C.J. Carmichael - Leaving Enchantment

A deeply-buried regret stirred within him. He never should have let three years pass without making an attempt to reconcile with his sister. His mother had always said he was too damn stubborn for his own good.

The door opened, and Dr. Ochoa came into the room, wearing a clean white lab coat, pen in his hand along with a clipboard. Nolan had consulted with him a few times on various stories for the Bulletin. This was the first time he’d spoken to him on a personal level. Mercifully, Dr. Ochoa came straight to the point.

“I’m so sorry,” he said to Nolan. “Your sister has died.”

Mary? What the hell was he talking about?

“But I spoke to Miguel Eiden at the accident scene. He said there were no passengers. Just the driver. Just Steve.”

Ochoa sighed. Despite his distress and confusion, Nolan couldn’t help but be aware of the older man’s intense weariness. “Mary’s death occurred earlier this evening, Nolan. Before the accident.”

“What?”

“I know it’s a lot to take in. Let me try to explain. This afternoon your sister and her husband went to The Birth Place. Mary was in labor. After about seven hours the midwife in charge of her birth—Lydia Kane, a very proficient, experienced midwife—decided to transport your sister to our hospital.”

Nolan hadn’t even known Mary was pregnant again. He remembered Miguel mentioning two kiddie seats. What the hell was going on?

“On my initial exam, your sister appeared fine and so did her unborn baby. But the situation deteriorated quickly. We lost Mary at nine-oh-three. Her baby was never resuscitated.”

Nolan knew this couldn’t be happening. “Women don’t die in childbirth anymore.”

“In very rare cases they do. In this one…”

The doctor recited terms Nolan had never heard before. Shoulder something and amnio something else.

“We tried everything we could to save her. Lydia Kane is to be commended for bringing her to the hospital so quickly. We had all modern medicine to hand, but it wasn’t enough. Sometimes it isn’t.”

Nolan put both hands to his head. Mary was dead? Gone? No, please. Let there be some mistake…

“Mary Davidson. You’re sure?”

“I’m so sorry.”

Even through his shock, Nolan noticed the slight waver of disbelief in the doctor’s voice. He hadn’t expected to lose this patient.

So why the hell had he?

Nolan forced his teeth together, pressed his lips tight. Don’t lash out at the doctor. Not yet. Need to gather all the facts, first. Make sure what Dr. Ochoa said was true, that everything possible had been done.

“Steve was in the room when this happened,” the doctor added.

Now, suddenly, Nolan saw the whole picture and all the pieces—the tragic events of this awful night—fell into place. Steve, totally distraught, had tried to drive home after the tragedy. Instead he’d driven off the road. On purpose?

Hell, it was possible. What man who’d just seen his wife die on the delivery bed, who knew that his newborn baby was dead, too, wouldn’t have the thought cross his mind?

One quick turn of the steering wheel and it’s all over. No more suffering.

It could easily have been an accident, too. Switchback Road was unforgiving at the best of times, requiring every ounce of a driver’s attention. The snow had been blinding and Steve had been an emotional mess. Probably his vision had been blurred with tears, as well.

“The ambulance brought him here,” Nolan said.

The doctor nodded. “Unfortunately, there was nothing we could do. His head injuries were massive. Again, I’m so sorry.”

Nolan didn’t know what to say. A family had been wiped out tonight. A mother and father and their new baby. Leaving him and— Oh, my God.

“Mary and Steve have a daughter. Six years old…”

Deep sorrow glimmered again in the doctor’s eyes.

“Samantha, Sammy for short.” Nolan remembered her third birthday. That had been the last happy family gathering before his mother’s death and his and Mary’s estrangement.

“Someone has to go talk to Samantha,” the doctor said “Do you think you could?”

Nolan felt numb. He had to call Miguel, as well. Right now his good friend was probably knocking at the Davidsons’ A-frame. Soon he’d realize Mary wasn’t home.

“There’ll be other family members to notify, too, of course,” the doctor continued.

Nolan nodded. He’d have to get in touch with Steve’s mother, Irene, before she heard about the accident on the news. Or read his paper.

Shit. He’d have to get Cooper to write something. There was no way he could. Besides, he’d have other concerns. There’d be obituaries and funerals and… Oh, hell, this just couldn’t be real.

The doctor was consulting his chart again. “Any other immediate family?”

Steve shook his head. Some aunts and uncles, most of them out-of-state. He’d have to check with Irene for the other side of the family. He’d go to her house now. Maybe Sammy was with her.

Sammy. He couldn’t even remember what his niece looked like anymore. Chubby cheeks and a lisp, he vaguely recollected. But that had been three years ago.

KIM SHERMAN KNEW her co-workers at The Birth Place didn’t like her. She knew she had a reputation for being ruthless, impersonal, bottom-line oriented. All of which was perfectly true. And why not? Kim hadn’t moved to Enchantment almost eight months ago to vie for the local Miss Congeniality award.

Seeking personal admiration of any kind wasn’t her style. People either accepted her for what she was—or too bad. For them. She didn’t care. She never had.

She was good at what she did. Extremely good. Numbers spoke to her. Accounting had been her thing, from the first course she’d taken in high school to her last full credit in college. She’d never encountered a set of books she couldn’t balance. A statement of changes she couldn’t reconcile.

She was efficient. Organized. A merciless perfectionist.

Some people had a problem with those qualities. Probably because they themselves were incapable of meeting standards that high. Those people tended to avoid Kim, and she was fine with that.

Which was one reason working at night appealed to her so much. She could concentrate without interruption. As an added bonus, she didn’t have to listen to the annoying chatter of others who obviously socialized with each other outside of work. Kim checked her Timex and was surprised. She hadn’t planned to stay this late.

It was past ten. She’d been lost in her analysis of outstanding payables for—what?—almost four hours. The Birth Place was out of money. Again. It was up to her to decide which suppliers they simply had to pay and which could be put off for a few more months.

It was a job many would hate. But Kim didn’t mind.

She flicked off the radio by her desk. She’d been listening to a classical station, the sound a comfort in the empty complex. Now, through her open office door, traveled a disquieting noise. Someone laughing quietly… No, crying.

Lydia and Gina had been in earlier with a delivery. But she’d heard them leave hours ago. The night janitor had already made his rounds.

Kim shivered and pulled on her gray cardigan, doing up each button, from the bottom to the very top. Grabbing the three-hole punch from her desk and holding it like a baseball bat, she went investigating. The door to the chief administrator’s office was shut tight. Since his marriage to Hope Tanner, Parker Reynolds had been taking work home rather than putting in extra hours at the center.

The sound grew louder as she stepped into the main hall. It seemed to be coming from one of the birthing rooms to her right—definitely someone crying.