AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Try to get to the shore,” she managed.
“Where?”
If she only knew. Frantically she looked around. Blackness everywhere. Only inky, cold, terrifying blackness. They could be in the middle of the creek or close to one bank. Who knew? But they couldn’t stay in the freezing water. They’d both die from hypothermia.
Which way?
“M-m-mom, I’m so cold.”
“Hang on, Stephen.” How long had they been in the water? “Philip!” she cried and strained to hear. Far away there were voices. “Listen!”
She looked up and saw a bobbing light. The freezing water whirled and danced madly around her.
“Hey!” a male voice boomed. “Anyone there?”
“Help! Oh, God, help us!”
“Hang on, we’re comin’,” the voice assured her, and she clung to Stephen and the car, trying to stay conscious, praying that her husband and daughter were safe.
She didn’t remember the rescue. It had taken over an hour, and both she and Stephen, suffering from hypothermia, had passed out. She awoke in a hospital in Portland to the news that she and both children had survived, but Philip, as a result of his efforts to save Christina, had died on the way to the hospital. No attempts at reviving him had been effective.
Tiffany was barely out of the hospital, hardly able to function from grief and despair, when she had to arrange a funeral. All of Philip’s family was at the long, mind-numbing service. She was a widow. Alone with her children.
J.D. sat between his parents and sister-in-law, not so much as touching her or offering any sign of condolence during the funeral. White-faced, drawn and tense, he’d partially shielded Tiffany from the rest of the family.
But it hadn’t worked. Philip’s father, Carlo, had been grim and forbidding, his black eyes boring into Tiffany throughout the eulogy. Frances, seated at her husband’s side, wouldn’t even look in Tiffany’s direction, but shunned her and pretended that her daughter-in-law didn’t exist.
Philip’s ex-wife, Karen, a short blond woman with huge blue eyes, clung to her ex-mother-in-law and sobbed loudly, blowing her nose and sliding furtive glances at the woman who had, eventually, replaced her in her ex-husband’s heart. She wailed loudly, while her children, Robert and Thea, were stoic and grim. Philip’s older children were both in college, both acting as if they’d rather be anywhere in the world but at the funeral home, both seeming more bored than grief-stricken.
Throughout the service Tiffany held on to both of her children. Christina sat on her lap, and Stephen, pale and wan, was beside
her in the pew.
Even without the harsh glares cast in her direction or the cold shoulders meant to shut her away from the rest of the family, Tiffany didn’t have to be told that the entire Santini clan blamed her for Philip’s death. She’d been the one who’d insisted upon going skiing that day. Philip had only indulged her. And she’d been behind the wheel at the time of the accident
There had been a gathering of family and friends at the Santini winery in McMinnville after the funeral and grave-site service. Tiffany had never felt so alone in her life. Everyone was coldly polite, and the hours went by at an excruciatingly slow pace. She just wanted to be alone, to hide and lick her wounds, to mourn her husband and plan her future, her children’s futures.
The words of sympathy echoed in her heart
“Sorry about your loss.”
“A tragedy. Such a tragedy.”
“I don’t know what Carlo will do without him. And Frances... My, how this has aged her.”
“Good luck to you and the children.”
But after a few kind words—a courtesy to the Santini family—the mourners let her be, each finding his or her small group at the gathering, each whispering and talking about the accident, sending her looks that bordered on pity but oftentimes were tinged with hate.
She’d put on a brave face for nearly two hours, sipping too much wine and fighting back tears of desperation, when a voice behind her said, “Let’s get out of here. I think you’ve done your time for today.”
She whirled to find J.D. with her coat and the kids’ jackets. Somehow she managed a thin smile and shook her head. “Thanks, but I have my own car.”
“I know.” Carefully, he removed an empty wineglass from her hand. “I think I should drive.” For once he seemed sincere. Almost kind. “This has been a rough day.”
“Amen,” she agreed, and didn’t bother to argue. She gathered up Christina and Stephen and handed J.D. the car keys. On the ride home, she closed her eyes, grateful for someone’s thoughtfulness—even her irreverent brother-in-law’s.
At the home she’d shared with Philip in northwest Portland, she managed to get the kids into bed before she felt herself coming undone. “I don’t know how to thank you,” she said as J.D. lingered in the kitchen.
