When the Wind Blows - James Patterson [14]
“Oh, God, Gillian,” I whispered. Gillian is my best friend in the world. The two of us hugged on the porch. We were both crying, holding on to each other, trying to understand this tragedy. I was so glad she was here.
“How could he drown?” I muttered.
“Oh, God, Frannie, I don’t know how it happened. Frank’s neck was broken. He must have tried a shallow dive. Are you okay? No, of course you’re not. Neither is poor Barb. This is so bad, so awful.”
I cried on my friend’s shoulder. She cried on mine.
Gillian is a research doctor at Boulder Community and she’s a crackerjack. She’s so good she can afford to be a rebel “with a cause,” always up against the hospital bureaucrats, the admin jackals and jackasses. She’s a widow, too, with a small child, Michael, whom I absolutely adore.
She wore hospital scrubs and a lab coat with her ID badge still pinned to the lapel. She’d come straight from work. What a long, terrible day for her. For all of us.
“I have to see Barb,” I said to Gillian. “Where is she, Gil?”
“Come on. I’ll show the way. Hold on to me. I’ll hold you.”
Gillian and I entered the familiar house, now uncharacteristically dark and quiet and somber. We found Barb in the kitchen with another close friend, Gilda Haranzo. Gilda is a pediatric nurse at the hospital. She’s part of our group.
“Oh, Barb, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I whispered. Words never seem to work at times like these.
The two of us fell hard into each other’s arms. “I didn’t understand about David. Oh, Frannie, I didn’t understand,” Barb sobbed hard against my chest. “I should have been better for you back then.”
“You were great. I love you. I love you so much.” It was the truth, and it was why this terrible moment hurt so badly. I could feel Barb’s loss as if it were my own.
Then all four of us were hugging and consoling one another as best as we could. It seemed only yesterday that we all had husbands and would get together for barbecues, swimming games, charity gigs, or just to talk for hours.
Barb finally pulled away and yanked open a cabinet door over the sink. She took out a bottle of Crown Royal. She cracked the label and poured four large glasses of whiskey.
I looked out the kitchen window and saw a few people from Boulder Community standing in the backyard, out near the pool. Rich Pollett, Boulder’s chief counsel, was present. He’d been a good friend of Frank’s, a fly-fishing partner.
Then I saw Henrich Kroner, president of the hospital, Rick to his friends. Henrich was an elitist snob who thought his narrow focus in life made him special, and didn’t realize it made him very ordinary. It struck me as odd that Henrich of all people would be here, other than that the McDonough house was so close to the hospital. But then again, everybody loved Frank.
I had a sudden and painful flash of memory that cut like a knife into my heart. A few years back, David and I had gone white-water rafting with Frank and Barbara. Afterward, we’d gone swimming in calmer waters. Frank was as much at home in the water as an otter. I could still see his powerful freestyle stroke.
How could he have died in his pool?
How could Frank and David both be dead?
As I sipped the bracing whiskey I couldn’t come up with a single answer. I felt like a top that wouldn’t stop spinning. I had another drink and another after that until I was finally numb.
Gillian almost seemed as concerned about me as she was for Barbara. That’s the way she’s been since David’s death, especially since I wouldn’t let the murder be. It’s as though I’m her adopted child. She reminds me of how I could imagine Emma Thompson might be—smart, but sensitive, thoughtful, funny too.
“Come home with me tonight. Please, Frannie,” she said and made a needy face. “I’ll build a fire. We’ll talk till we drop.”
“Which would be pretty soon. Gil, I can’t,” I said and shook my head. “A hurt collie’s coming in the morning. The Inn-Patient is already full.”
Gillian rolled her eyes, but then she smiled. “This weekend then. No excuses. You’ll come.”
“I’ll be there. I promise.”
I helped