Lighthouse Road (Cedar Cove #1)(74)

“I’ll be there as fast as I can.” Then it hit her. “Cathy, is everything all right?”

Cathy released a sob. “I think so…I don’t know.”

“Cath? You’d better tell me.”

Cecilia heard her friend struggle not to cry. “I…I’ve started spotting.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

“How bad is it?” It might be more important to drive Cathy to the hospital first.

“Not bad—much lighter than the first two miscarriages.” Cathy made it sound like a foregone conclusion that she would lose this baby, too.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Oh, Cecilia, I don’t know what I’d do without you.” The tears were back in her voice.

Dumping everything in the sink, Cecilia didn’t change clothes or bother with her hair or makeup. She refused to think of what might be happening to her husband half a world away. If there was one thing she’d learned this past year, it was that she couldn’t take anything for granted. She could only hope for the best.

Cathy was sitting on the front porch steps outside her rental house, waiting for her. As soon as Cecilia approached, Cathy stood. She looked shaken and deathly pale.

“Did you hear anything else?” Cecilia asked.

“No. You?”

Cecilia had turned on the all-news radio station on the drive over. “Just what was on the local news.”

“A number of…deaths have been reported.”

Cecilia couldn’t bear to think about that. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No, I have to find out what I can about Andrew first,” Cathy said. “If we go to the hospital, it’ll take hours and they might keep me. I need to know if Andrew’s all right. Then I’ll go, I promise.”

“Are you still bleeding?”

Cathy shook her head. “No, thank God.”

Cecilia headed toward the Bremerton Navy base and joined the cars streaming toward the checkpoint at the entrance. It seemed that every spouse, parent and sibling of each enlisted man and woman sought information. A large hangar was set aside for the purpose; hundreds of chairs had been brought in, along with drinks and snacks.

Women, older men and children gathered together in small groups. Cecilia was astonished by the speed with which rumors started to circulate. By three that afternoon, word arrived of five confirmed deaths. Then Cecilia heard ten had died and with every hour the number grew. The truth remained unknown, lost amid all the speculation.

An officer announced that the explosion had been due to human error and was not a terrorist attack as first suspected. Terrorists were prominent in everyone’s fears, Cecilia suspected, especially after what had happened to the USS Cole. Australia was a friendly port, but one could never be sure.

Next, they learned that the explosion had occurred in the munitions area, which sent gasps of horror rippling through the room. Three known dead, the officer said, but in such a volatile spot on the ship, that left a lot of uncertainty regarding the number of injuries.

By nightfall they were told that everything was under control. The fires were out; the aircraft carrier was secure. At last came the moment they’d all been waiting for. The base commander moved to the front of the room to read a list of those who’d been injured. “Lieutenant Wayne Van Buskirk. Ensign Jeremiah Smith. Chief Petty Officer Alfred Hussey. First Class Gunner’s Mate Gerald Frederickson. Third Class Gunner’s Mate Charles Washington. Seaman Janet Lewis…” Cathy and Cecilia clung to one another. Each name echoed through the room like a bomb-shell, followed by a gasp or a cry of alarm. And then Ian’s name was called out. Cecilia heard her own shout of panic; her legs went slack and she slumped into a chair.

“Ian.” She wasn’t prepared, wasn’t ready to deal with this. Cathy gripped her hand and Cecilia squeezed so hard, her fingers lost feeling.

“I’ll wait for you here,” Cathy told her.

Until that instant, Cecilia didn’t realize any other instructions had been given. Cathy hugged her and explained that she was to proceed to the front of the room and speak to the Information Officer.

Weaving her way through the crowd of Navy family and friends, Cecilia seemed to be walking in slow motion. She heard the sounds of conversation and weeping and occasional nervous laughter as though from a great distance.

“I’m Cecilia Randall,” she told the officer. She gave him Ian’s name and rank, and showed her military identification card.

He directed her to another officer. By then, Cecilia was nearly at the point of passing out. This all seemed so unreal. It couldn’t be happening. Not to Ian. Not to her. She’d already lost her daughter. Surely life wouldn’t be so cruel as to claim her husband, too. Clenching her hands at her sides, Cecilia held her breath and waited.

“Mrs. Randall?”

“Yes.” Instantly alert, Cecilia stepped forward. “I’m the wife of Ian Randall.”

The officer smiled reassuringly. “Your husband has sustained cuts and bruises.”

“Is—Is he hospitalized?”

“No.” He tore off a sheet and handed it to her. “The reason we ask to speak to all the relatives of those injured is to inform you that you can talk to your loved one.”