Home Again

Two forty-five.

“Francis,” she whispered, lurching to her feet.

She raced to the front door and flung it open. The storm had given way to a gentle falling rain. Several cedar boughs lay tangled across her lawn. Falling leaves blew along her fence line. The driveway was empty.

“Mom?”

She spun around, her heart pumping so loudly, she could hear it in her ears, and saw Lina standing in the living room, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “Hi, honey,” she said in a shaking voice, reluctantly closing the door. “Did the TV wake you? I’m sorry.”

Lina shook her head.

For the first time Madelaine noticed how pale Lina was. She crossed the room toward her. “Baby, are you okay?”

“Don’t call me that.” Lina tightened the blanket around her body. “I had a nightmare—…. I-Is Francis here yet?”

Madelaine hid her fear behind a quick, darting smile. “No, not yet, but you know Francis….”

The phone rang.

As one, Madelaine and Lina looked at the phone, then at each other. They shared a single desperate thought: Oh, God, not a phone call in the middle of the night

Lina took a step backward, shaking her head. “Don’t answer it, Mom.”

Madelaine stood there, unable to move, her stomach tightening. The phone jangled again, and she jumped toward it, yanking up the handset in shaking hands, lifting it to her ear. “H-Hello?”

“May I speak to Madelaine Hillyard?”

She recognized the voice instantly—it was cold, impersonal authority. “This is she.”

“Ma’am, this is Officer Jim Braxton with the Oregon Highway Patrol.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Yes.” Her voice was a thin, trembling whisper.

“Do you know a Francis Xavier DeMarco?”

She drew in a sharp breath. “Yes.”

“He had your name and phone number in his wallet. You’re listed as the person to call in case of an emergency.”

A memory of last Christmas flashed through her mind—when Francis had opened the wallet she’d given him and written her name on that cheesy little piece of paper that came tucked in the credit card slot. “Yes,” was all she said. Her heart was beating so loudly, she could hardly hear.

“I’m sorry to inform you that there’s been an accident.”

She swayed and sank slowly to the couch. “Is he alive?”

“Oh, my God,” Lina said.

“He’s been taken to Claremont Hospital in Portland. I can give you that number.”

She felt a quiver of hope. “They took him to the hospital? That means he’s alive.”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “He was alive when the ambulance arrived at the scene, ma’am. That’s all I know.”

She couldn’t even say thank you. He gave her the number for the hospital, and she wrote it down in a fog. Then she punched in the number and asked for the emergency room.

Yes, they had a Francis DeMarco. Yes, he was still alive, listed in critical condition. There’d been an accident…. Was she a relative? No? Then there was no more information available. Mr. DeMarco was in surgery right now and could the doctor call her when he was finished?

Madelaine mumbled something about being right there and slammed the phone down on the receiver.