As Beth stomped into the blustery Manhattan night, she felt the hot tears freeze on her cheeks. She had no idea where she was going; she just had to keep moving, as if distance would somehow ease the sharp pain of betrayal.
She arrived at the corner of 88th and Third and hesitated. Which way now? She hadn’t a clue.
She had always loved a white Christmas, and here she was standing like a lonely snow angel with no particular place to be. The grand city seemed lovely and serene, but Beth felt no peace. Her heart was in shambles, her stomach tied up in knots. A wave of nausea washed over her, and a foreboding shudder rolled down her. She wanted to run from it—whatever it was—but knew there was no escape.
Then she heard a dog bark. An unusual sound in New York City. Why on earth would a dog be out on a night like this?
Then it hit her. She knew that bark.
“Lulu?”
Beth spotted Mrs. Applebee’s furry little drifter standing in the middle of Third Avenue, a wary tail wagging in Beth’s direction. The pup had found a friend amidst the storm.
“Hey, you crazy girl. What are you doing out here?” Beth cautiously stepped out into the street, careful not to spook the wayward doggy.
A block away, Andrew rounded the corner and stopped to get his bearings. He looked down, and there in the freshly fallen snow, he found his answer: Beth-sized footprints heading up the sidewalk.
He’d only tracked a few paces when he saw her, crouched in the middle of the deserted street, her back to him. He saw movement, a fluff of white fur, heard a yelp. It was that darn dog again.
“Beth?”
She didn’t hear him. She was too far away. Then, in a terrifying instant, he caught a glimpse of a taxi flying down Third Avenue, high beams glaring. Surely she’d see it. She had to see it.
But she was still hunched over the dog, oblivious to the danger racing toward her. “Beth!”
The cab was closing fast, terribly fast. Beth stood up, cradling the dog in her arms. She turned toward the blinding lights at the moment the cabbie spotted her. He laid down hard on the horn, a wasted gesture that was too little, far too late. For a moment, Beth stood frozen in the headlights as over three thousand pounds of compact metal bore down on her.
Brakes screamed. Andrew screamed. The cab fishtailed wildly, then slammed into Beth at forty miles an hour.
In the moment before impact, Beth tossed the helpless dog out of harm’s way. Lulu hit the snowy pavement with a whimper and scampered safely away just as the front bumper of the taxi slammed into Beth, sending her flying backward down the street. The thud was sickening and horrific, and Andrew knew immediately his wife was hit dead-on.
“Beth!” Andrew ran to her, sobbing. “Beth . . . Beth!”
He turned her over, cradled her head on his lap, as the horror-stricken cabbie jumped out of his taxi and ran toward the huddled figures in the street. When the driver saw Beth’s broken body, his knees buckled and he collapsed, his anguished face in his hands.
Half a dozen people emerged from the storm, drawn like snow zombies to the scene of the tragedy. “Somebody call an ambulance,” Andrew shouted.
A middle-aged man quickly moved to stop oncoming traffic while a young woman dialed 911 on her cell.
Andrew took Beth’s wrist, tried to feel for a pulse, but he was trembling so badly he couldn’t hold her arm still. Her eyes were closed, her lips set in a soft half smile. Andrew pulled her into his arms and cried, “Please, God, no. Please don’t take my wife.”