All Fall Down by Carlene Thompson Page A

her ice cream and set the bowl aside, then reached for the baby, who settled back into her arms with only minor fussing.
    “Sorry about that,” Martin said.
    “It’s okay. I’m surprised she’s as quiet as she is, considering how noisy it is around the lake. I suggested taking her home, but Cait wants her to stay and see the fireworks.”
    Martin frowned. “What is she, six months old?”
    “Seven. And I know—it’s silly. She’ll either ignore the fireworks or be frightened half to death by them, but Cait can be stubborn.”
    Blaine stuck a pacifier in the baby’s mouth, and Sarah fell quiet again.
    “I haven’t met the right woman,” Martin said.
    “What?”
    “You asked why I haven’t married again after Gloria. I was just answering your question.”
    “Oh. I’m sorry I asked something so personal. I feel like a fool.”
    A welcome breeze drifted through the night air, lifting her hair from her neck. Something nibbled at her toes, probably one of the few fish recently dumped into the new lake, and she kicked, then lifted her bare legs from the cold water, tucking them under the full skirt of her sundress.
    “Would you have dinner with me, Blaine?”
    She looked into the electric-blue eyes. They were smiling, but they were also sincere. Incredible as it seemed, he wasn’t joking. She swallowed. “I’d love to, Mr.…Martin,” she said.
    Seven months later, on December 15, Blaine’s twenty-seventh birthday, they were married. They honeymooned in the Caribbean and returned in time for Christmas. Martin’s Christmas presents to Blaine had been a golden retriever puppy and a white Mercedes. She was delighted with the dog, but claimed the car was far too grand for her to drive to Sinclair High. Martin, however, insisted. She was beautiful, she was brilliant, she was meant to have the best. She’d brought love and youth and excitement back into his life. And their life was exciting, with surprise trips, parties and cookouts, endless bouquets of yellow roses, beautiful clothes, and the passionate love of a man she’d admired since childhood. She felt like a princess. Except for Robin’s coolness toward her, the next two years had been idyllic, and only hours before that fateful New Year’s Eve party, which Blaine still couldn’t think about without a shudder, she and Martin had decided to have a baby.
    Now it was all gone—the happiness, the security, the love—all snatched away because someone had sped through a stop sign on a snowy night and plowed into Martin’s Ferrari. Blaine turned onto her side, forcing her eyes shut. “Don’t think about it,” she said aloud. “Don’t think about what you’ve lost or how Martin came to hate you, or you’ll go crazy.” Down the hall Robin’s stereo still throbbed, and Blaine concentrated on the music, finally floating to sleep with the music of Heart.
    3
    Blaine pulled into the driveway, turned off the engine, and took a deep breath. Was she ready to face Martin? He’d told her his paralysis was her fault. Finally he’d actually said what she knew he felt. And when she’d argued with him, told him they should have taken the Bronco to the dance instead of his fast, flimsy sports car, he’d grown furious, shouting invectives and hurling a heavy glass ashtray at her. Not at her, she realized now, nearly three hours later. He’d hurled it in her direction, just to frighten her, just to vent his anger. So she’d stormed out. But she shouldn’t have done that, no matter how he’d provoked her. Martin was in no mental condition to be left alone, even for a short time .
    The front door was locked. Blaine was puzzled. Bernice never left the door locked, and she was due to arrive twenty minutes after Blaine had left. But then, Bernice’s car was not outside. Maybe a friend had driven her. Maybe she’d taken a cab. Or maybe she’d not come at all, a damning voice inside Blaine’s head said. Maybe something had happened and Martin had been alone