LITMIR.BIZ

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the duffle bag he used for racquetball from the foyer closet. Just the right size for a couple days’ worth of necessities. He dumped the racquet, hermetically sealed canisters of balls, and other paraphernalia onto the floor of the closet, knowing he’d pay a price if Karin found the pile before he had a chance to put them where they really belonged.

      What were the odds she’d ever set foot in the house again? If she healed up, she was gone, apparently. If she didn’t . . .

      Low on logic, he stuffed a few clothing items and toiletries into the duffle without calculating their true usefulness, remembering his shaving kit at the last moment. On those rare occasions when he chose not to shave, Karin called him McScruffy. Shaving? Absolute necessity.

      He unhooked and slipped his laptop and power cord into his wheeled laptop case. Then he began the search—admittedly halfhearted—for the kinds of things Karin might appreciate if she woke up. When.

      He caught a whiff of something. Himself. He needed that shower. Leaving the half-packed bags on the floor near the door of their bedroom, he fought through the cloud of chaotic thoughts to the master bath. Any other day, a shower was a five-minute blip on the radar screen of his schedule. Today it was an Everest climb.

      As the force of the water scraped off the top layer of his skin, he leaned into its scalding power. Eyes closed, palms braced against the smooth tile, he wept for the horror his life had become. And for his well-practiced stupidity. How had he not seen it coming?

      The accident, no one could predict. But Karin’s leaving him? What clues had he missed? He taught seminars on how to watch for clues.

      Even his ability to process a thought slipped away, circled the drain, then plunged out of sight. He turned off the water, grabbed a towel from the rack, and buried his face in it. Josiah rubbed hard but couldn’t erase the picture of Karin’s broken body on the sterile hospital bed. Or the imaginary picture of a sweet-talk-spitting Wade bent over her, kissing lips that were now bloated and purple. Leah and Wade had been to their house for cookouts, the holidays. The four of them had considered vacationing together sometime. Josiah had almost agreed to it. Something about Leah got on his nerves.

      Ironic. It’s Wade he should have been worried about.

      Josiah’s natural instinct for revenge had nowhere to go. Wade hadn’t made it through the accident. And Karin had come within a hair’s breadth of that. It’s where she still hovered—a thin hair away from not being here anymore.

      The towel now tucked around his hips, he leaned on the sink and reached for his hair gel. Fog on the bathroom mirror reminded him he needed to take a look at the vent fan one of these days. The list of his neglects accordion-folded at his feet.

      Clean clothes felt and smelled bracing and fortified his courage. Self-pity smelled rank. For the moment, he chose courage and determination. They’d get through this. Ironing out the wrinkles—however permanent they seemed—could come later. Sounded like logic for once.

      Healing topped the list of priorities.

      What an idiot he was! Karin begged him to let her opt for the Cadillac version of health care when they changed insurance providers. All Josiah could think about at the time was preferring a sky-high deductible rather than a hefty premium every month when they were obviously two strong, healthy adults with no major medical issues. And no children.

      He won that battle. Lost the war.

      He’d have to dig out their policy. Even if it contained a catastrophic need provision, it wouldn’t pay off the mortgage.

      The bed felt anything but welcoming when he sat on its edge to put on his socks and shoes. Tired as he was, he couldn’t imagine lying there. Alone. Ever.

      Do something. He had to do something. He’d call the Wilson kid. Todd. No, Tad. Twenty dollars a day. That seemed fair. If they didn’t need Tad for long. Josiah didn’t intend to foot the bill for the boy’s college expenses. A few days. Maximum. By then Karin would be home, recuperating, apologetic, and eager to start their new life together. Sure, it would add to Josiah’s stress level to haul ibuprofen and hot packs to Karin, care for the dog, and keep up with his writing deadlines. But it would be a good test of his theories on caregiving.

      Who was he kidding? He pressed three fingers to each temple. She walked away from their marriage. She was never coming home.

       Can I go home now? Take me home! How can you

       not hear me screaming?

      Josiah’s duffle had filled quickly with amenities he might need at the hospital. He’d traveled enough to have the list of essentials memorized. He rechecked the bag. Toothbrush and toothpaste. Hair gel. Disposable razor—smarter and lighter than his whole shaving kit, which he opted to leave at home. Deodorant. A change of clothes. Cell phone charger. Laptop. Earbuds.

      He stood in the vacant bedroom, scanning for what he might have missed. Karin. He’d missed Karin. Somehow he’d missed signals that her irritation with him had slid into something far more dangerous. But none of that computed with the woman who’d been at his side for twelve years. Nobody would believe Karin Chamberlain would betray a telemarketer, much less her husband. She was the faithful, loving, uncomplaining, understanding wife other husbands envied.

      And there it was.

      Wade. The wife Wade not only envied but found a way to lure away from where she belonged.

      Before Josiah’s career took off, they’d golfed together a few times. Played on the same summer softball league. Wade was a decent pitcher. Not stellar, but decent. They’d worked together on a community project or two. Years ago. Before the worldwide community started clamoring for more of Josiah’s time.

      Josiah majored in confidence. On the surface. Wade had always seemed content.

      Someday he’d have to sit down and think about why that would be an issue that nagged at Josiah when they were together. Right now, he needed to get the neighbor kid on the phone and Sandi back in the house.

      And get that mental picture out of his mind—his wife and Wade intertwined.

      The phone rang before he could find Tad’s number on his contacts list.

      “Mr. Chamberlain? This is Deputy Tuttle again. We spoke last night.”

      “Yes. I hoped we’d get a chance to talk. I have some questions for you.”

      “The accident is still under investigation. But I’ll share the few details I know. Can you come to the sheriff’s office during business hours tomorrow?”

      Heat crept up the back of his neck. “My wife’s still hospitalized, so I need to be with her.”

      “Oh. I’m grateful.”

       Grateful?

      “I don’t think any of us expected her to survive.”

      The heat turned instantly freezer-burn cold.

      “Well, she did. So far.” What do you say to someone who’s surprised your wife is alive?

      “If you’d prefer, I can meet you at the hospital to answer some of your questions tomorrow. Right now I need to let you know where your wife’s car has been taken. We’ve finished that aspect of the investigation. It’s routine to investigate even single-vehicle accidents with fatalities. I don’t think there’s any question that the car’s totaled. You’ve called your insurance company, I assume.”

      Josiah bit the inside of his lower lip.

      “Mr. Chamberlain?”

      “No. I haven’t taken care of that yet.”

      “You can give your agent my number for the report he’ll need.”

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