Andy was sleeping peacefully at her side, and Lizzie was asleep on the floor near the bed. Everything was quiet and tranquil in the house, except Page, who was getting madder by the minute. Allyson had promised to be home no later than eleven-thirty, which was half an hour later than Page wanted her home in the first place. And there was absolutely no excuse for her violating her curfew.

Page thought of calling the Thorensen home, but she knew there was no point. If they were still at the movies, or out having ice cream somewhere, there would be no answer anyway. She figured they had probably gone out to eat somewhere after the movie, and Allyson obviously hadn't told Chloe's father that she had to be home by eleven-thirty.

By twelve-thirty, Page was enraged, and by one o'clock she was very worried. She was just deciding to abandon her reticence and call the Thorensen home, when the phone rang at five after one. She assumed that it was Allyson asking if she could spend the night at Chloe's. Page was beyond livid by then, and would have liked to shake her daughter.

“No, you may not was the way she answered.

“Hello?” The voice at the other end sounded confused, and Page sounded even more so. It wasn't Allyson at all, but a stranger. She couldn't even imagine who would call her at this hour, unless it was a mistake, or an obscene phone call.

“Is this the Clarke residence?”

“Yes? Who is this?” A sudden electric tingle of fear ran down her spine, and she ignored it.

“This is the highway patrol, Mrs. Clarke. This is Mrs. Clarke?”

“Yes.” The word was a whisper, as sudden fear clutched her throat and held it.

“I'm sorry to tell you that your daughter has been in an accident.”

“Oh my God.” Her whole body came alive, and her mind was filled with terror. “Is she alive?”

“Yes, but she was unconscious on the way to Marin General. She was very seriously hurt.” Oh God … oh God …what does “very seriously” mean? How bad is that? Is she okay? Will she live? How hurt is she?

“What happened?” It was a pathetic croak from deep in Page's throat.

“A head-on collision on the Golden Gate Bridge. They were hit by an oncoming southbound vehicle on their way into Marin County.”

“Into Marin? From where? That can't be.” She was willing to quibble about where Allyson had been, maybe if she won the argument, it would mean that she had never been there and nothing had happened to her after all.

“I'm afraid it was. She's in Marin General now, Mrs. Clarke. You need to get there pretty quickly.”

“Oh God …thank you …” She hung up without saying more, and frantically dialed information. They gave her the number for Marin General, and she asked for the emergency room. Yes, Allyson Clarke was there, yes, she was still alive, and no, they were unable to give her any further information. The doctors were all busy with her, and couldn't talk to Page. Allyson Clarke was listed in critical condition.

Tears sprang to her eyes, and her hands shook violently as she dialed her neighbor. She had to leave Andy with someone …she had to call …had to get dressed …had to get there …The phone answered after four rings, as Page sobbed silently, praying that Allyson would be alive when she got there.

“Hello?” A sleepy voice finally answered.

“Jane? Can you come?” Page sounded breathless and felt as though she couldn't get enough air. What if she fainted? What if …what if Allyson died … oh God, no …please, no …

“What's wrong?” Jane Gilson knew her well, and she had never known Page to panic. “What is it? Are you sick? Is someone there?” Had there been an intruder?

“No,” it was a terrible mouse squeak of terror, “it's Allie. She's had an accident …head-on … she's in Marin General, in critical condition …Brad's gone … I have to leave Andy …”

“Oh my God …I'll be there in two minutes.” Jane Gilson hung up, and Page ran to her closet and tore on jeans and the first sweater she could find. It was the old blue one she wore to garden in, covered with holes and spots and permanently faded. But she didn't even see it as she put it on, and slipped her feet into loafers. She never thought of combing her hair, and then she ran to the pad in the den where Brad always left the name and number of his hotel when he traveled. She knew she'd find it there. She'd wait to see Allyson first, before she called, in case the news was better than she feared. But at least she could call him from the hospital, after she saw her. But this time, there was no hotel and no number. Nothing. There was a blank page. For the first time in sixteen years, he had forgotten to leave the information. It was like fate playing a bad joke on them, but she didn't have time to worry about it now. She could call someone from Brad's office and figure something out later. Right now she had to get to the hospital and see her baby.

She grabbed her bag as the front door rang, and she ran to let in Jane Gilson. Jane's arms went around her old friend. She had known the Clarkes since they'd moved in, before Andy was born, and Allyson since she was seven.

“She'll be all right …you know she will. Page, calm down. It probably all sounds worse than it is. Just take it easy.” She would have liked to drive her there herself, but her own husband was gone. He had gone camping with her kids, both home from college for their spring vacation. And there was no one else to leave with Andy. He was still sound asleep in his mother's bed, completely unaware of what had happened. “What do you want me to tell him when he wakes up, in case you're not back yet?”

“Just tell him Allyson got sick, and I had to go to the hospital with her. I'll call you from there and let you know what's happening. And if Brad calls, for God's sake, Jane, get his number.”

“Right …now go …and drive safely.”

Page ran out into the warm night, her hair flying, her purse under her arm, jumped into the car, and a moment later she shot out of the driveway. She tried to talk to herself all the way, telling herself to stay calm, to breathe, alternately reassuring herself that Allyson would be okay, and begging God that she would be. She still couldn't believe it had happened.

The hospital was eight minutes away, and she parked in the first space she found. She forgot her keys in the car, and ran into the building. The emergency unit was alive with lights, and people running around, dashing into rooms, and half a dozen people sat in a corridor, waiting for treatment. A woman in labor walked by looking uncomfortable, leaning heavily against her husband. But all Page wanted to see was her little girl …her baby. She noticed the reporters then, two of them taking notes from a highway patrolman.

She went to the desk and asked a nurse where she might find her, and the woman's face sobered instantly as she glanced up at Page. She had a pretty face and kind eyes, and as she looked at Page, she felt a wave of sympathy for her. Page was dead white and shaking.

“You're her mother?”

Page nodded, feeling her body shake more. “Is she … is she …”

“She's alive.” Page's legs went weak, as the woman came around the desk and held her firmly. “She's very, very badly hurt, Mrs. Clarke. She has a severe head injury. Our neurosurgical team is with her now, and we're waiting for our head of services. When he gets here, we'll be able to tell you more. But she's hanging in.” She led Page to a chair, and helped her to sit down. It was as though the whole world had turned upside down in a single moment. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” She looked sympathetically down at her, and Page tried not to cry as she shook her head, but it was hopeless. The tears instantly overflowed as she tried to absorb what the woman had said …neurosurgeons …neurosurgical team …she's very, very badly hurt …but why? How? How had it happened? “Are you okay?” the nurse asked rhetorically. It was obvious that she wasn't, as she blew her nose and shook her head, and wished she could turn the clock back. And she had been so angry at her for missing her curfew. It was unbearable to think of it. While she was being angry, Allyson was being hit head-on … it didn't even bear thinking.

“Was anyone else hurt?” Page finally managed to croak, and the nurse looked at her sadly as she nodded.

“The driver was killed. And another young girl was severely injured.”

“Oh my God …” Killed?…Trygve Thorensen dead? How in God's name had this happened? And as she thought of it, she saw a man emerge from one of the emergency rooms who looked astonishingly like him. He walked out of the treatment room in a daze and seemed to stare at Page, without actually seeing who she was. It was Page who suddenly realized that it was Trygve. But how was this possible? The nurse had said he was dead. Was it all a lie? A bad joke? A bad dream? Was she crazy, or dreaming? But the nightmare was all too true, as she looked at him, and she knew it. The nurse discreetly moved away, and Trygve stood looking down at Page, with tears flowing unchecked down his own cheeks.

“Page, I'm so sorry …”He reached out and took her hand in his own, and held it for a moment. “I should have known … I guess I should have seen it coming, but I wasn't paying attention … I don't know how I could have been so stupid.” She stared at him in horror. He hadn't been paying attention, and their children had been critically injured …how could he even say this to her? And why had the nurse told her he was dead, when he wasn't?

“I don't understand,” Page said, staring up at him in anguish, as he sat down slowly next to her, shaking his head, still unable to believe what had happened.

“I'm beginning to. I should have known when I saw her go out in that outfit. She was wearing a black leather skirt she'd borrowed from somewhere, and black stockings that must have been Dana's …I'm a damn fool. I was working on something with Bjorn, and I just let it slide by. She said she was going out with you, so I figured she was okay … I wish to hell now that I'd stopped her.”