Danielle Steel - Accident

Page was still crying when the man in jeans and a plaid shirt walked up to them. He had on a plastic tag from the newsroom, running shoes, and he was carrying both a small cassette recorder and a notebook.

“Mrs. Clarke?” he asked very directly, and stood very close to her, watching her reactions.

“Yes?” She was so dazed she didn't realize who he was, and for an instant, she thought he might be a doctor. She looked up at him with a terrified air, as Trygve watched him with suspicion.

“How's Allyson doing?” he asked, sounding as though he knew her. He had gotten her name from the nurse.

“I don't know … I thought you would know …” But Trygve was shaking his head, and then she noticed the man's badge with his photograph, name, and network. “What do you want from me?” She looked confused and frightened by the intrusion.

“I just wanted to know how you are …how Allie is …did she know Phillip Chapman very well? What kind of kid was he? Was he a wild guy? Or do you think …” He pressed as hard as he could until Trygve cut him off abruptly.

“I don't think this is the time …” Trygve took a step closer to him, and the young reporter looked unaffected.

“Did you know that Senator Hutchinson's wife was the other driver? Not a scratch on her,” he said provocatively. “How does that make you feel, Mrs. Clarke? You must be pretty angry.” Page's eyes grew wide as she listened to him, unable to believe what she was hearing. What was this man trying to do to her? Make her crazy? What difference did it make who the other driver was? Was he nuts as well as insensitive? She looked up at Trygve helplessly, and saw that he was furious at the reporter's questions. “Do you think the young people in the car might have been drinking, Mrs. Clarke? Was Phillip Chapman her steady boyfriend?”

“What are you doing here?” She stood up, and stared him in the eye with a look of outrage. “My daughter may be dying, and it's none of your business how well she knew that boy, or who the other driver was, or how I feel about it.” She was sobbing so hard, she could hardly get the words out. “Leave us alone!” She sat down and dropped her face into her hands, as Trygve moved between her and the reporter.

“I want you to leave us alone now.” He was as immovable as a wall between Page and the young man from the newsroom. “Get out of here. You have no right to do this.” He growled at him, wanting to sound ominous, but like Page, his voice was shaking.

“I have every right. The public has a right to know about this kind of thing. What if they weren't drinking? What if the Senator's wife was?”

“What's the point of this?” Trygve said angrily. What were these people doing there? This had nothing to do with the public, or anyone caring about the truth, or their rights. It had to do with prying, and bad taste, and hurting people who were already deeply wounded.

“Did you ask for an alcohol check on the Senator's wife?” His eyes fought his way back to Page, and she stared dumbly up at both men. It was all too much for her at this point. All she could think about was Allie.

“I'm sure the police did everything they were supposed to, why are you doing this? Why are you making trouble here? Can't you understand what you're doing?” Page asked him miserably. He seemed to be refusing to leave them.

“I am seeking the truth. That's all. I hope your daughter will be okay,” he said without emotion, and then sauntered off to talk to someone else. He and his cameraman were in the waiting room for another hour, but they didn't bother Page again. But Trygve was still outraged by the man's attitude and his daring to pursue Page at a moment like this one. And he resented the inflammatory, sleazy style and implications that were designed to enrage them. It was utterly disgusting.

They were both shaken after the reporter walked away, and at first they didn't even notice a redheaded boy approach them half an hour later. Page had never seen him before, but he looked vaguely familiar to Trygve.

“Mr. Thorensen?” he asked nervously. He was very pale, and looked a little dazed, but he looked directly at Chloe's father as he stood before him.

“Yes?” Trygve looked at him without any warmth or recognition. It was the wrong night for people to come up and chat with him. All he wanted to do was wait for Chloe to come out of her surgery, and pray that her life wouldn't be ruined forever. “What is it?”

“I'm Jamie Applegate, sir. I was with Chloe in … in the accident …” His lip trembled as he said the words, and Trygve looked up at him in horror.

“Who are you?” He stood to meet him then, and the boy looked sick as he faced him. He had a mild concussion and had had a few stitches over the eyebrow, but other than that he was untouched by the horror that had changed the other three lives forever.

“I'm a friend of Chloe's, sir. I …we …took her out to dinner.”

“Were you drunk?” Trygve fired at him without mercy or hesitation, but Jamie shook his head. They had just done a blood test on him to prove that. And he had passed it very respectably, as had Phillip.

“No, sir. We weren't. We went to dinner, at Luigi's in Marin. I had one glass of wine, but I wasn't driving, and Phillip had less than that, maybe half a glass, if that, and then we went to have cappuccino on Union Street, and came home.”

“You're all under age, son.” Trygve said quietly, but he made his point. “None of you should have been drinking. Not even half a glass of wine.” Jamie knew he was right, as he went on to explain what had happened. “I know. You're right, sir. But no one was drunk. I just don't know what happened. I never saw it. We were in the backseat, talking …and the next thing I knew, I was here. I don't remember what happened, except that the highway patrol said someone hit us, or we hit them. I just don't know. But Phillip was a good driver … he made us all wear our seat belts and he was totally sober.” He started to cry as he said it. His friend was dead and he had lived through it.

“Do you think it was the other driver's fault?” Trygve asked him calmly. He was touched by what the boy had said, and Jamie was obviously very badly shaken.

“I don't know … I don't know anything, except that …Chloe and Allyson …and Phillip …” He began to sob, thinking of his friends, and without hesitation Trygve put his arms around him. “I'm so sorry …I'm so sorry …”

“So are we …it's all right, son …it's all right …you were a lucky boy tonight …that's fate …”It chooses one, it crushes a life, then darts away. It strikes like lightning.

“But it's not fair …why did I walk away from it, and they …”

“Sometimes it just happens like that. You have to be very grateful.” But all Jamie Applegate felt was guilt. He didn't want Phillip to be dead …or Chloe and Allyson to be so badly hurt …why did he only have a little bump on his head? Why couldn't it have been him behind the wheel instead of Phillip?

“Is someone taking you home?” Trygve asked him gently, unable to be angry at him, in the face of what had happened.

“My father'll be here in a minute. But I saw you sitting here, and I just wanted to say … to tell you …” He glanced from Trygve to Page, and started crying again.

“We know.” Page reached up and squeezed his hand, and he bent to hug her, and she found herself sobbing as she embraced him. His father finally came for him, and there was anger, and tears, and reproaches. Jamie's father, Bill Apple-gate, was understandably upset by what had happened, but also relieved that Jamie had survived it. He had cried when they told him Phillip Chapman had died, but he was also deeply grateful that his own child hadn't. He was a respected man in the community, and Trygve had met him a few times at school events and sports games.