The Warning Read Free

subscribes to it; all the bank’s managers receive a copy.”
    â€œBad news?”
    â€œNo, as a matter of fact it was all good.” Too good. That had been his reaction. Buddy recalled it clearly. Strange how he could have forgotten that until now. But that had been his reaction the instant he had read the headlines.
    Inflation was back under control, the statement had read. Interest rates were on the way back down. Employment figures were stable, factory orders in good shape, consumer confidence sound, housing starts up for the third month running. It looked to be a banner autumn for the stock market and a great final quarter to the year.
    But Buddy’s response had been entirely different. The paper had seemed alive in his hands. And despite the rosy forecast, he had felt a rising sense of dread. It had seemed as though barriers separating him from the future were being rolled back, until before him lay only bleakness and sorrow.
    He looked up to find Jasmine Hopper watching him closely. This was one of the qualities that endeared Jasmine to her charges and made them friends as well as patients. She would stand and wait with them, working not just to treat the ailment but also to find the cause. “Something bad?”
    â€œNo. Well, yes. But not . . .” He stopped. There was no way he could put into words what he had felt that day.
    Her eyes narrowed at his inability to continue. “Buddy, I could give you a prescription that will help you sleep. But I don’t think that’s what you want.”
    â€œNo,” he agreed, definite on that point.
    â€œDo you have a psychiatrist you could speak to? I could suggest one if you like.”
    His mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he could manage, “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
    â€œWhat about one of our pastors? Somebody you can trust with your darkest secrets?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSomething is trying to work its way out. That’s my guess. Talking to a trusted professional is perhaps what you need to put all this behind you.”
    â€œI’ll think about it.”
    â€œI want you to do more than think. I want you to act.” She moved for the door. “And if the chest pains grow any worse or start appearing at other times, I want you to call me immediately.”
    â€œAll right.”
    â€œFor that matter, make an appointment to see me next week, regardless.” She nodded and gave a brisk smile. “Remember me to Molly.”

–| | THREE | |–
    When Buddy arrived home that evening, his older boy, Paul, was sitting at the kitchen table. Somehow his father’s height and strength had managed to skip a generation, bounding straight over Buddy’s head and landing in his son. Nobody had any idea where his son had obtained his blond looks, however. Paul looked like a giant Swede—hair almost white, skin reddened by twenty minutes in spring sunshine, eyes the color of an early morning sky.
    Jack, his second boy, was stamped from Buddy’s mold. He had the same small build, the same intent air, the same dark hair and eyes. Jack was a lawyer with one of the local firms, a member of the town council, and a quiet bastion of their community.
    Paul was as gentle as he was big. Both Buddy’s boys were. Their gentleness had been a source of great concern to Buddy when the boys had been younger. Buddy had pushed them as hard as he could manage, trying to instill in them a need to excel and to do the most with what they had.
    â€œHello, Son.”
    â€œWhat did the doctor say, Pop?”
    â€œClean bill of health.” But Buddy’s eyes were not on Paul. They were on his wife. The scar that began just below her left ear and spilled down her chin and disappeared into her high collar was red as a beet. This was a signal of strong emotion. Anger, happiness, sadness, distress, joy—it did not matter. Whatever Molly felt, if she felt it strongly,