Crimson Rain. Meg O'Brien

girls. They were young to be adopting, and had been married less than a year.

      “Who will take care of the girls if you both work?” Mrs. Ewing had asked.

      “I will,” Gina had replied. “I plan to work from our house, and only part-time until they’re both in school. After that, I may work longer hours, but I’ll still be at home most of the time. I’ll be working for myself, and I’ll be able to plan my schedule to accommodate the girls.”

      The day they brought the twins home had been the happiest one of their lives. They did everything possible to give the girls tons of love and make them feel secure in their new home. Paul and Gina both thought they had been extremely lucky—at least for the first four years. The girls played like other children, and they seemed loving, both to each other and to their friends. It appeared that, miraculously, they had gotten through their first year of life without emotional damage. Paul and Gina attributed that to the excellent psychiatric care the orphanage afforded to the children in its care.

      Then all hell had broken loose.

      Gina sighed. Her thoughts had a way of drifting in church, when she should be praying. Sometimes, when making the sign of the cross she would say to herself “one, two, three, four,” instead of “in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.” It was odd how her spirit seemed to have become a matter of rote over the years. Odd how her marriage had become that, too.

      Here in this church that was so familiar to her, however, Gina sat between Paul and Rachel and felt protected with them on either side. The church was warm, and the familiar statues, poinsettias and votive candles lent a cozy air. In the crowded pew they were squeezed together, and with Paul’s and Rachel’s bodies touching hers, it felt as if they were truly bonded together, and that nothing bad could ever happen again.

      It was therefore all the more strange when thoughts of something threatening them crossed her mind. It was a thought that had been nagging at her, actually, the past few days—ever since Rachel had come home.

      Gina mentally shook herself and turned her attention to the swelling sounds of the pipe organ. Everyone rose as the altar boys came down the aisle, the lead one carrying a cross. The priest came behind them, and the choir began to sing “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” their voices swelling to a crescendo at the end.

      The Mass began, and Gina whispered to Paul, “Do you see Mom anywhere?”

      He turned and scanned the crowds. “Can’t tell. It’s hard to see, it’s so packed—”

      He broke off and his face paled as he saw the blond woman in an aisle seat, five rows behind and across from theirs. Lacey? My God, what is she doing here?

      His eyes met hers, and he thought he saw the beginnings of a mischievous grin. Confusion and a feeling of disaster flooded him. He couldn’t let Gina and Lacey meet. Gina would know right away the place that Lacey held in his life.

      Would his mistress force a meeting? Did she just want to see his wife and daughter, find out what they looked like?

      As if hearing the question, Lacey gave a shrug and looked away. The procession in the middle aisle came between them as it neared the altar. Paul turned back to Gina as she tugged at his arm. “Do you see her?”

      “No,” Paul said, his mouth dry. “I don’t see her.”

      From that point on he barely noticed the Mass going on in front of him. Instead, he worried about what Lacey would do.

      During Communion, as parishioners filled the aisles and walked to the altar railing, Paul risked a look back again. If she met his eyes, he would try to indicate to her in some way that she shouldn’t speak to him after the Mass. Perhaps just a small shake of the head would do it. Surely she’d understand.

      But Lacey was gone, her seat taken by an elderly man.

      Paul felt his entire body sag with relief. Then, quickly, his eyes scanned the pews in case she had simply moved to another seat. He didn’t see her anywhere. Thank God.

      But why would she leave in the middle of Mass? To avoid having to see him with his family any longer?

      That could be it.

      It was several minutes before he was able to breathe normally again. He would have to talk to Lacey, though. In the three months that she had been his mistress, they had never discussed what they would do if they were seen together by Gina or anyone else who knew him. Now he would have to make sure that Lacey knew what to say if such an occasion arose: that they knew each other through Soleil. She was a client; nothing more.

      Paul turned his attention back to the Mass. The priest was saying the Agnus Dei. “Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world, have mercy on us.”

      Paul had little faith that anyone, God or priest, could take away his sins. He thought that he would probably go to hell by the time all this was over. He did pray for mercy, however—understanding, if not forgiveness. “Have mercy on us,” he whispered, along with the congregation. “Have mercy on us.”

      They were on the way home when it happened. A car behind them followed too closely, blinding Paul with its headlights.

      “Damn tailgaters,” he muttered.

      “Golly, Dad, must you swear right after Mass?” Rachel complained from the back seat.

      He was too tense to answer. Between seeing Lacey in the church, and now this, the holiday was turning out to be even worse than he’d anticipated.

      Paul stepped on the brake and tapped it lightly, slowing down gradually. Maybe the car behind would take the hint and pass. The street was dark here, but there was plenty of room on either side, whereas farther up the hill, it narrowed dangerously.

      But the driver behind him stayed on his tail. Dammit, why didn’t it pass? Was it someone unfamiliar with the streets on Queen Anne Hill?

      Paul sped up, and the other car did, too. He couldn’t shake it, and now he was beginning to worry. What if this was some nut, hoping to cut them off at some point and carjack them? Or what if he was following them home to grab them in the driveway?

      Even as he thought it, the car pulled out into the middle of the road and came closer, its front end nudging the left rear bumper of the Infiniti. Paul felt the bump and then heard a loud, metallic screech. The steering wheel began to slip from his grasp, and he clenched his fingers around it. “Hang on!” he yelled as the Infiniti swerved from side to side.

      “Oh, my God!” he heard Gina cry.

      “Daddy, what’s he doing?” Rachel yelled.

      Ahead was a large old cedar tree that stuck a couple of yards into the road, its trunk easily three feet in diameter. Paul saw it looming ahead of him and jammed his foot on the brake. The street was slick from the rain, however, and he could do nothing to stop the Infiniti from skidding and barreling straight into the tree.

      Metal careened against wood. Glass crashed. The front air bags deployed, and Paul felt as if he’d hit a wall as the bag on his side slammed against his chest and face. Gina screamed, and Rachel flew forward. Paul felt her impact on the back of his seat.

      It was over within seconds that seemed like hours. Paul sat shaken, nauseated, and as the air was automatically sucked out of the bags he looked over at Gina, who sat upright with a dazed expression on her face.

      “Are you all right?” he managed.

      Gina nodded. “Rachel?” she said, her voice shaking.

      Rachel was crying, and though Paul was still in shock and felt weak, he managed to unbuckle his seat belt and get out, opening the back door. Rachel sat crumpled over, her face in her hands.

      “Honey, are you okay?” he asked, his voice not much more than a harsh whisper. His legs shook, and he could barely hold himself upright. He grabbed hold of the door to keep himself from falling.

      “Mommy,” Rachel said in a strange, hollow voice. “Is Mommy okay?”