Page 54 of The Fault Between Us
He jumped up, grabbed the telephone, and dialed the operator. “Mammoth Hospital,” he demanded. He waited, shifting restlessly from one foot to the other as the ringing sounded in his ear. It might not be too late to change Claire’s mind.
The call was answered by a curt voice. “Mammoth Hospital.”
“Bridget Reilly, please,” he said quickly.
“Nurse Reilly is with a patient,” was the snappish reply. “Is this a personal call?”
“It’s an urgent call,” Red barked. “Tell her to call Red Wilder as soon as possible.” He hung up and stared at the phone. How long would it take for her to get back to him? Or would she not get back to him at all? He paced to the bedroom and looked at the empty closet again. He stalked to the kitchen. He sat down on the couch, then stood up again.
As much as he wanted to blame Bridget for all of it, he knew it was his fault. He’d been a heel to Claire since she sold Marigold. He went to the kitchen window and looked out at the pasture and the shadowed forms of Rosie and Bess.
That night, when he’d come home to find Marigold gone and the house scrubbed and shining, new furniture and a refrigerator full of Coca-Cola, he’d run from Claire and his storm of mixed-up emotions. He knew why Claire had sold Marigold and was bending over backwards to prove to her sister that they were better off than they were.
She was ashamed of him. Ashamed of their life together.
Red had been so sure Claire was as content as he was—not just content, ecstatic—with their life. When they had Jenny, everythingwas perfect. Him and Claire. Jenny. Rosie and Marigold. Elk in the freezer and fish in the river. The sky and the mountains out their door. Everything they needed. He’d thought Claire felt the same.
But she didn’t.
How had he not seen it?
Claire wanted her life to look like the one she’d left—with a pretty house and nice clothes and fancy dinners. That’s what she wanted to show her sister. Not a shack with ancient appliances and a leaking roof. Not a broken-down truck and a husband who couldn’t provide for his family.
The telephone rang. Two shorts and a long. He grabbed the receiver.
“Bridget?” His heart was at a full gallop.
“Red, what are you doing home?”
He pushed down the surge of ire when he heard her imperative tone of voice. “Do you know where Claire is?” He heard the telltale click of the party line being picked up but he didn’t even care if the neighbors knew his business. All that mattered was finding Claire.
The silence was a beat too long and he realized... Bridget was keeping something from him.
“Red,” she said, her voice careful. “I—I can’t say.”
“Can’t?” he ground out in reply. “Or won’t?” She’d come here intent on getting Claire home. Well, her plan had worked. “Bridget”—he hated the desperation in his voice—“did she leave me?” It was out and he couldn’t take it back. The ugly words. The fear that had haunted him since the moment she said “I do” in front of the altar at St. Malachy’s.
Bridget said quickly, “Red, it’s not what you think.”
What else could it be? Her dresses and her suitcase were gone.
“We have to talk in person,” she rushed on. “Tomorrow morning.”
“I’m not waiting until tomorrow.” He couldn’t wait another second.
Bridget hesitated. “Come up to Mammoth—”
“Claire took the truck,” Red interrupted, “but I’ll steal a car and go look for her if I have to.”
There was a long pause. Red could hear the tinny sound of an open line and wondered if it was Helen Eagle listening in on their conversation in order to spread gossip all over town. “Okay,” Bridget said finally. “I’ll come to you.”
“When?” he demanded.
“I’ll leave right now,” she said. “Just stay put.”
He hung up without responding. Red wasn’t about to stay put. It would take Bridget over an hour to get to Riverside—if she even was coming. By then, it would be almost eleven o’clock. He grabbed his jacket and left by the back door. He stopped at the pasture fence. Rosie came to him and he laid his hand on her sleek neck.
He took a breath. Then another. He felt his heartbeat slowing. It wasn’t Bridget’s fault Claire was gone. It was his. He deserved all the names he’d ever been called at the orphanage—an idiot. A dummy. His vows in front of God were to love and honor Claire. Keeping the truth from her was not honoring her. He’d thought if he told her how dumb he really was—if she really knew him—she would stop loving him.
