Читать книгу: «Married in Haste»

“Abby, lets get married,” he blurted out

“Wha-a-at?”

“Married. You and me.” Ben sat up. “Think about it—if ever two people had good reason to get married, it’s us.”

She stared at him for several seconds, then shot upright, hurriedly buttoning her jeans. Her face flamed and her breath came in short spurts. “But…marriage! Ben, that’s such a…huge leap. The kids—” She waved a hand feebly toward the house.

“Need a mom and a dad,” he finished. “Abby, we’ve both admitted we need help with them.”

“Yes, but…” Her tongue stumbled over her racing thoughts. Ben’s cell phone rang.

He frowned as he took the call, then clicked off abruptly. “Abby, I have to go to County Hospital—an emergency. Could I leave Erin and Mollie with you?”

“Of course you can.” She managed to get to her feet semigracefully, although her head still spun from his marriage proposal.

Ben went on instant doctor-autopilot. He hurried inside, spent two seconds explaining his hasty exit to the girls—then, poof, he was gone.

Desperate for something ordinary to focus on, Abby ran water to wash the dishes. A business merger, she told herself. That was all it had been. He’d made no mention of love. The absence of such a tiny word shouldn’t bother Abby. But it did….

Dear Reader,

During the period in my life when I worked for three pediatricians, our doctors saw a lot of blended families. These yours, mine and ours families presented a special brand of problem for the office staff—where to file their charts. And then, where to find them for kids who had a different last name from the mother or dad who’d phoned for an appointment.

One year we installed a color-coded charting system. Color of folder was determined by the patient’s name. Merged families suddenly became everyone’s nightmare. We could have Johnstons and Smiths living with Browns, but no one wanted to decide which of the coded colors to use.

Because you can’t work in medicine and not develop a good sense of humor, finding the correct patient charts for kids from blended families became a challenge and a game. Who could find them the fastest when a doctor bellowed down the hall? And heaven have mercy if the chart ended up in the insurance drawer or in a stack needing dictation.

In all those years I never really stopped to consider the daily challenges faced by the parents in these blended families. While I worried whether Johnny’s file was blue or red or green, these stepmoms and dads dealt with far greater concerns.

I’m not color coding Abby Drummond and Ben Galloway’s story. Their trials and tribulations with the seven kids they’re doing their best to raise are laid out in black and white. I hope readers empathize with the unique problems faced by this couple, who started out in love. They lost it, and found it again.

I enjoy hearing from readers. You can reach me at P.O. Box 17480-101, Tucson, AZ 85731 or by e-mail (rdfox@worldnet.att.net).

Roz Denny Fox

Married in Haste
Roz Denny Fox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This story is for Adrianne, Ashley, Mandy and Morgan.

You girls are Harlequin’s next generation of readers. In the

not too distant future, some of you may even be writers.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

THE HOLLOW DISTANT RING of a telephone made Abigail Drummond fumble and drop the colored pencil she’d been using to mark second-grade state math tests. She automatically reached over to answer it. When her hand touched air, Abby remembered stuffing the phone, which normally sat on a corner of her desk, into her bottom drawer to make more room for the test packets. By the fifth ring, she managed to extract it and get the receiver to her ear. “Ms. Drummond.” Abby answered in her crispest professional voice. Calls coming in after school were usually from parents complaining about homework she’d tucked into their students’ backpacks. Abby tended to get defensive on that topic, as she assigned far less than did her counterparts at West Seattle’s Sky Heights Elementary school. Today, the familiar masculine voice came as a pleasant surprise.

“It’s Ben Galloway, Abby. Am I interrupting a teacher-parent talk or anything? If so, I’ll try to phone you later at home.”

A ripple of pleasure sent Abby’s pulse skittering. She’d dated Ben, whom society columnists listed as one of Seattle’s “most eligible bachelors,” for roughly ten months. She’d met him when he attended an end-of-the-year-conference in his sister, Marlo McBride’s stead. Marlo was a single mother, and her older daughter, Erin, had been Abby’s top student.

“Ben…sorry if I sounded abrupt. You caught me grading our mandatory math exams.” Abby twisted a lock of her crackling red hair around one index finger. “I hate to say the early results look abominable. But they do. Which makes me seriously question my ability to teach.”

“Ouch. I recall you said that your principal is holding staff responsible for the overall class scores on those tests.”

“Yes. Odd that you phoned when I was wishing I could clone your niece. Or her sister. Where’s Mollie when I need scores in the ninetieth percentile?”

Ben chuckled. “You’ll probably get Mollie next year. She’s every bit as clever as Erin but that kid’s a pistol. She’s stubborn as a Missouri mule.”

“This from a pediatrician who sees our city’s most advantaged kids? Don’t forget, I’ve observed Mollie on the playground. She’s a jewel.”

“Ha! Next time I get volunteered to take those little stinkers to the zoo, I’ll know who to con into assisting.”

“No need to con. If I’m free, I’ll be happy to help. Not that I’m bragging, but since I’ve made zoo field trips part of my curriculum for eight years, I have it honed to a fine science.”

“How did I miss knowing all this good stuff? Consider it stored for future reference. But Abby, I called to discuss an adult-type excursion.” His already deep voice lowered to a sexy growl. Welcoming any diversion, she responded in kind. “If you’ve got the night off and want to rescue me from these depressing tests, I’ll toss in a home-cooked meal. I can be home in…say, thirty minutes.”

“Don’t I wish. Sorry, I’m on call tonight. I’ve admitted a kid to Children’s Health Hospital and I’m waiting for a lab workup.”

“Oh.” Her one-word reply failed to cloak Abby’s disappointment.

Ben cleared his throat. “Getting back to why I called—remember last week I said I’d like to wangle time for skiing?”

“Yes.” Her racing pulse slowed appreciably. “I take it you’ve managed to free your schedule for a day at Stevens Pass?”

“Better. A full week. At Whistler. I’ve rented a condo up there.”

“Zowie! I guess you did wangle time off. Well…have fun. While you’re swishing through hip-deep powder, think of me here slaving away.”

The open phone line hummed following Abby’s statement. “Oh, if you need me to water your plants, Ben, I can easily swing past your apartment after work.”

“I botched this call from the get-go, Abby. I want you to come with me. I happened to see the school calendar taped to Marlo’s fridge. My week off coincides with your spring break.”

Abby’s skin prickled with excitement. What Ben was proposing would boost their relationship to a new level. Thus far, they’d gone to dinner, movies, concerts and an occasional school function together. In that time, Ben had spent one night at her town house and she’d slept at his apartment twice. Up to now, neither had suggested going beyond catch-as-catch-can dating. They tended to go out on the spur of the moment—if and when their busy schedules allowed. Which was why his invitation for a weeklong tryst silenced Abby’s tongue.

“Abby? You’re not responding. Am I off base in assuming that we’re seeing each other exclusively? If so, please tell me straight out.”

“You’re not. Off base,” she said quickly, her heart tripping madly. She quickly thumbed through her desk calendar. “Yikes! Spring break is next week. I’ve been too busy to notice, I guess. No wonder the kids are bouncing off the walls.”

“I’ll understand if you’ve already made other plans. The clinic wasn’t something I could walk away from without a lot of finagling and appointment switching. I knew asking you this late was a long shot. And I’d like to leave Friday afternoon.”

“Four days,” she muttered, minor panic building as she worried about finding time to dig her skis out of storage, not to mention dashing past the mall to stock up on a few necessities—like a sexy nightie and silky undies. Hers tended to be a hodgepodge of much-washed white cotton.

“To be exact, it’s three days, twenty-two hours and fifty-four minutes from now. Jeez, I didn’t mean—uh, don’t think I was counting the minutes until I can get you into my bed,” Ben said. “Well, that, too,” he added, laughing. “What I meant, though, is that’s how long I have left to deal with all my outstanding cases.”

“I knew what you meant. You said the other day you haven’t had a real vacation since you and Steve opened the clinic. Ben,” Abby murmured, “are you positive you want me horning in on your days off?”

“Oh, yeah!” This time there was no mistaking the implication in his seductive growl.

Abby pictured the two of them living together for seven whole days. And nights! Thirty-two-year-old, Benjamin Galloway, M.D., was the sort of man mothers the world over prayed their daughters would bring home for keeps. At six foot two, he honed his muscles with a daily jog. His light-brown hair, naturally streaked gold, was perpetually wind-tossed. Not only was he easy on the eyes, Ben was good to the bone. Intelligent. And articulate. He laughed easily, too. He genuinely liked people, especially kids.

For most of Abby’s twenty-eight years, she’d watched his type gravitate to her prettier, sexier girlfriends. Abby suffered no illusions about her too red hair and the freckles that went with it. In high school she’d been drab. Abby supposed that if her good friends were asked to describe her, they might note her above-average intellect. Or perhaps they’d mention that she kept a cool head in a crisis.

Big whoop! as her second graders would say. Given her meager dating history, the fact that a guy like Ben Galloway would invite her on a romantic getaway made Abby worry that he’d wake up tomorrow with second thoughts. “If you do change your mind or anything, Ben, you’ll let me know?” she blurted.

He laughed. “I won’t change my mind. Can you be ready Friday by five-thirty? I’ll pick you up at your place. We can grab dinner somewhere between here and the Canadian border if that’s all right.”

“Sure. It sounds fantastic. Uh…is there any chance of your coming over for dinner tomorrow night? My offer of a home-cooked meal stands.”

“Tempting as it sounds, Abby, I can’t. I’m up to my eyeballs in dictation. As usual, I’ve put off completing paperwork far too long. The hospital records staff and my secretary are at the point of leaving death threats with my answering service. If I work my tail off all week, I might actually get to go with a clear conscience.”

“Maybe I’ll do up lesson plans in advance,” she said. “In case I break my neck on the slopes. You do recall that I haven’t skied in more than two years?”

“Ditto,” Ben teased. “Last time I skied was before we opened the clinic three years ago. Or is it four? Man…let’s hope we don’t both fall. One of us has to drive home. Or maybe not,” he added in that earlier suggestive tone. “Picture us stranded in a mountain chalet. The place I rented has a hot tub.”

Abby fanned herself with a test packet. “Now, that’s something to consider. Careful, Ben, I may shove you off a cliff and leap after you—if only to ensure that we get stranded.”

His delighted laughter was interrupted by an insistent bleat. “Oops, gotta go. That’s my pager. See you Friday. G’bye.”

“I hope your page is nothing serious. I’m looking forward to spring break. I’d hate for anything to interfere.”

“Nothing will, short of flood, famine or pestilence. Well, scratch pestilence. In my line of work that’s a marked possibility. Damn! Whoever has my pager number isn’t giving up. See you Friday, babe.”

“Okay. Bye, Ben.” Abby gripped the receiver tight even after she heard the soft click. Ben’s calling her babe was new, too. Lordy, lordy—he was definitely turning up the flame. In spite of her shiver of anticipation, Abby was bothered by one teensy detail she hadn’t brought up to him.

The Reverend Elliot Drummond.

Abby’s older brother posed an obstacle for two reasons. In past years, during spring break, she’d always baby-sat for him and his wife, Blair. She’d started the annual treat as a way to repay Elliot for the numerous sacrifices he’d made after their parents died. Their folks had been volunteer counselors with a youth outing in the San Juan Islands when a sudden, violent squall struck the Strait of Juan de Fuca and capsized their rented canoe. All the canoeists were lost.

Abby never thought of that period in her life without profound sorrow. Especially as the months before the accident had been nearly perfect. Her parents had left their mission in Calcutta. John had accepted a church in West Seattle, where his wife had grown up. Elliot had just left for Oxford on a Fulbright scholarship. The whole family was proud of him. And for the first time ever, Abby would attend regular middle school. She’d been elated at the prospect. As the daughter of missionaries, she’d always felt rootless.

Bless Elliot. He’d given up his scholarship, returned home and gone to work at a grocery store to keep Abby out of foster care. Those had been tough years. Instead of making lasting friends, Abby was shut out by kids at school who blamed her parents for the disaster. As if they could control the weather.

Elliot’s unswerving faith got Abby through. He attended college at night, and made her study hard as well. As a result, she earned a scholarship to Washington State University, where she earned a teaching degree. Teaching allowed her to make a difference in young lives. In Abby’s classes, every child counted.

Considering everything Elliot had sacrificed for her, baby-sitting seemed a small repayment. Especially since he’d delayed his marriage to his childhood sweetheart because of his responsibilities to Abby.

She broke into a grin. Once Elliot and Blair did marry, they set to work repopulating the Drummond clan with five boys. Two sets of twins and an only. It wasn’t hard to see that Blair needed a break from being a stay-at-home mom.

But who was Abby kidding? This uncomfortable feeling wasn’t only a matter of not being available to baby-sit her brother’s kids. Quite simply, Elliot would disapprove of her going with a man. And Elliot liked Ben well enough. Her brother would never condone sex outside of marriage; the who wouldn’t matter. In Elliot’s mind, Abby would forever be his baby sister. His responsibility.

She supported her chin on one hand and stared at the chalkboard. It hadn’t been a week since he’d mentioned how many of her contemporaries’ weddings he’d officiated at over the past year.

Marriage was a difficult issue for her. The forever-after vow bothered Abby. Nothing lasted forever. While she hated to disappoint Elliot, marriage was a subject on which they held fundamentally different views. He just didn’t understand. Elliot would never bend a single one of the ten commandments. Ever. Not for any reason.

While she wasn’t one to avoid confrontation, Abby decided she ought to rehearse what she’d say to Elliot and Blair. There was no one sweeter than Blair. And no one who deserved a break more.

Abby stacked her tests to take home. She’d think about it overnight and maybe something would come to her.

Nothing did. She stalled for two more days and nights.

Friday, her back was to the wall. She had no choice but to go by their house before work and ’fess up. But when she phoned to inform them of her plan, Elliot didn’t have time to talk. He said he had a meeting in town. Blair was accompanying him so she could use the van later. “Sam needs shoes,” Elliot said, sounding rushed. “And we have to drop the twins off at school.”

Abby turned her calendar and panic set in. It was her morning to do the breakfast shift in the cafeteria. “I forgot I have morning duty. But what I have to tell you is important. I can’t sit for you guys next week. I’m going skiing with Ben. We’re going to Canada.”

“What? Nonsense!”

“Sorry, Elliot. I have to dash or risk being late. Is your meeting an all-day affair, or can I call you on your cell phone during my lunch break?”

“I’ll phone you at school as soon as I finish my meeting,” Elliot told her sternly.

Abby wrinkled her nose at the buzzing phone as she hung up.

CHAPTER TWO

WHILE HER CAR IDLED off the morning chill, Abby was pleased to see sun chasing off the clouds. She hoped this would turn out to be a nice day. For February, Seattle enjoyed relatively mild temperatures.

Her breakfast duty started at seven. Their school had so many single moms and working parents, they’d long since instituted a hot breakfast plan five days a week. If she’d thought sooner, Abby would have offered Blair the use of her car. She wouldn’t need it for a week, and Ben could as easily pick her up at school. Besides, it would be easier to talk to Blair about her plans. She was less…uncompromising than Elliot.

As she approached the school, Abby scanned the line of cars pulling through the bus lane to drop students at the cafeteria. If she saw her brother and his wife, she’d still make the offer. Unfortunately, the Drummonds’ aging van wasn’t among those parked in the circular drive, so Abby drove by and parked in the faculty lot.

She’d missed them, she discovered as soon as she entered the building. Her nephews were lying in wait to pounce on her. Nine-year-old Noah and Michael both had missing front teeth, which made what they said hard to understand. Ultimately Abby deduced that they were regaling her with the latest antics of their beloved boxer, Ruffian. “You know what, Aunt Abby? Ruffian chewed holes in Daddy’s best tie this morning.”

“Yeth,” agreed one of the younger twins. At seven, Brad still lisped. He tugged Abby’s jacket, wanting to be heard over Reed, his more gregarious twin. “Mama covered our ears, ’cause Daddy said bad words.”

“No kidding?” Abby knew she should let remarks of that sort slide rather than draw attention to them. But it seemed so…not like Elliot. She paused to consider whether or not he might be exceptionally upset by her news. Or were things rocky at his church? She knew from past history that working with congregations wasn’t always sweetness and light. Ministers were often unduly pressured by either their flocks or their governing boards. Maybe Elliot and Blair needed a break more than she’d assumed. What if they were really counting on her for next week?

Blair had been vague about their plans, but still…

Friends of the boys called to them. True to their fickle natures, her nephews abandoned Abby and hurried off to line up for chow with their pals.

Other kids circled around her. Abby rarely lacked the company of kids during her cafeteria or playground duties. Her attention wandered to a group entering the room. Ben’s nieces were among them. Abby hadn’t seen Erin and Mollie with the breakfast bunch before.

She worked her way in their direction, deciding to ask if there’d been a change in their mom’s schedule.

“Girls, hi.” Abby spoke to the girls even as her eyes strayed to a rowdy collection of fourth-and fifth-grade boys who seemed to be getting out of control at one of the tables.

“Ms. Drummond, how come you’re on morning duty?” Erin exclaimed.

“All teachers rotate morning and after school, hon. I was just thinking I hadn’t seen you and Mollie here before.”

Mollie danced from foot to foot until Erin stilled her. “Mommy’s insurance office went to flex time.” The eight-year-old’s elfin face grew serious behind her wire-rimmed glasses. “Mollie and I have to get up earlier now.”

“I don’t like it,” Mollie interjected.

Erin, the more sedate of the two, placed a firm hand on her younger sister’s shoulder. “We don’t really mind. It means Mommy’s home at two-thirty when school lets out.”

“Well, that’s good. So you’re no longer going to Mrs. Scott’s?”

“She moved to California to live with her son.”

Mollie piped up again. “Mrs. Scott said her old bones don’t like Seattle rain.”

“Ah. Last year, I do remember her having problems with arthritis. Well, it seems your mom’s new schedule came at a good time. Excuse me, girls. I need to go chat with those boys. In case I don’t get back to you, have a great day.”

Abby had taken maybe five steps toward the disruptive boys when, without warning, the cafeteria floor shifted under her feet and sent her reeling. Simultaneously her stomach tightened, then dropped. She lurched sideways, right, then left, as if she’d stepped on a carnival ride. A Tilt-A-Whirl. Abby grabbed for a chair only to have it bob crazily away. As she tried righting herself, another jolt threw her to her knees. All around her, kids began to scream and cry.

For a moment, an unnamed panic seized Abby. Her heart raced as she crawled across the bucking floor. She forced herself to climb to her feet.

Food trays flew off nearby tables. Chairs toppled. Kids scrambled over one another. Automatically, Abby clutched a whistle swinging from a cord around her neck. She blew two sharp blasts. Stretching out her arms, she caught a bunch of kids who hurtled past her. “It’s an earthquake,” she shouted, realizing what was happening. “Remember our drills! Jason Bingham, stop in your tracks. All of you! Listen to me.”

This wasn’t the first quake in Abby’s career. Oddly, it was the noisiest and seemed to last longer than most. Her attempts to achieve order went unheeded.

The cook and cashier exploded out from their stations. Abby’s counterpart, a fourth-grade teacher, began herding older kids out the back exit while yelling something Abby couldn’t distinguish. A third shrill blast of her whistle failed to cut through a horrendous rumble.

As sheer pandemonium erupted and inanimate objects bounced past her, Abby’s training kicked in. Two facts struck her—the rumble had turned into a roar, and the shaking, which had always faded quickly in past earthquakes, was splitting wide cracks in the tile floor. Tables slid in one direction, then the other. Some toppled. Dust billowed from the cracks, making everyone cough and choke.

“Children, line up by twos,” Abby said between gagging. “We’re going outside just like we’ve practiced. Leaders, head for the middle of the playground, away from anything that might fall from the building. Stop screaming! I know you’re scared. You older kids, hold hands with someone younger.” She had to shout to be heard. And her own stomach pitched as fear tried to take hold. She spat out grit.

When she lined up the children closest to her, more converged from all corners of the room. Their copious tears, frightened eyes and ashen faces added to Abby’s mounting urgency. Off to her right, a row of pots fitted in a special warming table buckled, split, overturned and spread hot oatmeal, dollar pancakes and boiling syrup across the floor.

Hustling the first of her brood over the front threshold, Abby flinched and ducked to avoid wildly swinging light fixtures overhead. Any moment, she feared, one or all might crash down on the rows of students. Until right now, she’d never thought about how many kids ate breakfast at school. She began counting heads as sobbing, shivering groups exited the building.

“There’s safety in being orderly,” she hollered above the deafening roar. “I want everyone to get a buddy. Walk fast, but don’t run. If you run, you may fall. Once you’re outside, move away from the walls but not toward the street or parking lot.” As she spoke, two windows on the north side of the cafeteria ruptured. The front bumper of a blue Ford that must have been parked beside the cafeteria had obviously jumped the curb. Slivers of glass rained everywhere like glittering icicles.

Ms. Fielding, another teacher, dodged a ceiling tile as she led her group of children toward an exit. Abby scooped two of the smallest kids into her arms. She set them outside, out of harms’ way, and in so doing took a direct hit from the heavy door that suddenly swung shut. Terrified, she watched the metal casing crumple as if made of paper. The door splintered, sending a new wave of fear through the kids trapped inside. Bawling, they trampled over those near the front of the line.

Abby forcefully shoved them away from falling debris. “About face, everyone!” she commanded. “We’ll use the side emergency exit.” Herding the remaining few, ranging in age from six to twelve, the length of the cracking, groaning building was no easy feat. Inside her head a hollow voice chanted. Why doesn’t the shaking stop? Lord, please, it can’t go on much longer.

It felt as if an eternity had passed before she reached the side exit, and wrenched it open. Abby knew they’d lost power when the door sprang open without emitting the piercing squeal that told the world she’d breached security. She doubted anyone else noticed or cared. Outside, the air was filled with wailing sirens, ringing church bells, barking dogs and earsplitting car alarms. The sky was brown with floating debris.

Keening, shaking children fell to their knees, all trying to make sense of the disorder. There was confusion everywhere. Bricks tumbled from the second story, splitting the walkway circling their newly constructed gymnasium. Asphalt beneath the playground equipment seemed alive as it puckered and broke apart. A river of water zigzagged between buildings. “Kids, stay away from that water,” Abby shouted, veering her last charges to higher ground. “We don’t know if a water main inside the building broke, or if that’s sewage from the bathrooms.”

Teachers and students, all looking shell-shocked, attempted to band together in the center of the playground. Abby began collecting her nephews and Ben’s nieces. She checked each child for injuries before she allowed herself a deep, calming breath.

“Where’s the sun gone?” Erin asked in a frightened voice. Until then, Abby hadn’t noticed that an ugly ecru sky had replaced the earlier blue. A thick layer of smoke or dust or both thickened the now still air. Blessedly, the horrid rumble had begun to recede, and the shaking was slowly subsiding. Disaster sirens didn’t let up their howling.

Glancing at her watch, Abby couldn’t believe that minutes, not hours, had passed. She tapped her watch to see if it’d stopped. But it was seven-fifteen the last time she’d looked, just before crossing the cafeteria to greet Erin and Mollie. Now her watch said twenty-three minutes after the hour. All this chaos occurred in less than ten minutes?

Mr. Conrad, the school principal, a slightly stoop-shouldered man who’d announced his plans to retire at the end of this school year, worked his way among his scattered staff. Usually impeccable, he looked thoroughly disheveled.

Abby had to peel Brad, Reed and Mollie away from her so she could go have a word with her boss.

“It’s not good news,” he said in a hushed voice. “The university seismology lab is saying this quake was 8.0 on the Richter scale. The West Seattle Bridge and parts of the viaduct along the waterfront have collapsed. No telling how many of these kids who were dropped off early have parents buried in that rubble.”

Abby’s heart did a double flip. Bile rose to gag her. Practically anyone headed downtown after leaving the school crossed that bridge. “What about the floating bridge into the city?” she asked, unclenching her teeth to speak.

Conrad hiked a shoulder. “I only got sketchy reports before I had to evacuate the main building. Our job, Abigail, is to calm the students until we get specific information on the whereabouts of their families.” He sighed. “It might be a selfish reaction, but why couldn’t this have waited until next week when school’s out for spring break? Then parents would’ve had the responsibility that’s fallen to us.”

Abby thought about her plans for spring break, and a shiver rushed up her spine. Had her selfish decision brought God’s wrath?

Don’t be ridiculous!

She shrugged off the childish thought as fast as it popped into her head. A counselor way back when had made her see that her parents’ accident was nobody’s fault. She’d believed, as kids often do, that she’d been somehow to blame. The counselor had convinced her acts of God weren’t caused by human deeds.

Beyond her, Mr. Conrad was saying, “No, children. We can’t let you go into your classrooms. Remember our earthquake drills? We stay out in the open until the fire department gives us an all-clear.” Numerous hands shot up, and the principal patiently answered each and every question. The smaller kids huddled inside their jackets looking dazed. A fifth-grader, whose teeth chattered, enquired about aftershocks.

Aftershocks. Abby wondered how many kids knew they could be as devastating as the original quake. If the aftershocks were big enough, already damaged buildings and bridges could shake apart. Secondary quakes often delayed rescue attempts, too.

Her head was a jumble of worries. She tried to focus on something that might occupy the restless students. The cell phone she wore clipped to her belt vibrated. Abby flinched until she realized it wasn’t the beginning of another quake.