She answered the phone on its second ring, continuing to stir the browning meat as she flipped open her cell.
“Good evening. I’m looking for Mrs. Marcy Kline?”
“This is she.” Marcy re-covered the pan and set her spatula on the counter.
“Mrs. Kline. This is Officer Olson of the State Highway Patrol.”
Marcy stiffened slightly.
“Is there something wrong, Officer?”
“I’m afraid so, Mrs. Kline. There’s been an accident. Your husband has been taken to South Hospital. Do you know where that is?”
“Yes, I do. Is he okay?”
“The ambulance just left, ma’am. I think you need to get there right away.”
“I see. Thank you for calling me.”
The phone went dead, and she flipped hers closed. For a moment, Marcy merely stood, dazed. The kitchen was a mess, the dinner preparations in full swing. Flour sat like a light snow on the counter. She had three pans in full boil on the stove, and the baking bread filled the kitchen with its yeasty aroma.
The dinner was to be her apology. They’d fought about this trip, about why he had to go, and even when he tried to make it up to her before leaving, she had brushed him off, hoping to make him suffer for a day or two. But she’d regretted it as soon as he drove away. She shouldn’t have let him go like that.
She almost called him to apologize, but decided this surprise would be more romantic. She had waited to make it up to him. And now, now she might have waited too long.
Taking a sharp breath, Marcy suddenly needed to hurry. She turned off the burners and pulled the half-baked bread from the oven. Grabbing her phone and her warmest coat, she picked up her purse on the way to the door. She opened the garage door, took one last look at the remains of the romantic evening she’d planned, and headed to the hospital.
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