Second Time Around (40 page)

The gun went off.

SIXTEEN

But you, O L
ORD
, be not far off;
O my strength, come quickly to help me.

Psalm 22:19

Present-Day Kansas City

Mac woke up smiling. And why not? He was engaged to an amazing woman, the world knew about their relationship so there was no need to hide, and tomorrow was the day the Time Lottery winners would be coming home.

Or not.

Either way was fine. Either way was good. Either way the winners had gained more knowledge and more insight into their life and their purpose. Knowing a little more about the “Why am I here?” question was a plus in anyone’s life.

Mac glanced at the clock. He didn’t have to wake Andrew for a half hour, so he reached for the remote and bathed the room in the bluish light of the television. Might as well see what had happened in the world during the night.

A reporter stood in front of a house, but police could be seen going in and out of the door behind her. “…Lane Holloway’s home, which was the site of a shooting last night.”

Mac sprang to a sitting position, upping the volume. “Toby Bjornson, a high-school boyfriend of Time Lottery winner and movie star Lane Holloway, was the object of recent reports and interviews concerning their relationship. Bjornson was shot last night in the presence of Ms. Holloway’s personal assistant, Brandy Lopez. Ms. Lopez was not hurt, and Mr. Bjornson was taken to the hospital. His condition is not known at this time. Police are calling the incident accidental, though there are still questions about what Bjornson and Lopez were doing in Ms. Holloway’s Malibu home. As a winner of the Time Lottery, Lane Holloway is due back tomorrow from her adventure into her Alternity. Ms. Holloway returned to 1987 under the auspices of renewing her relationship with Mr. Bjornson…”

Mac hit the MUTE button and pulled the phone into his lap. As he was doing so, it rang. “Hello?”

He was glad to hear Cheryl’s voice and not Wriggens’s. “Mac! Did you see it? Did you hear?”

“I heard.”

“Do you think it was a suicide attempt?”

He let out a breath. “I never thought of that.”

“You should. Public humiliation does wonders for undermining self-esteem. Especially when it’s fragile to begin with.”

Mac saw his bedroom door move. Andrew appeared in the gap. He motioned him to the bed. “I should call the hospital, but they didn’t say which one.” He pulled aside the covers, giving Andrew access. The little boy snuggled into a pillow.

“Let me see what I can do. Surely my hospital has connections. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

Mac stroked his son’s rumpled hair. “Thanks, luv.”

“Anytime. I’m surprised Wriggens hasn’t called.”

“He doesn’t get up this early.”

“Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t
you
wake
him
up for once?”

It was tempting. But then Andrew pulled on his arm. “Daddy, I’m hungry.”

Fatherhood called. The rest could wait.

Malibu

Brandy leaned her head against her husband’s cheek, though the armchairs in the hospital waiting room prevented the close contact she craved. It was six a.m. but she hadn’t slept. Between calling 911, pressing a towel to Toby’s side… police… questioning… Sometime in there she’d called Randy. They’d come to the hospital together to wait for news about Toby. The check-in attendant had asked Brandy for information about the patient, assuming they were close, but Brandy hadn’t even been able to give an address. And was there family? A wife?

No, not a wife. Toby wouldn’t have been on those talk shows proclaiming his love for Lane if there’d been a wife. Though even that was uncertain. Kids? She hoped they were taken care of someplace. She’d never felt so helpless.

And so at fault. If she hadn’t tried to help Toby to the couch, she wouldn’t have spooked him, he wouldn’t have pushed her… She’d had trouble telling the police exactly what had happened. The few seconds that had transpired from point A to point B were a blur. Only the sound of the gunshot was clear. And Toby’s scream. And the blood.

She looked at her jeans and spread a hand across her thigh, trying to cover the stain. If only it were so easy.

Toby had come out of surgery okay. The doctor had told them that much. He’d be in recovery awhile. They could go home. But Brandy wanted to see him, really see him. She wanted to tell him how sorry she was. She didn’t want him to be in a hospital room hurting, scared, and alone.

Nobody deserved to be alone at a time like this—though with her four kids, Brandy wouldn’t have minded a bit more solo time. Yet such time
would
come. Soon enough or too soon? Either way, she was well aware that the chaos of motherhood was temporary and should be cherished.

Yeah, right.

She glanced at her watch. Six-thirty. She’d left thirteen-year-old Marianne in charge of things and was totally confident in her sibling-sitting abilities. But today was show-and-tell for Emmanuel, and the twins were out of lunch money, and—

Brandy pulled away from the comfort of Randy’s arm. He startled awake. “What?”

Oops. She’d kept him here when he should have been home sleeping. He had to go to work today.

Enough. She stood and pulled him up with her. “Go home. The kids need you.”

He tucked his shirt in the back of his pants while checking his watch. “Did the doctor come out again?”

“No. So I’ll stay. I’ve come this far.”

“But you need sleep, too.”

“I’ll sleep later. I have to talk to Toby. For him and for Laney. She’ll have enough to deal with later. I need to know firsthand how he is.”

“But your car’s at her house… How will you get home?”

“I’ll take a cab. Bus.” She pushed him toward the door. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll find my way home. I always do.”

Toby heard snoring.

He opened his eyes and saw a woman slumped in a chair close by. He blinked a few times to focus. It was Brandy.

Then he remembered the gun. The shot. The pain.

He moaned as the memory of the pain proved to be more than memory.

In one motion, Brandy opened her eyes and sat upright. “Toby!” She rushed to his bedside and touched his arm.

He didn’t know what to ask first: Why was she here? How was
he
doing? What happened? or—

“The bullet hit a kidney. You had surgery,” she said. “The doctor doesn’t know how you ever managed to shoot yourself at that angle, and even the police had a hard time understanding how it happened, but—”

“The police?”

“Shootings attract police, Tobe.”

“Am I going to be arrested?”

She hesitated. “When I talked to them I tried to downplay what happened, but you
did
hold me at gunpoint.”

“Only when you scared me by coming out of the house.”

“To find you sleeping on Lane’s deck. All bloody and beat up.”

“Because she humiliated me in front of the entire country.”

Her hand found her hip. “And how did
she
do that? She wasn’t even here.”

His mind was too fuzzy for this conversation. He closed his eyes and let a moan escape. What had started as a ploy had turned into reality. He wasn’t sure what hurt worse, the gunshot surgery or the beating.

“Oh, Tobe. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have argued with you. The truth is, I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“I just wanted to see her one more time. Talk to her.”

“Me, too. And tomorrow’s the day she might come back.”

Whatever. What did it matter? Everything was ruined. “I’m tired.”

She touched his shoulder. “I’ll leave you alone then.” She hooked her purse on her shoulder. “I’ll try to come back tomorrow.”

“No.” He sounded more certain than he felt.

“But—”

“No. It’s over and done, Brandy. Let it die.”

With a nod, she left. He was sorry to see her go.

His fifteen minutes of fame was over. Fade to black. Cut.

Santa Monica

Brandy was wiped out. She was glad the kids were at school, and even glad Randy was at work. It made the house quiet for sleeping—though the boxes of Trix and Captain Crunch on the counter, and the coloring books and crayons spread over the table, were proof that in spite of shootings and Time Lotteries, life went on.

Her purse hit the kitchen counter, and her shoes were off by the time she crossed the threshold of the master bedroom. She had her top pulled over her head before she reached the dresser. The pants came next, then the nightshirt went over her head. Door to bed in twenty seconds, tops.

Speaking of bed, she noticed Randy had pulled down the covers on her side. What a sweet—

There was something on her pillow. It was a single sheet of paper with a sticky-note on it. The note said,

Go. Be there for Lane. The Time Lottery people know you’re coming
—
I called them. I love you through
all
time, Randy

She peeled the note away and saw that the paper was a computer printout of an e-ticket to Kansas City, including hotel reservations for two nights. She knew what a financial stretch this was for them, and yet…

She held the ticket to her chest. “I love you, too, Randy.”

She looked at the departure time. She had four hours.

Where was that suitcase?

Kansas City

Mac finished making a statement regarding Toby Bjornson in the Time Lottery auditorium. He dreaded saying the last two words but said them anyway. “Any questions?”

Feeding frenzy.

“Was Toby Bjornson stalking Ms. Holloway?”

“Will he be arrested?”

“Will this incident change Time Lottery policy?”

Insipid questions that could be handled with a sprinkling of common sense. He let it go on for a generous amount of time before saying, “I’ll allow one more question, then I have work to do. After all, tomorrow is the day the winners return.”

But the final question pushed his hot button. “Why do you think this year’s Time Lottery has been plagued with such conflict among the people the winners left behind, as well as leaks, and—”