Taboo (22 page)

"Not welcome?" Dorothy exclaimed. "How could you not be welcome? You're our daughter."

She opened her arms with maternal acceptance. Cammie took one halting step forward, then another. And then she was being embraced with the unconditional acceptance she had always longed for, had always tried so hard to earn.

But it had been there for the taking all along, without conditions or reserve.

"Oh, Mom," she cried, clinging tight. "Mom, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you or disgrace you. I couldn't help it. We're in love. So much in love."

"There now," Dorothy soothed, urging her toward the kitchen. "Dad's in here and we're going to have a little talk. We're sorry we drove you away, the way we acted. But it was such a—a shock, Cammie. You should have told us."

"I was afraid to," she said, swiping away tears of relief. "I didn't think you'd approve... and Grant... he wanted to be honest with you from the beginning. But I was too much of a coward. I couldn't bear to think of losing you and Dad."

"Nonsense," Edward boomed as he joined them at the kitchen table. He took Cammie's free hand; Dorothy was holding tight to the other. "I admit it's not exactly an easy thing for Mom and me to accept. But we'll get used to it. What's important is that you and Grant do the right thing by each other."

"We're getting married. At least, if he'll still have me after I deserted him, we will."

"Of course he'll still have you," Dorothy assured her. "He loves you very much, Cammie. He told us about it before he left last night."

"Do you know where he is?" she asked anxiously. "I've looked for him, I've called him. He never went home."

Dorothy and Edward exchanged a worried look.

"He was pretty upset when he left. We tried to get him to stay, but he said he wanted to be alone."

"We thought he'd drive over to check on you and let you know everything was going to be okay."

"Do you think he's hurt? Or—or—" She couldn't bring herself to say it. "He drives so fast, it scares me."

Edward and Dorothy didn't dispute her, their silence heightening her anxiety.

"I'll get in my car and drive around to see if I can find him," Edward said.

"I'll call Trish and ask if he's been by her."

Cammie almost knocked her chair over in her urgency to help.

"I'll backtrack to his house," she said, "and—Oh, no. I forgot to leave a message at my place. I've got to get home, or he'll think the worst."

"Cammie, honey, I don't think you're in any condition to drive. You look like you need some tending."

She stopped at the front door just long enough to reassure Dorothy that she was fine. "And besides, I have to do
something.
I'm worried sick about him, Mom."

"He'll be fine," Dorothy said, though her expression of concern didn't match her confident voice. "The good Lord will watch after him. But if you're determined to go, promise me you'll watch after yourself. There are a lot of drunk drivers on the road on New Year's."

"I promise." Cammie kissed her quickly, then embraced Edward before he could hurry to his own car.

"We love you, Cammie," Dorothy said. "Nothing could ever make us stop."

"I know that now, Mom, Dad. I only wish I'd realized it sooner."

"Hindsight's twenty-twenty vision," Edward said. "The main thing is that you make the most of the future."

"I will," she vowed. "As soon as I find Grant."

Chapter 14

The phone rang the second she opened the door. Cammie ran to answer it, almost tripping over her own feet to get there.

"Grant!" she said breathlessly, hoping against hope it was he.

"Sorry, it's just me," Russ said, then coughed harshly. "Cammie, I'm really sick. I know I promised to sit in for you tonight but—" He hacked several more times, then sneezed. "Man, I feel awful. I'll never make it through the newscast."

"But, Russ, I can't. I mean, there's an emergency, and I—No. Someone else will have to do it."

"I already called the sta—" He stopped long enough to wheeze. "The sub's out of town till sometime tonight. She can make it for ten. But Jack's expecting you for the six o'clock—Ahh-choo! Ohh, crud. What's the emergency?"

"I can't find Grant."

"Oh. Hey, he'll show up. He's nuts about you."

And emotionally unhinged after I bailed on him
, she added silently. But she had to do the responsible thing, professionally at least since she had failed so miserably in the personal department.

"Okay, Russ. But just for the six o'clock report."

"I owe you, Cammie. Sorry I couldn't catch you before the last minute."

And minutes were all she had to transform herself from what looked like a train wreck to a semi-put together anchor that arrived while Jack was in a tailspin.

"Jeez, Cammie, are you trying to give me heart failure?" Jack exclaimed when she entered the studio. "Get in that chair. You've got one minute to countdown, and... man, do you look terrible. What's going on? Too much of a good thing last night?"

"Hardly," she muttered. There'd been no sign of Grant all day. Dorothy and Edward had called the police while she'd phoned the hospitals. They were going to keep looking and phone her the second they found him. "Let's just get this show on the road so I can get out of here."

"We've got weather and sports covered, but otherwise, you're it," he informed her, half-running to his position while she rushed to hers.

"Ten... nine... eight... "

Jack's cue was an ominous reminder of the midnight countdown. Frantically she tried to clear her head of everything but the news—the news she hadn't had time to give so much as a preliminary glance.

"Three... two... one."

"Good evening, and happy New Year," she said automatically, grateful that her years as a pro enabled her to wing it. Depending heavily on the Teleprompter, she made it through the headlines, fighting to keep her concentration.

At the first commercial break Jack gave her a thumbs-up sign. "You're doing great, Cammie. Keep it up."

"Thanks, Jack. Any phone calls for me while I was on the air?"

"No, but we got a message that the Minicam's on its way with a cameraman to cover a bad accident. We'll have to squeeze the news flash in at the end, if he gets there in time."

"Any details?" she asked anxiously.

"Not yet. He'll call us on the car phone to give us the details and patch in with the visual while you announce. Sorry, but you already know we've got a shortage of reporters. Uh-oh, countdown. Hang in there, Cammie."

A terrible sense of foreboding gripped her. Somehow she got through the second portion without any major foul-ups, then turned it over to the sports and weather announcers. A chill grew inside her as she waited for Jack to run to the control booth as the anticipated call came through.

Haunting visions of her family seared her mind while she told herself it was nothing. She always tensed up whenever she reported on accidents. Yes, that was it. She was just upset because of that. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to be alarmed about—

Jack interrupted her frantic attempts at rationalization. He pushed some notes into her clammy hands just before the final commercial break rolled to a close. He pointed out the crucial points to cover, then scooted away just before he signaled her that she was on.

For a horrifying moment she stared woodenly at the camera.

"This just in," she said faintly as Jack waved his hands in a frantic gesture for her to get going. Cammie gulped hard and forced the words out in a strained, high-pitched voice.

"A tragic New Year's accident involving two Porsche sports cars has claimed the life of a local man, whose identity is being withheld pending notification of relatives. The fate of the driver of the second car is not known at the moment." Jack indicated that the Minicam was patched in, and she stared sightlessly at the screen. At Grant's mutilated automobile, at the macabre activity surrounding it.

"One car is currently—" Her voice caught. "Is currently being attended by rescue workers, where the Jaws of Life are hard at work in an attempt to—to extricate the body of a man pinned inside the car's crushed remains. At this time, the state of his condition is unknown."

Jack indicated that the camera was once again focused on her. She made herself face the lens, the thousands of invisible viewers, as her world crumbled around her.

She was visibly shaking from head to toes, her voice toneless. "We'll bring you up-to-date with the situation on the ten o'clock report. This is Cammie Walker saying—good night."

The cameras cut off immediately. Jack rushed over to her.

"Good Lord, Cammie, what is going on?"

"Grant," she whispered. "Grant." She stared at Jack in a state of shock. "I have to go to him."

"That was your brother? Oh, Jeez, Cammie, I didn't know, I didn't—"

"Not my brother. My lover. My fiancé."

"Which one?" he said quickly. "Which—"

"I don't know. I don't—"

Could he have survived? Could he still be alive in that horrible-looking wreckage? Could he be the one survivor? Still in a state of shock, she grabbed her purse, then ran for the exit. Jack was fast on her heels.

She stopped at the door just long enough to demand, "Where? Where is he? I don't know where to—"

"You're in no condition to drive. I've got the location. C'mon, I'll get you there as fast as I can. It's close by."

Was it for minutes or hours that she stared almost comatose out the window as Jack sped to the accident scene? She didn't cry. She was beyond tears. She didn't hear Jack's voice as he attempted to console her. She heard only Grant's voice calling her name, telling her to stop, to come back.

And then they were there, amidst the frenzied activity surrounding a horribly damaged sports car. She saw an ambulance, police cars, rescue workers and paramedics, curious spectators... and blood. The smell of it, and of death, tainted the air. She almost expected to see the bodies of her family—but she was looking for Grant's body.

She'd thought she was healed. She'd thought, with the help of Grant's love and care, she'd put all of her guilt behind her. But she hadn't, for here she was again—a fatal car accident... their fight... her fault...

Trembling, wild with fear and rage at herself, she stumbled out of Jack's car and toward the Porsche that the rescue workers were frantically working on. Grant, she thought numbly. He had to be alive. He had to be....

She glanced at the other Porsche, empty, strangely lethal looking, even when motionless and all but destroyed by the crash. The driver's door was horribly smashed, thrusting into the interior of the car.

...claimed the life of a local man...

Suddenly the other Porsche burst into flames. The rescue workers and onlookers scurried to safety, but Cammie started running toward the blazing corpse of metal.

"Grant!" she screamed over and over again.

Unseen hands grabbed her, jerked her to a stop. She struggled against their hold.

"I see him, Cammie! I see him!" Jack shook her until she quit flailing against him, then pushed her toward the median strip.

She took a few steps forward, then stopped, staring at the man sitting there.

Grant. Blood covered his face and arms, dripped in dark rivers over his ragged clothing. His head was bowed, his arms dangling loose between his legs.

"Grant," she whispered, then cried, "Grant!"

She raced to him and, her entire body shaking, knelt beside him. He didn't look up, didn't move. Where were the medics? she wondered. Why weren't they taking care of him? She touched him gingerly, his arms, his legs, not wanting to hurt him more. He didn't seem to have broken bones, but the blood—

Moving closer, she looked into his eyes—the eyes of a man in deep shock, who didn't know where he was or what had happened. The blood seemed to come from small cuts and a few gashes on his face and arms. But he was all right.

She sobbed her heartache and joy while she carefully pressed hungry kisses over his battered face.