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"If what, Mr. Ferguson," Jewell snapped.
"They don't know if she'll make it through the night. I thought—I knew—I knew Ben would need to know, but?—"
Jewell's heart froze and her knees buckled. "Dear God," she managed to whisper.
"You've got to tell Ben, Miss Kincaid. He needs to come. He needs to help fix this. It's—they say Dillon did it, but he wouldn't—he could never…"
"We'll be there in a few hours," she choked out and managed to end the call without the phone falling out of her trembling hand.
Jewell hung up the phone and swallowed hard against the hot lump in her throat. She forced herself to look up, slipping the phone into her pocket. There was no way she could speak, and if she tried to sign and hold the phone it would end up a shattered mass of bits and pieces on the tile. Deep lines furrowed his forehead and his eyes searched her face. With Herculean effort, Jewell raised her hands and told him.
Benjamin shoved her hands away as she signed, as if in an attempt to silence her. "No."
"I'm so sorry." Jewell couldn't speak, the words caught in her throat. "Benjamin, I'm so sorry."
He turned away before she finished the sign, and took the staircase two steps at a time. Jewell tried to keep up, but he reached his bedroom before her and came out of the closet with a suitcase when she came through the door. She stood helpless, watching him make two trips between the open suitcase on the bed and his closet. It wasn't until he came out of the attached bathroom with his sachet that he faltered in his frenzied attack on his wardrobe. He hunched over the suitcase, his hands braced on the open edge of the luggage, his head down. Jewell took a step toward him, her heart aching in her chest.
When his shoulders shook and a strangled cry ripped through him, Jewell rushed to him and wrapped her arms across his back. He tried to shrug her off, but she held on and the attempt was only halfhearted.
His knees hit the floor with a loud thud, Jewell moving with him. A heart-wrenching sob shook his shoulders. Jewell leaned over him and wrapped her arms around him as best she could. His arms circled her waist and he buried his face in her lap. Silent cries rocked his body and his tears soaked through her blouse. She could do nothing but hold on and pray.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jewell drove Benjamin's car the near-two hour drive to Hartford, Connecticut. He didn't speak a word from the time they left his house until they reached the Hartford city limits. His silence worried her and made Jewell's heart ache. She wanted to ease his pain somehow, but didn't know what to do. The only thing she could do, that he would allow, was to hold his hand across the center console. But his fingers were flaccid in hers.
Benjamin provided only enough instruction as was necessary as they came into Hartford. Turn here. Next exit. Stay on this road. They moved through downtown and headed into the suburbs. The buildings changed from brick apartments to small cottages and colonials, to larger colonials and Victorians, finally growing in size to huge homes and mansions. The lawns grew in size in proportion to the size of the houses. Benjamin indicated an upcoming right turn onto what looked like a side street.
"It's right here," he said quietly. His voice cracked as he spoke.
Jewell slowed and turned the car. When she did, she realized it wasn't a side street but a driveway entrance. White granite pillars stood on either side of the drive with an iron banner bridging them. Within the arch, she read the name Willow Wood Manor. The wrought-iron gate stood closed and foreboding.
She stopped the car. Like a speaker at a fast food drive-thru, a small box protruded from the ground on the right side of the car. Jewell looked to Benjamin.
"Just tell them it's me," he signed in a tired, slow action.
Jewell nodded and rolled down the window.
"State your name and business," said a dull, deep voice through the static of the speaker.
"Jewell Kincaid and Benjamin Roth." The words stuck in her throat. What else should she say? How could she say it?
She heard a click and the gate slowly opened. An ominous sense of dread settled into her bones. As they pulled through, Jewell felt like an inmate on death row walking the green mile. Silver moonlight bathed the expansive piece of property. She drove slowly up the winding drive of paved cobblestone. Giant, ancient willow trees lined them on both sides with their long branches drooping down to nearly touch the ground. Green-silver leaves covered the grass and stone.
"Oh, my God," Jewell mumbled as the house came into view.
It was huge. Jewell had only seen houses like this on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. Or maybe Gone With The Wind. Four marble columns, three stories high, framed the front entrance that was reached by a dozen marble steps fifteen feet wide. The entire house glimmered a pristine white in the moonlight. Rows and rows of oversized windows created the front façade of the house, and light streamed onto the ground through half a dozen of them. The drive opened up in front of the house to create a large parking area. She pulled the car to an open spot on the left side of the space and turned off the ignition.
Jewell looked across the small space to watch Benjamin's profile. The fingers of his right hand drummed on his thigh as he stared at the lights of the house. Tears burned in Jewell's eyes and the ache that had wrapped around her heart since the call came grew to an almost unbearable weight. More than anything in the world, Jewell wanted to take a portion of the darkness from his eyes and carry some of the weight for him. She laid her hand on his shoulder, kneading gently the tense muscles beneath her fingers.
He didn't take his eyes off the house. With a weary slowness, Benjamin lifted his hands just far enough off his lap to sign.
"I want to apologize now for what will probably happen in the next few days. You shouldn't have come here."
Jewell leaned across the console between them and laid her cheek against his arm. She signed in front of them.
"I'm here for you. Don't worry about me at all. You do what you need to do, and I'll be beside you when you need me."
He reached up to wrap his fingers around her hand and press her knuckles against his lips. Still, Benjamin didn't look at her. Jewell wished he would show some sign of emotion beyond the detached and stoic expression. Since his initial and intense reaction to the news of the shooting, Benjamin had shown no other emotional sign. Only a matter of hours had passed since George's telephone call, but it worried her.
