to add a new purpose to her years. “Use this stage of your life to focus on yourself and your mate, rediscover all the reasons you fell in love, rekindle the romance, travel, enjoy the activities you haven’t been able to do with children underfoot.”

      The buzzer dinged, and she accepted the next few calls, a series of young women in their twenties searching for Mr. Right. They discussed the common pitfalls women fell into by looking for men in bars, then she helped each of them make goals for the future, honing in on ways to judge if a man was a commitment phobic.

      Next, a young woman who’d lost her husband in a car accident phoned, her trembling voice clutching at Claire’s heartstrings. “He was only thirty,” Sonya said. “He had just gotten a promotion, we’d bought a house, wanted a baby…”

      “It’s tough to be the one left behind,” Claire said sympathetically. “You have a void in your life, and you’re grieving, but you also feel angry, as if he deserted you.”

      “How did you know?”

      “Because I’ve experienced those feelings, Sonya. My father died when I was young. I remember the anger, and the sadness. And of course, the questions—why him? Why me?”

      “He was so young,” the girl murmured in a strained voice. “It’s not fair.”

      “No, it’s not fair, but anger is an honest, natural emotion, a stage of the grieving process,” Claire said. “You have to deal with it so you can move on.”

      “That’s just it…I don’t know if I can.”

      Claire tensed and checked her watch. Nearly midnight. The same time she’d received the other two desperate calls. Would the killer call again tonight and take another life?

      “Yes, you can, Sonya. Talk to your family, your friends, tell them how you feel, vent your anger, your fears, your grief, so you can heal.”

      “I’ll try. There’s something else…there’s this guy…”

      “Someone who’s interested in you?”

      A sniffle passed over the line. “Yes, but I feel so…guilty.”

      “Experiencing survivor guilt is not uncommon,” Claire said slowly, not trusting her own emotions. “You don’t believe you’re entitled to enjoy life again, to even laugh or have friends. Or take on another lover.”

      “That’s exactly how I feel,” the girl said, her voice trembling.

      “But you deserve happiness,” Claire said softly. “Your husband loved you, right?”

      “Yes.”

      “Then he’d want you to enjoy your life just as you’d want him to do if you had died.”

      Claire wondered if she’d ever be able to take her own advice.

      MARK SAT, transfixed by Claire’s words. Did she know what had happened to him overseas?

      No, she couldn’t…

      He saw his best friend’s face as he lay wide-eyed in the dirt, Abe’s dirt-coated hand gripping Mark’s as he inhaled his last breath. And in his mind, he saw Abe’s wife, her face ashen with grief, the burning accusations in her eyes. Why had he survived when her husband had been taken?

      Mark pinched the bridge of his nose, grateful Claire couldn’t see his expression. No doubt his emotions were plainly written on his face.

      Instinctively, he knew Claire was right. Abe wouldn’t want him to stop living or to blame himself for his death. But rational thoughts couldn’t absolve his guilt.

      “Tuck those memories of your husband into a special place in your heart,” Claire said. “And keep them safe. But keeping those memories doesn’t mean you can’t make room for more.”

      Mark studied Claire through the glass window. Was that what Claire had done? She’d put their memories into another place so she could make room for someone else?

      It shouldn’t matter to him. In fact, he should be happy for her. Claire deserved the best.

      What did he have to offer her anyway?

      “That’s all the calls we have time for tonight,” Claire said, jazz music floating into the background, “but join us again Friday night. This is Dr. Claire Kos wishing you a safe night and a happy tomorrow.”

      Mark stood, and watched as she organized herself and walked to the door. He was amazed at how well she maneuvered her surroundings with her cane. She must have counted the steps, memorized the layout. He admired her spunk and her ability to adapt.

      But she was so vulnerable, a perfect target. What would happen if she was on a crowded street or in a strange building? What if someone followed her?

      She would be virtually helpless, not knowing if they were even there….

      “Great job, Claire,” Drew said as she approached. “The show went smoothly tonight.”

      Claire sighed. “Thank goodness. When I realized it was midnight, I couldn’t help but worry.”

      Drew began cleaning up the sound area, filing CDs. “Maybe your bad luck is over.”

      Mark eyed him, knowing everyone in contact with Claire had to be treated with suspicion. According to his notes, this show had been Myers’s creative doing, so he most likely had a vested interest, either money-or careerwise, in making it a success.

      Would Myers do something drastic to spike ratings?

      Something like murder?

      “Thanks for letting me sit in.” He shook Myers’s hand.

      “I take it you’ll be back?” Myers asked.

      “Yes.”

      “That’s really not necessary,” Claire said.

      He glared at her, then remembered she couldn’t see him. She must have sensed his reaction though, because she shook her head, an impatient gesture he’d seen so many times when she’d been frustrated.

      “I’ll see you Friday, Drew.”

      Drew said good-night, and Claire headed for the front of the station. Mark trailed behind her, allowing her the small victory by letting her lead. She would not win the war, though, and get rid of him.

      Not until this killer was caught.

      She halted at the front door and reached for her cell phone.

      “Put it away, Claire, I’m driving you home.”

      “That’s—”

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