Irene Hannon - From This Day Forward

Not only had he refused to consider her suggestion, he’d plunged more deeply into his work.

That was when she’d known they were in big trouble.

In time, perhaps she would have found another way to salvage their relationship, Cara reflected. But then tragedy had struck, leaving Sam crippled in both body and spirit. Told he would never operate again, he’d made her the target of his bitterness. Sustained by prayer, she could have endured even that, clinging to the hope that a brighter day would dawn. But when confronted by the evidence of his ultimate betrayal, that hope had died. Devastated, she’d tucked the fragments of love that remained for him deep in her heart and moved on with her life. It hadn’t been easy, but she’d coped.

Until a month ago.

Closing her eyes, Cara drew an unsteady breath. Thank God, she’d had Liz! Every time fear had started to choke her, Liz had helped her breathe. Every time the world began to crumble beneath her feet and she lost her balance, Liz had held out a steadying hand. Every time a panic attack gripped her, Liz had talked her through it. In the past month, her friend had changed her plans for Cara’s sake more often than prices fluctuated at the gas pump.

Yet despite Liz’s support, and much to Cara’s surprise, it was often Sam who crept uninvited—and unwanted—into her thoughts. For the past month, the memories of their early days together had been vivid in her mind, days when a mere touch of his hand or one of his warm smiles could chase away her problems. And despite her best efforts, she’d been unable to squelch a powerful yearning for the secure, sheltering haven of his arms.

How odd that he would call now, when she felt more fragile and vulnerable than ever before. It was also dangerous, she warned herself. Sam wasn’t the answer to her problems. He’d been the problem in the past. Rekindling the ashes of their long-dead relationship was not an option.

Pushing thoughts of the past aside, she reached for a mug from a hook above the counter. But as she grasped the cool ceramic handle, the sudden ringing of the phone startled her and her hand jerked. The mug slipped from her fingers, shattering on the unforgiving tile at her feet.

“Cara, it’s Sam again. I’m going to keep calling until you answer. I need to talk with you. Please pick up.”

Glancing from the jagged shards strewn across the floor to the clock, Cara struggled to regulate her breathing. He’d only waited ten minutes before calling back. Did he plan to keep this up all day? Please, God, no! Her nerves couldn’t take it.

When the line went dead at last, Cara knelt and began to pick up the remnants of her favorite mug. As she collected the pieces, sudden tears stung her eyes and she swiped at them angrily. She wasn’t going to cry about a stupid mug. She wasn’t! She’d never been a weepy person. Even during the final difficult months with Sam, she’d never cried. Yet for the past four weeks, the smallest thing could trigger a flood of tears—further evidence of her unsettled emotional state. And she was tired of it! Tired of jumping at the slightest noise. Tired of feeling out of control.

But she didn’t know how to break the cycle of fear. Even prayer, once such a steadying influence, hadn’t been able to calm her. Still, she clung to the belief that things would return to normal. That, at some point, she’d be able to deal with the aftereffects of the trauma, go back to work, move on with her life. She had to believe that. Because she couldn’t continue like this.

As she deposited the broken mug in the trash, the phone rang again. Once more Sam’s voice echoed in the silent, empty room, leaving the same message.

Though her curiosity was piqued by his persistence, Cara steeled herself to his words. Eventually he’d tire of the game and leave a message. She could wait.

An hour later, after turning up the radio while she took a long, hot shower and blow-dried her hair, Cara returned to the kitchen to find the message light on her answering machine blinking, the number eight illuminated on the digital display. Meaning he’d called six times in the past sixty minutes. She replayed the messages, but they were all the same. None contained a clue about the purpose of his call.

After hitting the delete button, Cara was starting to turn away when the phone rang again. She was prepared to ignore it until Liz spoke.

“Hi, Cara. Sorry to call this early, but I figured you’d be up and—”

Lunging for the phone, Cara snatched it out of the cradle. “Liz? Sorry. I thought you were…someone else.”

There was a momentary hesitation, and when Liz responded her tone was cautious. “Who?”

“You’re not going to believe this.” Cara perched on a stool by the counter. “Sam’s been calling. Every ten minutes, starting about an hour and a half ago.” When silence greeted her news, a puzzled frown creased Cara’s brow. “Liz? Are you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Have you talked to him?”

“Of course not!”

“Did he leave a message?”

“Just that he needs to talk to me. And that he’ll keep calling until I answer.”

Silence again.

A tingle of suspicion began to niggle at the edges of Cara’s consciousness, and her grip on the phone tightened. “Liz? Do you know something about this?”

The heavy sigh that came over the line gave Cara her answer even before Liz spoke. “Look, Cara, I’m sorry. I’ve been so worried about you…I didn’t know who else to call, since your family was off-limits.”

It took a few seconds for Liz’s meaning to register. But only a heartbeat more for Cara’s disbelief to morph into anger—and accusation. “You called Sam?”

“I thought he could help. You need to get away from here, Cara. Sam lives in a small town in the heartland. He has an extra room in his house. You’d be safe there.”

“I can’t believe this! What did you tell him?” Cara’s voice rose, shrill and bordering on hysteria, as she vaulted to her feet.

“Just the basics of what happened. Cara, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”

There was a trace of tears in Liz’s words, but Cara ignored her friend’s distress, clamping her lips shut.

“You can’t go back to work, you don’t sleep, you have nightmares, you won’t go out at night.” Liz laid out her case in the stony silence that hung on the line. “I have to drag you out of the apartment even in the daylight. That’s not normal.”

The truth of Liz’s words did nothing to ease Cara’s anger. How could Liz do this to her? Of all people, Liz knew how Cara felt about her husband. Her friend had witnessed the incident that had delivered the fatal blow to their marriage. As far as Cara was concerned, the only difference between the two betrayals was that Liz’s intentions had been good. But as conventional wisdom was fond of pointing out, the road to a certain undesirable location was paved with those.

“I saw a murder.” Cara choked on the word, and her fingers clenched around the phone. “It takes time to recover from trauma like that.”

“Sometimes it also takes professional help. But you won’t consider that.”

That was true, Cara conceded. She’d always been a strong person, and she’d been convinced she could work through the aftermath of the attack on her own. But the depth and power of her trauma had overwhelmed her. Despite her best efforts, she wasn’t making any progress.

“Since you won’t get professional help, a change of scene might be a good thing,” Liz pressed, when Cara didn’t reply. “What better place than small-town America, where people don’t even feel a need to lock their doors? Sam has a spare bedroom in his house that he’s willing to let you use. I think you should consider it.”