Page 32 of Chasing the Other Woman

“Brooks, you should go east.”

“We’re all right,” I’d said. “We can cut it off up ahead. Won’t even get near us.”

Just like always, she’d been right.

We should have gone east.

The road had gone slick. I squeeze my eyes shut as if that can stop the images of Sam’s hand pressed to her belly, then holding onto the dash. As if I can do anything other than hear the clamp of the brakes. The way the truck had slid sideways before the impact of my shoulder hitting the door.

And then Sam’s awful scream.

She’d told me. I hadn’t listened.

How many times had that exact scenario played out in ways that had destroyed me?

Twice. It had only had to happen twice to take everything away from me.

First our baby. Then her, though at least she was safe in Muncie.

That’s what I kept telling myself. At least she’s alive.

“Brooks?”

I turn, finding Hershel standing in the doorway. Part of me wonders how long he’s been standing there, watching me on the verge of a breakdown. The other part of me just doesn’t care.

I hold up the photo.

“Was looking for the maps.”

His face changes.

“Hell,” he says softly. No old-school rock-and-roll wisdom. I find myself oddly wishing he’d tell me what Ozzy would have done in this moment.

“I was sure she was pulling away from me,” I say, not sure why I’m telling him this other than the fact that it feels like extracting venom from a snake bite. “I thought maybe Tony was giving her something I couldn’t.”

Why I couldn’t give her whatever that was, I still wasn’t sure. Or maybe I was and I was still unable to get rid of that venom.

“I don’t even think she was sleeping with him,” I say, and that gets a noise from Hershel that sounds equally dismissive and surprised.

“The fact you ever entertained that idea makes me question your intelligence, Carlisle.”

“How can I blame her for leaning on someone that was giving her what I couldn’t?”

“First, you can’t, so good thing you’ve realized it,” Hershel says. “Second, I still think you’re reading too much into this. Third, at least you’re coming to the conclusion you’ve been an idiot. As Meat Loaf once said, two out of three ain’t bad.”

I hear someone call my name from outside the office. Sliding the ultrasound photo back into the notebook, I stand. “The producer will be fine without those damned maps.” Right now, someone needs me to be Brooks Carlisle, storm cowboy. The least I can do is pretend I’ve got that much under control.

Everyone’s arguing about the next move when the weather radios all go off at once.

“Brooks,” Hershel says, and immediately, I don’t like the tone.

He jerks his head toward the radar display. The line of storms that seemed to be unable to decide its next move has shifted south.

“Where’s that headed?” Luci asks.

I’m moving because I already know.

Texas Panhandle. Muncie. The Funnel Cloud.