Since You've Been Gone Read Free Page B

repeated.
    â€œSure, Doc,” the young man said and nearly fled from the room.
    The doctor turned back to Rebecca. “Alvin’s one of ourbest orderlies, but his mind seems to be wandering tonight. Now, how did this wreck happen?”
    Rebecca couldn’t imagine saying, “I had a vision and I could only hear and see through the consciousness of a little boy who’s probably been kidnapped.” Instead she improvised. “There was a terrible flash of lightning right in front of me. It startled me and I must have slammed my foot on the brake and then …”
    â€œHydroplaned right into Peter Dormaine’s hundred-year-old oak tree.”
    â€œPeter Dormaine?”
    â€œYes. You wrecked at Dormaine’s Restaurant.” He frowned. “Didn’t you even know where you were?”
    â€œOh sure,” she said quickly. “I forgot for a second. I was pretty shaken up.”
    â€œNo wonder. If you hadn’t been wearing your seat belt, you would have been a mess, young lady.” He paused. “You don’t recognize me, do you? It’s Clayton Bellamy.”
    Clay Bellamy? Her stepbrother Doug’s friend who had sent her teenage heart racing and inspired a hundred ridiculously romantic fantasies?
    Rebecca closed her eyes against the strong lights shining down on her. Her head hurt and she felt as if everything inside her was quivering. The rest of her body was remarkably free of pain, but she knew a dozen aches would kick into gear soon. “Hi, Clay,” she managed weakly.
    She looked at him again. His gray-blue eyes still had a slight downward tilt of the outer lids, and he still wore his thick golden blond hair a bit longer than most men’s. His even white teeth were wreathed by deep dimples. It could have been a pretty-boy face, with its near-perfect features, but his eyes held a trace of sadness and his face more lines than one would expect of a man barely over thirty. The whiskey-edged voice also added a few years. Clay had aged well, but he was definitely a man now, not the striking boy he’d still been at their last meeting when he was 22 and she 17.
    â€œHow did you end up as my doctor?” Rebecca asked.
    â€œI have my pick of the patients.” Clay smiled. “It’s good to see you, even under these circumstances, Stargazer.”
    Rebecca had forgotten the nickname Clay had given her when she was eleven because of her fascination with astronomy. She had never been certain whether or not he was making fun of her.
    â€œGood to see you, too,” she said weakly.
    â€œYou’re in remarkably good condition given the seriousness of your wreck. We tried to call your family, but got a busy signal.”
    â€œYou know my stepfather is a workaholic. I think he makes calls until midnight. Besides, they didn’t even know I was coming. Molly does, though. You remember my cousin Molly?”
    â€œSure. First cousins and best friends. She was always at your house when I dropped by with Doug. We’ll call her in a minute. First I have a couple of questions. Who wrote
Moby-Dick?
”
    â€œAre you kidding?” Clay shook his head. “Herman Melville.”
    â€œGood. When did William Faulkner get the Pulitzer prize for literature?”
    â€œYou’re being very strange.” Rebecca scrunched up her forehead in deep thought, then announced, “It was the Nobel Prize in 1949.”
    â€œNothing wrong with this noggin!” Clay crowed.
    â€œYou were testing me?”
    â€œHave to make sure there’s no memory loss.”
    â€œAs if he’d know when Faulkner won his prize,” the nurse joked.
    â€œShe sounded sure of herself and I do know who wrote
Moby-Dick.
” Clay stood up and took Rebecca’s hand as if they’d seen each other only yesterday. “You’re as pretty as ever in spite of those cuts on your face.”
    He possessed the same easy charm, the tendency to