Isabel was early, but they seated her anyway. She ordered a bottle of Dom Pérignon and requested four glasses. When the champagne arrived, she poured herself a glass and took a sip. She closed her eyes and swirled it around in her mouth. Nectar of the gods. She took another sip, then another, and when that glass was gone, she poured herself another.
Her friends arrived promptly at seven and she rose to greet them, giving each one a hug and a kiss. Everyone was in a festive mood, and she vowed that tonight would be no pity party. And there would be no tears. Tonight they would celebrate their friendship in grand style. The way they used to.
She poured them each a glass of the Dom and raised her glass to offer a toast. “To a night of fun, food, and laughter. Tonight there are no cares, no worries, and no problems. Just four girls celebrating life, love, and forks of friendship.” She held up one of the fondue sticks.
The girls raised their glasses and the celebration began in earnest. The conversation was lively and the laughter never stopped. Over the next two hours they skewered, boiled, and dipped an assortment of breads, cheeses, and meats and shared stories from their years at Berkeley that Isabel had long since forgotten. She laughed so hard she nearly choked on a piece of meat and then laughed at the irony of it.
When it was time to order dessert, Isabel ordered a pot of dark chocolate with peanut butter and an extra serving of the brownies that came with it for dipping. Then she asked the other girls what they were having.
“Seriously? You’re going to eat that all by yourself?” the server asked. Her expression was almost as incredulous as that of her friends.
Isabel nodded. “Watch me.”
“Wow, last meal or something?” the server asked.
Isabel’s smile faltered momentarily but she quickly regained her composure. “Something like that.”
Before dessert arrived, she reached into the shopping bag she’d brought and handed each of the girls a small blue box from Tiffany. “A token of my affection.” She forced her trembling lips into something she hoped resembled a smile. “A little something to remind you how much you mean to me.” Grief wove its tentacles around her heart and squeezed. She drew in a sharp breath and flicked her wrist toward the girls. “Go ahead and open them.”
The girls wasted no time pulling at the ribbons and flipping off the lids of the boxes. Inside, each found a sterling silver bracelet with a heart-shaped charm that read “Sisters.”
Isabel raised her glass to them. “Because each of you is a sister to me in all the ways that count.”
Each of the girls gave Isabel a tearful hug. She bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to stave off her own tears. No, not now, dammit.
The arrival of dessert provided a much-needed distraction. She eagerly stabbed two brownie squares onto her fork and scooped up as much of the chocolate as she could and shoveled it into her mouth. God, she hoped there was chocolate in heaven. She’d forgotten to ask.
Before she knew it, the evening drew to a close. The other girls were staying together at a hotel downtown. They’d asked her to join them, but she had declined. She couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if she had accepted before she died the first time. Would Stanley have found a way to change her mind?
After sharing a heartfelt goodbye with her friends, Isabel paced in front of the restaurant while she waited for her car. This was it. The final stretch. She willed herself to take long, deep breaths in an effort to steady the tremor in her hands, but it was no use.
The gooey, chocolate mess inside her stomach roiled about like a ship on stormy seas. She glanced at her watch: 10:06 p.m. Her heart leapt into her throat. Where was the valet? She needed to be on the road in exactly one minute.
When the car arrived, Faruk hopped out and held the door for her. As she jumped into the driver’s seat, she swore she saw him wink at her. She turned on the ignition and looked up, but Faruk was already gone. Could it have been him? Or was Surfer Boy just flirting with her?
As she put the car in gear, she glanced at the passenger seat and noticed that her journal was missing. She was sure it had been there when she arrived at the restaurant. Had Surfer Boy snatched it?
Focus.
The voice came from nowhere, but it was loud and clear.
Her thoughts turned back to her driving. She pulled away from the curb and turned right onto Van Ness Avenue, toward the 101. Her hands trembled as she struggled to keep the car straight. What if her timing was off? What if she somehow missed the white van?
What if she chickened out?
Her heart beat so fast she could barely catch her breath. Even though she knew she was going to heaven, she recited the Lord’s Prayer, hoping it would help keep her mind off the fact that she was going to die in—she glanced at the clock—approximately ten minutes. Praying didn’t work.
Her breath came in short, shallow gasps and she swallowed so much air that she got the hiccups.
Perfect.
As she approached the Whipple Avenue onramp, she could see the white van at the metering light. She saw the light turn green and the van ease into the flow of traffic. Her stomach began to free fall and she worried that the contents might choose this exact moment to make a reappearance.
She saw the blue Toyota Corolla in front of her and she knew that everything was on schedule. The van merged left, not yet out of control, and it seemed as if time stood still. The last moment of her life was taking a freaking eternity.
And then something unexpected happened.
The blue Toyota in front of her slowed down. No, this can’t be happening. Speed up, you moron!
The Toyota slowed even more.
Isabel laid on the horn but it did no good. She craned her neck to glimpse the van in her right side mirror just in time to see its tire blow, and watched helplessly as it careened out of control and struck not her but the blue Toyota Corolla in front of her.
She swerved her car into the left lane, willing her car to be the one that the semi-truck hit but she was too late. She watched as the Toyota flipped, end over end, until it came to a rest on the shoulder of the freeway.
No, no, no! This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen.
The white van miraculously recovered and made its way to the shoulder in front of the Toyota. Isabel followed suit, and as soon as she was safely onto the shoulder, she jumped out of her car and ran over to the van.
“Is everyone alright?” she asked, nearly shrieking.
The woman nodded.
“You’re sure? Alan. Is Alan alright?”
The woman’s brows bunched together. “How do you know my son?”
“Long story. I have to go help the other driver. Use your cell phone and call 911.” Isabel sprinted over to the Toyota, which had landed wheels up.
She dropped to her knees, peered inside the shattered window and drew in a sharp breath. There was no body in the car. On the floor, which was actually the ceiling, lay two things. The first was a name tag that bore the name Faruk. The second was her journal.
Son of a bitch. It had been him at the restaurant.
Instinctively, she grabbed the items and stuffed them into her coat pocket.
“Is the driver okay?” a voice behind her asked.
Isabel spun around to find the woman from the van peering over her shoulder. Uncertain about how to explain the lack of a body in the Toyota, Isabel rose and inquired again about Alan.
“He’s fine. A little shaken, but fine.”
Isabel nodded, and the full realization of what had happened struck her.
Alan Rosenberg was still alive. So was she. Faruk had somehow found a way to save her.
The world around her spun, and she plummeted to the ground.