Strangers at Sunset door Tiffani Lynn
Strangers at Sunset
Beschrijving
When newly widowed Lisa Browning discovers her late-husband has fathered a child with another woman, she abandons that vat of ice cream with her name on it and flies off to Florida for a job interview with hopes of a new life. Lured by the sunset and lulled by the sound of the waves, she becomes the focus of a sexy photographer on and off camera. He's the perfect substitute for her vat of ice cream...until her heart gets in the way. Freelance photographer Garrett Kline is looking for the perfect subject for his latest job. When he spots the sensual siren on the beach, he’s found what he is looking for...and then some. His inner playboy is good with a short-term fling, but something about Lisa makes him want more than being just strangers at sunset.
Hoofdstuk 1
Feb 4, 2022
Prologue
Sirens wail in the distance. The closer they get, the louder they are. This can’t be happening. I should be waking up in a cold sweat or something, realizing that bad dreams can feel real. Instead, my own heart is racing as I continue chest compressions while the nine-one-one operator tries to keep me calm with a soothing voice. It’s almost an out-of-body experience. I know what’s going on. Really, I do. My conscious self is sweating profusely and I’m giving CPR to my thirty-two year old husband who collapsed ten minutes ago and stopped breathing. Another part of me, one I didn’t know existed, has stepped outside of myself and has become a casual observer to the chaos.
The paramedics finally arrive and take over the chest compressions. A whirlwind of activity ensues. My neighbor, Susan, a woman old enough to be my mother, came over in the middle of everything and is now standing with me as one of the paramedics asks me questions while they load Matt up on the stretcher. I’m trying to make sense of the questions, but just can’t seem to do it. I register Susan talking to the short one with the bald head; maybe she’s answering the questions. I can’t seem to get a grip on reality. The guy who took over chest compressions is still working feverishly. I can see the beads of sweat roll down along his hairline as he continues. The neighbors across the street, Susan, and several paramedics fill the room it seems. My mind is swimming with the warped sound of voices and the rattle of the stretcher as it’s lifted and moved out of my front door.
Susan holds my clammy hand tight in her cool, dry one as she tows me to the car. The chilly evening, autumn air nips at my bare arms, but I just can’t seem to make myself care. She gets me seated and buckled on the passenger side of the car and rockets off toward the hospital, her foot heavy on the gas pedal. The whole time she’s quietly saying things that are meant to reassure me that everything will be all right. I think she knows as well as I do that my husband is already gone. I don’t know how I know this, only that I do. I can feel it all the way to the marrow of my bones.
The ER waiting room is filled with the harsh glow of florescent lights and sick people. They are everywhere. Coughs and sniffles ring out around me and the squeals of an angry child barely pierce through the haze that I’m still wrapped in. I know it’s an ER in a big city but when I look around, I get flashes of Night of the Living Dead running through my head. It’s zombie city. Assaulting my nose is the harsh scent of fresh vomit and a hint of body odor in the air.
Susan took my cell phone right after we got here and called both Matt’s and my family, but they haven’t arrived yet.
We wait for what seems like forever until a man in a white lab coat with a small badge attached to the pocket, that reads Dr. Charles Childress, comes out and escorts Susan and me to a small room off to the side.
Dr. Childress is young, probably my age. Not far out of medical school and he looks nervous. His soft, brown eyes dart all around the room and seem to be avoiding contact with mine. I almost want to reassure him that it will be okay, but the reality of the situation slaps me in the face once again and I know without a doubt that it’s me that needs the reassurance, the comforting hand. I’m also pretty sure that it’s not going to be okay.
We sit down on one side of the table. Susan has her hand on my back and is rubbing slow circles. Dr. Childress, seated across the table, blurts out like he’s ripping off a Band-Aid, “We believe that your husband suffered a massive heart attack. We did everything that we could. I’m sorry, he’s gone.” He lets out a deep relieved breath and turns his gaze to Susan, as I sit trying to process the confirmation of what I already knew in my heart.
“Are you family?” he inquires.
Susan shakes her head and replies, “No, I’m their neighbor. Both Lisa and Matt’s family are on their way here.”
“In that case, can you stay with her until they arrive? There are certain arrangements that need to be made.” He redirects his attention to me and continues, “We can wait for the rest of the family or you can decide now. It’s up to you.”
I blink, trying to clear the haze that’s invading my vision. “I can answer most of your questions now, I think. I know what he wanted. We discussed all of this when we had our wills drawn up.”
The doctor nods like he understands. “Would you like to see him one more time, Mrs. Browning? Because of his age, his remains will be sent for autopsy and then can be released to the funeral home. Is there a certain funeral home that you’d like to use?”
“Yes, we will use Murphy’s Funeral Home in Amelia. I’d like to see him before he goes.”
“Okay, take as much time as you need. Your family is welcome to do the same. Follow me and I’ll take you there. I will let the front desk know to be expecting your family. I’m very sorry, Mrs. Browning.” His words seem to echo off of the walls as he leads us from the conference room to Matt’s room and holds the door open for us.
I step inside the door and my eyes are drawn to his lifeless form. The sheet is pulled up to his shoulders and it’s almost looks as if he’s sleeping. Eyes closed, face serene. The lack of color to his skin and eerie stillness to his body give him away. I tend to view myself as a strong person, but the massive stone of reality is crushing my chest, leaving me breathless and weighted with grief. How am I ever going to make it through this?
Strangers at Sunset
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