AllFreeNovel
Share Us
And Tess had always believed.
The yellow light on the wall above her head blipped on and off. It was the beeper system the hospital had devised to reach Tess and other hearing-impaired employees anywhere in the building.
Excitement brought her head up. Her heartbeat accelerated. Unable to keep a grin off her face, she hurried back to her office.
Dr. Weinstein was already there, holding a manila folder of test results.
She skidded to a halt. Her heart and hopes and prayers were in her eyes as she looked up at him. Her breath caught as she waited for the results.
He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.
Her knees went weak with disappointment. She sank unsteadily into the tufted vinyl chair behind her desk.
Dr. Weinstein squeezed her shoulder and tossed the file on the desk. She cast him a weary sideways glance and forced a smile. "Maybe next time," she said quietly, thankful for once that she couldn't hear her own voice. She was sick and tired of saying the same thing. Over and over and over.
8
Tess shoved the papers in her briefcase and followed Dr. Weinstein out of her office. She needed to walk, be alone for a while. Regroup.
Shrugging into her Eddie Bauer raincoat, she hurried down the stairs and went outside. The cold dampness of a late Seattle afternoon hit her full in the face. Rain pattered the thick Gortex of her hood; she felt each drop as a vibration of remembered sound.
She turned her face skyward. Cool water splattered her cheeks and nose and closed eyelids. The icy feel of it refreshed her, reminded her with unexpected force that she was alive. With life there was always hope, and with hope, anything was possible.
Tightening her grip on the briefcase, she started down the hill toward the bus stop, moving cautiously down the rain-slicked sidewalk. Beside her, buses and cars and taxis zipped through the gray drizzle. She could feel the vibrations of the moving vehicles as a gentle humming beneath her feet. The cherished sound-memories of honking horns and blaring sirens echoed through her fertile imagination, reminding her of the days, long ago and before spinal meningitis, when the ordinary noises of life had not been withheld from her.
She was just about to step in a tire-sized mud puddle when she caught herself. She wrenched sideways at the last minute and lurched toward the curb.
After that, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. A messenger-service bicycle slammed into her back and sent her careening into the street. She stumbled on the slick pavement and skidded out of control. Her briefcase flew out of her hand and sailed through the air. It hit the pavement hard and snapped open. Papers scattered and stuck to the bumpy asphalt. Rain riveted them in place.
The acrid stench of burning rubber filled the air. She froze. Heart hammering in her chest, she spun around and
9
saw the bus heading right for her. A scream locked in her throat and issued past her lips as a low, terrified moan. She didn't even have time to pray.
Tess drifted gently on a tide of warm water, wrapped in layers of smooth black velvet. The world around her was soothingly dark. She washed closer and closer to the shore, and knew she should reach out and grab hold, but she was tired. So tired . ..
"Tess, wake up, honey. I've got a schedule to meet." A woman's harsh, gravelly voice pierced the blackness.
Tess edged reluctantly toward consciousness. Her eyelids fluttered, tried futilely to open.
"I think she's awake," came a man's deep, rich voice.
"Really?" The woman's voice again. "Tess? Are you awake?"
She could hear! Tess snap
ped to a sit and glanced wildly around.
There was nothing to see. Nothing?and no one? except a seemingly endless expanse of star-studded night sky. Tiny, eye-splittingly bright lights vibrated and blinked like the Milky Way.
She started to panic. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest, turning every breath into a burning spurt of fire.
Calm down, Tess. Get a grip.
Cautiously she eased back and found that she was sitting in one of those Art Linkletter chairs. She drew a deep, shaking breath and let it out slowly. Her white-knuckled fingers eased their clawlike grip off the cushy armrests. An easy chair. What was so weird about that?
Nothing, she told herself. Nothing at all.
