Unseen (Will Trent / Atlanta Series)

him Possum because of a childhood accident involvingillegal fireworks. He’d worshipped Jeffrey in that strange way that only straight men can. Possum had played wide receiver to Jeffrey’s quarterback. He’d married Jeffrey’s old girlfriend. He’d raised Jeffrey’s child.
    Sara kept walking. She kept her head down, passing unnoticed.
    As a doctor, her life had been spent anticipating what would happen next, thinking three or four steps ahead, but for some reason, Sara’s day was revealing itself in small slices. She hadn’t let herself think past the mundane tasks in front of her: Leave Grady. Now drive down the interstate. Now take the exit. Now park the car. Now go into the hospital.
    Seeing Possum offered a small glimpse of what was to come. They would want to reminisce about Jeffrey. They would want to tell old stories about pranks and practical jokes and loose women and angry husbands and Sara would have to sit there and listen to all of it as if her life had stopped the moment his had.
    And it
had
stopped. Everything had come to a standstill. But, eventually, it had to start moving again, and Sara had built a new life for herself—a life that they would not understand.
    The guilt felt like a vulture sitting on her shoulder, waiting for the right moment to devour her.
    Sara could only put one foot in front of the other as she continued down the hall. She turned into the small waiting room just outside the closed double doors of the ICU. The space was empty but for an older woman whose hair was more gray than brown.
    “Sara,” Nell said. She was sitting on a love seat underneath a window. A pile of knitting was in her lap. Several magazines were splayed beside her.
    There was only a five-year difference between them, but Nell had aged in that way good country women do—no hair color, no makeup, no laser treatments to remove sunspots or smooth out wrinkles. She looked, in fact, entirely her age, which was not something Sara was used to seeing in Atlanta.
    “Don’t get up,” Sara told her, leaning down to pull Nell into a tight hug. Nell had always been stout and strong, but there was something fragile about her now. Helplessness had reduced her.
    Still, Sara said, “You haven’t changed a bit.”
    Nell barked a laugh. “Hell, honey, don’t lie. We got mirrors in Alabama, too.” She moved the magazines so Sara could sit beside her. She took Sara’s hand, which was unusual. Nell wasn’t affectionate. She was talkative, and sometimes abrupt to the point of rudeness, but she was also incredibly kind—the sort of woman you could call in the middle of the night no matter how many years had passed and she would move heaven and earth to come to your side.
    The sort of woman Sara should be.
    She tightened her hold on Nell’s hand. “I’m so sorry this happened.”
    “I shouldn’t’ve bothered you. I was just …”
    “I’m glad you did,” Sara told her, and in that moment, she really meant it. There was no way she could have stayed in Atlanta. This was where she belonged. “Is there anything I can do?”
    Nell let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know what you can do other than wait. They’re not telling me anything. Twenty-four hours, they say they might know more. What does that even mean?”
    Sara knew that it meant they had no idea; it was all up to Jared now. Still, she told Nell, “It means he’s young and he’s strong and his body needs time to fight this.”
    “I hope you’re right.” Nell let go of Sara’s hand. She tucked her knitting into a denim bag. “You were right about her, Sara. First Jeffrey and now this. That woman is nothin’ but poison.”
    Sara felt a familiar tightening in her throat. “We should just concentrate on Jared right now.”
    Nell shook her head. “She won’t leave the room. Just sits there in the corner like a damn gargoyle.” Her lips turned into a thin white line. “I can’t even stand to look at her. Takes everything I got not to spit in her face.”
    Sara forced back the impulse to agree. It would do no good for them to feed off each other. “Who’s his doctor?”
    “Shammers. Shaman. I can’t remember. Something foreign.”
    “Is he with this hospital or did they call him over from Central Georgia?”
    “No idea. He gave me his card.” Nell picked up her purse to search for it. “I don’t even know if this is a good hospital.”
    “It’s good,” Sara told her, though she hoped they’d called in the bigger guns from the