With his shirt buttoned, though hanging loose, he scooped his tie and jacket from the floor, drove a hand through his hair, and went to his own room long enough to drop his things.He needed a drink.He couldn’t thinkstraight.He had to decide whether to stay or go, what to say or do, how to handle Eugene.It wasn’t possible that his father had meant all he’d said.He was angry and upset.A man didn’t just write off his son—his vice president—that way.
Mired in confusion, he was halfway down the stairs before he felt the draft from the door.Marcy had opened it and was leaning out, looking down Mt.Vernon in the direction of Charles.The sirens were louder than ever.
John wasn’t sure what drew him to the door, whether it was a premonition, a need for diversion, or simple curiosity.But he found himself looking over Marcy’s shoulder at a jumble of blinking red lights.
“Fire?”he asked.
Marcy shook her head.It was a minute before she said, “The lights are in the middle of the street.Looks more like an accident.”
John felt odd.“Where’s Patricia?”
In the pause that followed he was convinced that Marcy knew precisely what had been going on behind her mistress’s closed doors so many afternoons and evenings.But he was past the point of caring.“Is she in the living room?”
Eyes on the blinking lights, Marcy shook her head.
“The kitchen?”
“Isn’t she with your father?”
“I don’t know.Is she?”
“I heard them talkin’, then they were gone.Maybe they’re down there stuck in that mess.”
John’s heart was pounding again, not so loudly, but heavily.“Where’s Pam?”
“At her friend Cindy’s.She’ll be home b’fore long.”
He turned back into the house and called, “Patricia?”When there was no answer, he went to the foot of the stairs.He was sure he’d have known if she’d gone back up after Eugene had left, but he had to check.“Patricia?”The only answer was another siren.
Swearing softly, he grabbed his coat from the closet and threw it on as he trotted down the stone steps outside.
The closer John got to the lights, the faster he walked.There was something too familiar about the blue of the car that was crushed between the Mack truck that had rammed it and the unyielding brick wall of the corner drugstore.
“Jesus,” he breathed as he wove through the emergency vehicles.“Jesus.”
“Hey, fella,” the police officer called, “better stay back.”
“I know them,” he managed to say.Breathing hard, he watched as the truck was hauled back from the wall.
“You know who they are?”the policeman asked, but John couldn’t take his eyes from the mess that had once been his father’s car.
“What happened?”he whispered.
“Looks like they came barreling down Mt.Vernon and either skidded into the intersection or ran a red.Who are they?”
“John!”came a breathless cry from a short distance away.He looked over to see Pam running up, her eyes wide and curious.“Cindy’s parents dropped me two blocks down so they could turn off before they hit this.What happened?”She leaned sideways, then stood onher tiptoes in an attempt to see past the police cars and ambulances.
Swallowing hard, John put an arm around her shoulder.It was the first time he had ever touched her in what could have been called a protective way.Turning her away, he began to lead her quickly up the hill.
“Hey, bud,” the policeman called, “we need an ID.”
John ignored him.He held Pam’s shoulder, squeezing tightly each time she tried to look back.He wasn’t sure why he was protecting her; she had to know sooner or later.But later seemed better, when things were cleaned up and he knew who was hurt and how badly.
She tried to look back again, but he forced her forward.He didn’t have to look back to see the crush of that car against the wall; it was a vivid picture etched in his mind.If he could save Pam that, it would go a long way toward easing his guilt.
“What happened there?”she asked, suddenly more frightened than curious.
“An accident.You don’t want to see.I’ll take you up to the house, then go back.I’ll tell you about it later.”