Randall Honor

“Uncle Pete, Abby—Abby’s dead. We found her collapsed on the kitchen floor. The doctor’s about to leave. Aunt Janie, Rich and Mom are here with Russ…yes, I’ll tell her.”

She told her aunt Janie that Pete was on his way, then turned back to her mother. “That phone is going to start ringing off the wall,” she murmured.

“I know.” Anna gave her a steady look. “Can you handle the phone? We sure don’t want Russ having to do that.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll find a pad and pen and make a list.”

She walked away and returned as the phone rang again, the necessities in hand.

“She’s very composed,” Jon muttered to her mother.

“Yes. We aren’t used to tragedy. We’ve been very fortunate. But we’re strong. Don’t worry. We’ll take care of Russ.”

He nodded. “If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”

ABBY’S FUNERAL WAS HELD Sunday afternoon. The rest of Friday and Saturday, Tori handled the phone, answering curious questions and talking to all Russ’s and Abby’s friends. Everyone was shocked at Abby’s sudden death.

Dr. Wilson, in his secondary role as medical examiner, had let them know that her death was caused by a brain hemorrhage. She’d died instantly and nothing Russ could have done would have changed the outcome. Tori hoped those words comforted her cousin. They helped her, but it was such a waste of a good person. Abby had been so happy to be a part of the huge Randall family. Thrilled to be pregnant.

Tori tried not to think about the loss, but it was impossible not to. She constantly teared up. On Sunday afternoon, when they buried Abby, she stood with the family, lined up with Russ in support, to say goodbye to Abby. It was a difficult time.

She was worried about Russ. He had a blank stare and never spoke. His parents had convinced him to return to the ranch to sleep, giving him a room in the main house so they could insure he got rest and decent food. And that he wasn’t constantly reminded of his dead wife.

Tori closed the office on Monday, but opened it on Tuesday. She thought staying busy would be the best thing to do. She spent part of her day talking to people who stopped by to commiserate with Russ, and accepting potted plants from people who hadn’t heard before the funeral and wanted to express their sorrow.

She was closing at five when Dr. Wilson came to the door. With a sigh, she opened the door. “Yes, Doctor? I’m just closing.”

He gave her a sympathetic look. “Busy day?”

“Yes. Do you have more questions?” Her voice was strained from her exhaustion, but she couldn’t help it.

“I wanted to check on you and see how Russ is doing.”

She was surprised, but she’d been checked on so much the entire day, frequently by people wanting to share in the drama even if they hadn’t known Abby, she couldn’t stand it any longer. She used her standard answer. “Russ is doing as well as can be expected.”

“Which tells me exactly nothing. Have you been using that expression all day?”

“Yes.”

Instead of demanding more detail, he asked to borrow the phone. He had a pager and a phone in his SUV, but he didn’t carry a cell phone. She nodded and he picked up the receiver and dialed. When he received an answer, he asked for Anna.

“Hi, it’s Jon. How is Russ doing? Does he need some help?”

Tori had talked to her mother that morning, but Russ had still not arisen.

“He’s what? Are you sure that’s safe?”

“What?” Tori demanded, rising.

He shook his head at her. “Yeah. Well, let me know.”

“What?” she asked again.

“Okay. I will,” he said into the speaker, and then hung up the receiver. “Your mother is worried about you.”

She shrugged that off. “What did she say about Russ? Is what safe?”

He studied her, making her angry. “Tell me,” she demanded.

“I will if you’ll have dinner with me at the café. I promised your mother I’d make sure you ate.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t want to be seen in public with me. Gossip is rampant right now.”

“Did you eat lunch?”

“There wasn’t time.”

“Well, there’s time now. If you go upstairs, you’ll be answering the phone all evening.”

She groaned. “I don’t think there’s anyone left to call.”

“I suspect there is. Come on, let’s go get something to eat and I’ll explain what your mother said.” He didn’t try to grab her arm and pull her after him, which one of her cousins might have done. He stood back and waited, leaving the decision up to her.

She suddenly agreed, knowing he was right. She’d get more calls tonight if she was home. And she just didn’t think she could manage. She didn’t want to go out to the ranch, as her mother had suggested this evening. She nodded. “I’ll go, but I’ll pay for my own dinner.”

“Agreed. I love a cheap date.” He grinned. His expression was such a relief, such a normal response, she almost broke into tears.

She looked away and picked up her purse. “I’m ready.”

Grabbing the keys, she preceded him out the door and then inserted the key in the lock. As she was doing that, several people stopped to talk to them. She stood back and let Dr. Wilson handle the questions. But she did manage a sad smile as they offered their condolences.

“Thank you,” she muttered as they crossed the street and entered the café.

Mona, one of the waitresses, came to seat them and told Tori how sorry she was about Abby’s death. Tori thanked her, but she said nothing else.

“Mona, we need a back booth. Tori’s about worn-out from all the kind people here wanting to talk to her. As her doctor, I’m ordering a quiet meal with no interruptions.”

Mona shot Tori a sympathetic look and smiled at the doctor. “I’ve got just the booth you want.” She led them to the last booth and pointed out the side where Tori would be facing the back wall. “You sit here, hon, and I’ll intercept anyone who thinks he recognizes you.”

“Thank you, Mona.”

Her escort slid into the other side. “Good for you, Mona. You deserve a big tip.” Then, before Tori could assure him she’d pay the tip, he asked, “What’s the special tonight? Meat loaf?”

“Nope, but we have it on the menu. Tonight, it’s chicken and dumplings.”

“Okay. Give us a minute to look at the menu.”

When Mona left the table, Tori buried her face in her hands.