Free To the Grave by Carlene Thompson

off his answering machine, and Catherine groaned when he didn’t answer after six rings. “Oh God.”
    â€œDon’t panic. Considering what happened this afternoon, he might have turned off his landline phone. Give me his cell-phone number.” After two rings, James answered.
    â€œHi,” Marissa said in relief. “Catherine just had a nightmare about you and she’s upset, so I dialed your number for her. Here she is.”
    Catherine snatched the handset away from Marissa and nearly shouted, “James, are you all right?”
    â€œS-sure. I’m … fine,” he said shakily.
    â€œYou don’t sound fine. Why didn’t you answer your home phone?”
    â€œBecause I’m not home,” he said vaguely.
    â€œWhere are you?”
    â€œJust … driving around.”
    Catherine snapped alert. He was obviously dodging the question and her patience cracked. “James, don’t hide things from me,” she said sternly. “Tell me what’s wrong!”
    â€œWell … I … I just missed being in an explosion. Well, not exactly in it—”
    â€œAn explosion!” Catherine felt as if a knife blade ripped her stomach and she heard Marissa gasp. “Are you hurt? Are you at the hospital?”
    â€œHoney, calm down. I’m not hurt.”
    â€œYou are and you’re just not telling me.”
    â€œI’m not. Really. There’s not a scratch on me.”
    Catherine drew a deep breath, desperately trying to regain her calm. “Where are you and what happened?”
    â€œI’m at the cottage. Someone blew it up.”
    â€œThe cottage ? Oh, the police wanted you to go back about the explosion.”
    â€œWell…”
    Catherine glanced at Marissa. “He was at the cottage. I guess someone blew it up, but he’s all right.”
    Lindsay, always high-strung, was huffing and snorting. Marissa nodded to Catherine and took the noisy dog into another room.
    Catherine turned her attention back to the phone. Then her churning thoughts slowed, reason beginning to regain its footing. “James, you said you were almost in an explosion. You were already there. The police didn’t call you about it.”
    â€œNo. I just came by myself earlier.” James sighed. “I was here when you called me.”
    â€œOh.” Catherine’s voice went flat. “You lied to me.”
    â€œYes. I’m sorry.”
    â€œWhy did you go there tonight?”
    â€œI don’t know. It was a mistake. I’m sorry.” James quickly went on, sounding direct but awkward. “At home, I had a couple of drinks, but they didn’t help. I couldn’t stop thinking about how awful the scene was today—that ratty old cottage turned into a carnival horror house. I decided to drive out here and look at the place. I guess I thought it wouldn’t look as terrible in the moonlight as it did in the sunlight. I was wrong.”
    James stopped, clearly waiting for Catherine to say something. Confusion and anger overcame her, though, and she knew maintaining silence was better than voicing her rush of boiling feelings.
    James drew a deep breath, assured her again that he wasn’t hurt; then he said on a painfully ashamed note, “Catherine, I’m sorry about everything that’s happened today.”
    â€œI know you’re sorry,” she managed, keeping her voice emotionless. “You don’t have to keep telling me. But I don’t understand why you thought you had to lie—”
    â€œHere’s a fire truck!” James’s voice rose over the sound of a siren. “Go back to sleep, Catherine,” he ordered, sounding relieved. “Everything will be all right, I promise.”
    He abruptly hung up and Catherine stared at the handset, stunned and baffled.
    An explosion. The man she loved had barely escaped an explosion, but after this surreal day she couldn’t