Married in Haste

“My folks split a long time ago. Mom lives in Rome. I’m all the family Marlo has here. Dad—well, he and Marlo rarely speak.”

“This is the doctor you recommended for Sam?”

“Believe me, Kirk’s patients get better treatment than his family ever did.”

Abby had never heard Ben speak quite so sharply. Which proved, if nothing else, that she knew relatively little about the man she’d been seeing for almost a year. And she’d planned to spend a week alone with him in the mountains? Looking at it like that, she found it easier to understand Elliot’s concern.

Abby heard Ben talking to someone else, then he came on the line again, sounding rushed.

“I’m needed for an injured baby they just brought in. Thanks, Abby, for arranging for Erin and Mollie’s care. If you have a number for Mrs. Miller I’ll jot it down and see if maybe Dad’s girlfriend will go pick them up.”

Abby had come to a street where the signals weren’t operating, and crossing appeared to be in the hands of the bravest. She quickly relayed Raina’s number, concentrating on traffic.

“Thanks,” he said. “With the bridge out, you’ll have to swing south before you can cross and go north to Mercy. I’ll call again when I get a chance.”

She dropped the phone in her lap and gripped the steering wheel tight. She surprised herself by making it across the intersection unscathed. But she couldn’t help noticing that her palms were slick with sweat. So was her forehead. Navigating around debris spilling out in the roadway claimed her full concentration.

More than once Abby considered turning back. Love for her brother and his family kept her doggedly taking the detours that skirted the worst of the damage.

A full two hours after she’d left the school, Abby was about a quarter mile from the hospital. A policeman directing traffic at a cross-street flagged her down and motioned for her to roll down her window.

“Only ambulance and aid cars beyond this point, miss.”

“But…” she sputtered, her fingers clutching the steering wheel. “The hospital contacted me. My brother and his son have been injured.” She blinked back tears. “The nurse said it was urgent, and it’s taken me hours to reach this point.” She explained how she’d started in West Seattle and had to detour along East Marginal Way, then zigzag from street to street. “Please,” she implored, panic cracking her voice.

“I’m sorry, I can’t make exceptions, ma’am. But…I’ll tell you what. My precinct station is a block ahead on your right. I’ll write you a tag to park in our lot. From there you can walk up the hill to Mercy.”

“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.

Before he’d finished his prayer—in what later would seem a true miracle—Ben Galloway stood in the door of this out-of-the-way chapel. His recognizable voice penetrated the darkness that cocooned Abby. Half rising, she cried his name. “Ben. Ben?” Disbelief warred with her abject sorrow.

Ben wedged himself past the Episcopal priest. Murmuring softly, he reached for her.

“Ben! Oh, Ben.” She threw herself into his arms. “The bo…ys,” she cried. “How will I ever break this terrible news? I know what it’s like to lose both parents. They’re so much younger than Elliot and I were when our parents died.” Her voice became hysterical at the end. “How did you know to come here? Did Raina contact you?”

Tightening his hold, Ben rocked Abby from side to side. What he didn’t say—couldn’t bring himself to say—was that he’d have to impart the same unbelievable news to his nieces. Their mother was dead. Even though his own heart had shattered, Ben couldn’t tell her about Marlo, which would only add to Abby’s crushing grief.

But neither could he lie and say he’d come solely to comfort her. When the police had contacted Ben about finding Marlo’s car under a broken pillar at the viaduct, his chief of staff ordered him off duty. At first he’d planned to phone his father—which was how Kirk would handle notification were the shoe on the other foot. But when Ben attempted to call him, he learned that his dad had scrubbed for Sam Drummond’s surgery. He was also told about Sam’s folks. The decision to drive to Mercy General was Ben’s.

Devastated, he’d guessed correctly that Abby would be doubly so. As strong a woman as she was, Ben knew instinctively that it’d be like reopening old wounds, like reliving her parents’ accident. Feeling Abby shake in his arms, Ben didn’t regret his spur-of-the-moment decision to make the harrowing journey between the hospitals.

The priest’s pager went off. “Sorry, I’m needed elsewhere,” he murmured, lightly nudging Ben’s arm. “Sir, may I leave Ms. Drummond in your care?”

Ben’s answer was to tighten his arms around the still-crying woman.

“Uh, if I can be of any further assistance, please leave word at the front desk. They can usually find me. Today,” the priest said with a sigh, “it may take longer. Ms. Drummond, I hope you will one day take comfort in the fact your brother and his wife are reunited with their parents and their Creator.”

Unable to speak, Abby buried her face in Ben’s shirtfront.

“Thank you.” Ben shook the priest’s hand from an awkward angle. “I’m Dr. Ben Galloway, by the way. I practice mainly at Children’s Health. Abby and I both live in West Seattle. Mercy was the closest triage hospital to the accident.”