Evening Hours

Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Prologue

She looked dead.

For a second Edgar Benton’s heart beat uncontrollably against his chest cavity. When he leaned forward and placed a trembling hand on the exposed arm and felt her warm flesh, a breath of relief seeped out of him. Thank God she wasn’t dead. Not yet anyway, he reminded himself as fresh tears dribbled down his face.

This was the first time he’d seen his daughter since she’d been whisked away to surgery several hours ago. His precious sixteen-year-old lay like a beautiful corpse on the sterile hospital bed. Panic seized him and his knees buckled.

He pulled a chair close to the bed, his eyes never leaving her face. Edgar took several deep gulping breaths, then whispered in a garbled voice, “Please, Kaylee, hang on. I can’t bear to lose you, too.”

No response.

His baby, his only child, remained unmoving and unresponsive. His tears kept coming. What had he, they, done to deserve such an awful tragedy? His twisted, angry face looked toward the ceiling, silently cursing God. He couldn’t fathom how he was going to survive without his wife. As he thought of her lying on a cold slab in a morgue, another onslaught of pain ripped through his gut.

How would he tell his daughter that she might not ever walk again and that her body would always be scarred?

“Oh, God, why?” Deep sobs racked his body.

After realizing he’d cried aloud, Edgar peered at Kaylee to see if the sound had aroused her. It hadn’t. Taking several shuddering breaths, he felt a semblance of rationality return. His daughter was not going to die, not right now anyway. She faced an uncertain future, but at least she was alive.

If only he had been driving instead of Kaylee, who had just gotten her beginner’s license and was testing her moxie behind the wheel for the first time.

If only she’d had more experience, then maybe she could have dodged the car that had barreled through the stop sign as if it owned the road. As it was, Kaylee had plowed into the side of it. His wife, Vera, had died on impact while his daughter had flown through the windshield, her lower extremities ripped to shreds by the broken glass.

If only he had taken the vehicle into the shop and had the seat belt repaired. If he’d taken care of that, the latch might not have popped open. His good intentions would certainly not have prevented the accident, but it might have prevented Kaylee’s serious injuries.

He recalled the investigating officer’s words at the scene of the accident as the paramedics loaded his daughter into the ambulance.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, sir.”

Edgar couldn’t respond, torn between staying with his dead wife and going with his injured daughter.

“It’s one of those freak accidents when neither of your loved ones should have been seriously injured, much less killed,” the officer added.

God, it’s my fault.

“Sir, the ambulance is about to leave.”

Without thinking, Edgar had run toward the vehicle.

Focusing on the moment at hand rather than replay the darkest moment of his life, he sank his head into his hands. Despair threatened to overwhelm him, but he knew he had to regain control. He hadn’t been with them, and he couldn’t change that. Even if he had, things would’ve happened in exactly the same way. He would have given in to Kaylee’s plea to drive just as his wife had. Rarely had either of them denied their daughter anything.

Kaylee was a great kid, a popular teenager whose many friends were now gathered in the main waiting area, solemn-faced and afraid. Not only was she well liked, but she was a straight A student and was involved in various school activities. Her favorite was the drill team.

Another sharp pain sliced through Edgar, and his groan deepened. If what the doctor said turned out to be the truth, then she would never perform again, never strut her stuff, as she was fond of saying in order to get a reaction out of him.

He could hear her teasing words and see her rolling her eyes as he pretended to be perturbed with her choice of words. It was a silly but fun game they played.

Another stab of pain took his breath even as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Mr. Benton.”

Edgar jerked his head around and squinted up at Dr. Chester Wainright, the surgeon who had only hours before operated on his baby, putting the pieces of her broken body back together. He was a tall, dark-haired, dark-complexioned young man who was as competent as he was good-looking.

“Are you all right?”

Before Edgar could force a reply, the doctor went on, “Sorry. Forget I asked that. Of course you’re not all right.”

Edgar rose to his full six-foot-plus height and ran a hand through his thinning dark hair while he blinked the tears from his eyes. He was only forty-two; before this morning that had seemed so young. Now, in light of how his life had been turned upside down, he felt like an old, old man.

“Is Kaylee going to be all right?” His voice croaked like a bullfrog before he cleared it.

“How ’bout we step outside,” the doctor said, shifting aside for Edgar to precede him.

Once they were in a small adjacent waiting area, Dr. Wainright didn’t waste any words. “Your daughter is going to live.”

“But?” Edgar knew there was more to come, and it wouldn’t be good. He felt himself visibly flinch.