Free The Remedy for Regret by Susan Meissner

says the voice.
    If I had the wrong number he would not have asked this, so I must have gotten through to Blair’s phone. But I am hesitant to give this stranger my full name.
    “This is Tess. Can I speak to Blair, please?” I say, trying to inject a little authority in my voice.
    Another pause.
    “She can’t come to the phone right now. You’ll have to call back some other time,” the man says.
    “Wait!” I yell into my phone, fearing he is going to hang up on me. “Blair called me earlier today. She told me Brad had a heart attack and she asked me to come to her. I just flew in from Chicago and I am sitting in a rental car at your airport, okay? Now can you please let me talk to her?”
    A third pause.
    “Just a minute,” he says and I can tell he has placed his thumb over the mouthpiece of Blair’s phone. Several long minutes pass.
    “Look,” he says and his voice sounds softer, but strained. “This is just a really bad time. Brad… Brad died half an hour ago and everything is a little crazy.”
    As he says the word “died” I feel my breath catch in my throat. “Brad is dead?”
    “He… he never regained consciousness after he collapsed,” the man said, emotion lacing his words. “They don’t think he suffered.”
    “And Blair?” Emotion is now thick in my own voice.
    “She’s taking it pretty hard,” the man continues. “A doctor here at the hospital has given her a sedative. We are getting ready to take her home.”
    I have no idea who he means by we . “Can… can I ask who you are?” I venture.
    “My name is Peter Agnew. Brad was a partner in my investment firm. He… he worked for me.”
    “I am so sorry,” I mumble because nothing else seems adequate. I am aware that my cheeks are wet and that the lump in my throat has expanded into something larger and heavier and has moved down into my chest. I am aching for Blair.
    “My wife and I are going to stay with her tonight,” Peter Agnew is saying.
    “Does she know I am here?” I say, feeling alone in strange place. It’s a new feeling.
    “She’s not very lucid right now,” Peter says. “It might be best if you got a hotel room for the night. There’s a Holiday Inn just across the freeway from the airport. I can call ahead and tell them you’re coming. I can put it on the company credit card. What’s your last name?”
    “You don’t have to do that,” I start to say.
    “I am sure it is what Blair would want,” Peter assures me. “I will come and get you in the morning and bring you to her, okay? Now, what’s your last name?”
    “It’s Longren,” I answer, and then I have a sudden thought. “Mr. Agnew, if she wakes in the night and asks for me, please tell her where I am. If she wants me to come to her, I will. I don’t care what time of the night.”
    “That’s very kind of you, Miss Longren,” Peter Agnew says. “I promise I will tell her. I will try and come for you around nine tomorrow.”
    “Okay.”
    We say our goodbyes and I click off.
    It takes a tremendous amount of effort to maneuver the unfamiliar car out of the lot and to look for a way to get across the freeway where a cluster of hotels is located. I finally locate a street that takes traffic under the busy freeway to the other side. It does not take long to find the Holiday Inn and true to his word, Peter Agnew has called ahead. My room key is waiting for me. It is after eight and I am as hungry as I am weary. The hotel clerk must sense this because when I ask where to get a quick bite to eat he suggests I call a nearby pizza place that delivers free to the hotel. He gives me the phone number and I head to the elevator and my room on the fourth floor.
    Once inside the room, I fling my suitcase onto one of the two double beds. I make the call to the pizza place as I sit on the other bed and kick off my shoes.
    I am exhausted but I should call Simon.
    In a few minutes , I think to myself. I stretch out on the bed to rest my eyes for just a moment