"It's not surprising."
"No?"
"No. It's called denial. Look Jack, the fact is, you have the evidence right in front of your eyes. You've seen it, Jack. Don't you think it's time you believed it?"
I knew she was right. "Yes," I said. "It's time."
The phone was ringing. My hands were up to the elbows in soap suds. I asked Ellen to get it, but one of the kids had already picked it up. I finished scrubbing the barbecue grill, handed it to Ellen to dry.
"Jack," Ellen said, "you have to start seeing things as they really are, and not as you want them to be."
"You're right," I said. "I'll call her."
At that moment Nicole came into the kitchen, looking pale.
"Dad? It's the police. They want to talk to you."
DAY 5
9:10P.M.
Julia's convertible had gone off the road about five miles from the house. It had plunged fifty feet down a steep ravine, cutting a track through the sage and juniper bushes. Then it must have rolled, because now it lay at an angle, wheels facing upward. I could see only the underside of the car. The sun was almost down, and the ravine was dark. The three rescue ambulances on the road had their red lights flashing, and the rescue crews were already rappelling down on ropes. As I watched, portable floodlights were set up, bathing the wreck in a harsh blue glow. I heard the crackle of radios all around.
I stood up on the road with a motorcycle police officer. I had already asked to go down there, and was told I couldn't; I had to stay on the road. When I heard the radios, I said, "Is she hurt? Is my wife hurt?"
"We'll know in a minute." He was calm.
"What about the other guy?"
"Just a minute," he said. He had a headset in his helmet, because he just started talking in a low voice. It sounded like a lot of code words. I heard "... update a four-oh-two for seven-three-nine here ..."
I stood at the edge, and looked down, trying to see. By now there were workers all around the car, and several hidden behind the upturned frame. A long time seemed to pass.
The cop said, "Your wife is unconscious but she's ... She was wearing her seat belt, and stayed in the car. They think she's all right. Vital signs are stable. They say no spinal injuries but ... she ... sounds like she broke her arm."
"But she's all right?"
"They think so." Another pause while he listened. I heard him say, "I have the husband here, so let's eight-seven." When he turned back to me, he said, "Yes. She's coming around. She'll have to be checked for internal bleeding at the hospital. And she's got a broken arm. But they say she's all right. They're getting her on a stretcher now."
"Thank God," I said.
The policeman nodded. "This is a bad piece of road."
"This has happened before?"
He nodded. "Every few months. Not usually so lucky."
I flipped open my cell phone and called Ellen, told her to explain to the kids there was nothing to worry about, that Mom was going to be okay. "Especially Nicole," I said. "I'll take care of it," Ellen promised me.
I flipped the phone shut and turned back to the cop. "What about the other guy?" I said.
"She's alone in the car."
"No," I said. "There was another guy with her."
He spoke on his headset, then turned back to me. "They say no. There's no sign of anyone else."
"Maybe he was thrown," I said.
"They're asking your wife now ..." He listened a moment. "She says she was alone."
"You're kidding," I said.
He looked at me, shrugged. "That's what she says." In the flashing red lights of the ambulances, I couldn't read his expression. But his tone implied: another guy who doesn't know his own wife. I turned away, looked over the edge of the road.
One of the rescue vehicles had extended a steel arm with a winch that hung over the ravine. A cable was being lowered. I saw the workers, struggling for footing against the steep slope, as they attached a stretcher to the winch. I couldn't see Julia clearly on the stretcher, she was strapped down, covered in a silver space blanket. She started to rise, passing through the cone of blue light, then into darkness.
The cop said, "They're asking about drugs and medicines. Is your wife taking any drugs or medicines?"
"Not that I know of."
"How about alcohol? Was she drinking?"
"Wine at dinner. One or two glasses."
The cop turned away and spoke again, quietly in the darkness. After a pause, I heard him say, "That's affirmative."
The stretcher twisted slowly as it rose into the air. One of the workers, halfway up the slope, reached out to steady it. The stretcher continued upward.
I still couldn't see Julia clearly, until it reached the level of the road and the rescue workers swung it around, and unclipped it from the line. She was swollen; her left cheekbone was purple and the forehead above her left eye was purple as well. She must have hit her head pretty hard. She was breathing shallowly. I moved alongside the stretcher. She saw me and said, "Jack ..." and tried to smile.
"Just take it easy," I said.
She gave a little cough. "Jack. It was an accident."
The medics were maneuvering around the motorcycle. I had to watch where I was going. "Of course it was."
"It's not what you think, Jack."
I said, "What is, Julia?" She seemed to be delirious. Her voice seemed to drift in and out. "I know what you're thinking." Her hand gripped my arm. "Promise me you won't get involved in this, Jack."