Suddenly by Barbara Delinsky Page B

the phone rang.
    “There’s a fellow on the line asking for Mara,” Ginny reported. “He’s calling from New York. From Air India. Do you want to take it?”
    Paige felt the nudge of an awful sixth sense. “Right now,” she said, and pressed in the call. “This is Paige Pfeiffer. I’m Mara O’Neill’s partner. May I help you?”
    “Yes, please,” said a voice with a British accent. He gave his name and identified himself as a supervisor. “I’ve been trying to reach Dr. O’Neill, but I can’t seem to get an answer at the number she left. I understand that that was her home number and that this is her professional one, and I do apologize for disturbing her here, but I would very much like to speak with her.”
    “May I ask what this is about?”
    The fellow cleared his throat. “It’s a bit awkward. I have an apology to make, actually. Is Dr. O’Neill there?”
    “No. But I’d be glad to take a message.”
    “Oh, dear. I had wanted to speak directly with her.”
    “That may be difficult. For the sake of expediency, perhaps I would do.”
    The man considered that. “Yes. I suppose.” He took a breath. “You see, Dr. O’Neill phoned this office last Tuesday to check on the progress of a flight from Calcutta to Bombay. The agent who took her call is new with us and was a bit confused operating the computer system. I’m afraid he erroneously told her that the flight on which, I believe, she had a child, had crashed.”
    Paige closed her eyes.
    The voice by her ear continued. “Indeed there was an accident on one of our aircraft that night, but it was not the one on which the child and her escort were traveling. Unfortunately, what with trying to handle the calls we were receiving from those who truly did have parties on the ill-fated plane, our agent did not realize his mistake until week’s end. At that time, he verified that the child and her escort had landed safely in Boston, but he did relate to me what had happened, and responsibly so. We would like to apologize to Dr. O’Neill for any fright we may have caused. Air India does not make a practice of passing on misinformation. We sincerely regret having done so in this instance. I trust that Dr. O’Neill has custody of her child, and that all is well.”
    Paige wrapped an arm around her waist. In a small voice she said, “Can you tell me what time it was when Dr. O’Neill called you?”
    “It was four twenty-five. We had received news of the accident a mere ten minutes before that and were still trying to get the details, so you can imagine the pandemonium….”
    Not pandemonium. Total despair. Mara had wanted Sami more than anything. She had shopped around for just the right adoption agency, had waded through the paperwork and the preadoptive sessions, laid bare her soul and her financial records, paid every appropriate fee, bought a crib, baby clothes, and food. She had regarded Sami’s arrival as the start of a new phase of her life.
    “…again our sincere apologies,” concluded the Air India supervisor.
    Paige managed a feeble, “Thank you.” She needed two tries to settle the phone in its cradle, unable to think of anything but the pain Mara must have felt.
    “Dr. Pfeiffer? Is anything wrong?”
    She looked up, startled to find Jill Stickley there, but only for the minute it took to return to the present. She recomposed herself and took a deep breath. “Nothing for you to worry about,” she said lightly, and gestured Jill toward the door.
    During the drive home, she avoided thinking about that phone call. She settled Jill in with Sami—who recognized Paige, she was sure of it, though all the coaxing in the world couldn’t bring a smile—and headed for Mount Court, where she put the girls through a series of sprints, two warm-up loops around the campus, a three-mile run on the course, then more sprints. She ran with them, pushing them as fast as she could push herself, and when they grumbled all she said was, “It’s for