One to the Wolves, On the Trail of a Killer Read Online Free Page A

responded in amusement, “but I’m afraid I have work
     to do.” I was running behind on an article assignment and had expected to devote the
     day to getting it finished.
    “That’s all right,” Kait said agreeably. “I’ll entertain you while you write. Then
     we can go out to lunch and to a movie and then we can go someplace expensive to shop
     for a blouse or something. You’re much too old to buy all your clothes at Wal-Mart.”
    The idea of trying to write with a chattering parakeet perched next to me was inconceivable,
     so I reluctantly put my assignment on hold and went out to “do the town” with Kait.
     We had lunch at the Chic-Fil-A (Kait’s favorite eatery); saw a movie with Nicholas
     Cage (Kait’s favorite actor); and ended up buying me a blouse (in Kait’s favorite
     colors). Since Kait had forgotten to bring money, I picked up the tab.
    “Did you like your present?” she chirped as we walked hand-in-hand to the parking
     lot. “Wasn’t it special to get to spend so much time with me?”
    “It certainly was,” I told her, trying not to dwell upon the fact that I would have
     to work half the night to finish the article.
    Oh, dear God, if only I could have that day back again! The sense of loss that struck
     me was so intense that I thought for a moment I might die of it. Where was that orange
     and yellow blouse today? Hanging at the back of my closet at the town house? On a
     rack at the Goodwill Thrift Store? Or was it nothing but a sun-bleached rag on a shelf
     in a corner of the laundry room of the home we had vacated? Why hadn’t I cherished
     it, slept with it under my pillow or, at the very least, worn it to the funeral?
    Did you like your present?
    “It was a wonderful present,” I whispered now. “It was the most wonderful present
     in the world — the chance to spend a whole day with you.”
    On New Year’s Day the inevitable finally happened and my body followed the path of
     my careening emotions.  I was standing in Kerry’s kitchen, leaning over to take a
     pan of chicken out of the oven, when I discovered that my left hand wouldn’t close
     around the door handle. Then my left arm went limp. I tried to call out to the family,
     who were already gathered at the dinner table, but the words came out in a garble.
    What I was trying to say was, “I think I’ve had a stroke!”
    On the way to the hospital I got my speech back and dictated a living will.
    Later that night I became able to move my arm and hand. As I lay in the hospital bed,
     clenching and re-clenching my left fist in a frenzied effort to reassure myself that
     I could still do so, a nurse kept popping in to ask if I could swallow. I quickly
     realized that swallowing was some kind of test so, of course, my mouth dried up every
     time the nurse appeared. In between her visits I manufactured saliva, which I surreptitiously
     stockpiled in the crevices of my mouth so that when she next materialized I could
     demonstrate my swallowing skills.
    “Do you understand that you’ve had a stroke?” she asked me.
    I assured her that I did.
    “So what is your emotional state?” she continued, consulting her checklist. “You have
     four choices — denial, fear, anger, and acceptance.”
    “Acceptance,” I said.
    She raised her eyes from the list and regarded me suspiciously.
    “You haven’t had time enough for acceptance.”
    “Anger?” I suggested, although I didn’t feel angry. There was nothing and no one to
     be angry with except Fate, and I knew for a fact that Fate dealt harsher blows than
     this one.
    The nurse looked relieved and checked the square beside “anger.”
    The shock of seeing me babbling and drooling in her kitchen had driven Kerry into
     labor and, while I was getting my brain scanned, she gave birth two floors below me.
     I emerged from the MRI tube to find Don waiting with a wheelchair to take me down
     to meet our first grandson, Ryan Duncan.
    I remained in the hospital four days