A Wrongful Death Read Free Page A

it a spin. "I'll end up hurting him. It wouldn't work. Why can't he see that?" She returned to her chair.
    "Perhaps he is looking at something you don't see."
    "An ideal. He's looking at an ideal, and I'm looking at myself, the person I know I am."
    "I asked you what you're afraid of. Have you arrived at an answer?"
    Barbara nodded. "I'm afraid I'll hurt him desperately. I'm afraid it would come to that eventually."
    Dr. Sanger said gently, "I think you can come up with a better answer than that. But consider this, Barbara. Consider if there are ever two people who are truly equal. Aren't there always daily accommodations that must be made by real people? If they become too unbalanced, tension rises, perhaps an irreconcilable difference, but how can one know in advance if such will be the case? And what may be seen by one as a major hurdle, to the other may appear to be almost insignificant. Again, accommodations are made. Or not."
    "You aren't going to give me any advice at all, are you?"
    "No, Barbara. Only you can decide your own fate. You won't be coming again, will you?"
    Barbara shook her head. "I have to think about my own fate, make a few decisions. Thank you, Dr. Sanger." She stood up and put on her coat, walked to the door, where she was stopped by the psychologist's voice.
    "Barbara, if ever I find myself in a terrible situation, accused of criminal activity, I'd want you to defend me."
    Barbara turned around and regarded the other woman, then said, "Will you answer a question for me?"
    Dr. Sanger nodded.
    "Have you ever considered quitting, leaving it all and just quitting?"
    For a moment Dr. Sanger didn't move, then she nodded again. "More than once," she said.
    "Thank you," Barbara said in a near whisper and walked out.
    She walked until city lights came on. Cars rushed by, a fire truck screamed through an intersection in front of her, boys on skateboards zoomed past, other pedestrians clustered at corners and she paid little or no attention to any of it. One hand held her purse strap, the other was in her pocket clutching the e-mail from Darren. She felt stupid for carrying it around, especially since the words had become imbedded in her brain, but she carried it in her pocket where she could feel it.
    When her thighs began to burn, she knew it was time to stop walking, to get something to eat and then return to her studio apartment. She would make notes of today's conversation with Dr. Sanger, exactly the way she always did after talking with a client or a witness. After that, she had to start from the beginning of her notes and give some thought to what she had said, what the doctor had said on various visits. But not in the city, she thought then. There was no need to remain in San Francisco. Someplace on the coast where she could watch a storm blow ashore and have peace and quiet enough to think through everything she and Dr. Sanger had discussed. And make a final decision about practicing law, and about Darren Halvord. Especially about Darren.
    For weeks Joseph Kurtz had hovered between life and death, in a state neither one nor the other, in a deep coma following a stroke that occurred twenty-four hours after his surgery. That morning he had slipped into death.
    Sarah Kurtz and her brother Lawrence Diedricks were in the living room of her condo and she half listened as Lawrence and her personal assistant Lon Clampton discussed arrangements for the next few days. The jet would be ready to leave in the morning, Clampton had said, whenever the family got there. He had arranged for removal of the body to the plane. The funeral would take place on Saturday, with only the family present, and a memorial service on the following Tuesday. Sarah's jaw was clenched with frustration and rage, and to her surprise even grief. They had been married for forty-three years, after all.
    The voices droned on until she felt she might scream. Finally she broke in, "Clampton, what about that woman in Austin? Do they know