“How do you know that?”
“I just do.”
“What the fuck, Sandra?” Kim’s voice was rising. She was looking out at the hallway trying to figure something out. “Are you in love with him?” She stopped. “Is he in love with you?”
Sandra stared at the wall, thinking about Kim’s questions. They didn’t matter anymore.
In two hours, Rick was out of surgery. They hadn’t found bleeding anywhere, but Sandra wasn’t surprised. Another victim from Rick’s crash died on the operating table, and a third was dead on arrival.
Sandra stayed away from Rick for a day. Finally, when she knew Kim had gone home, she went to his room.
When he saw her, he smiled. “I’ve been wondering where you’ve been.”
“I couldn’t come.” She sat on the chair next to him. “She knows.”
He touched her hand, ignoring her. This time, there was no burning feeling. His hand was warm, normal. “Come here.” He pulled her hand toward the bed.
She kissed him softly and touched her forehead to his.
“What happened the other night?”
“A driver crossed the median and hit you head-on. Another car slammed into you and another into them.”
His voice was far away. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” he said. “Don’t be coy. I was dying. I knew it. You knew it. Now I’m sitting here. It’s like what you did with Ezra, isn’t it? What are you?”
“I’m nothing. You just had a brilliant surgeon.”
“It wasn’t the surgeon, Sandra.”
She sat up and looked at him. “It just wasn’t your time to die, I guess.” She slid off the bed and gathered her things in her hand.
“Don’t go.” He pulled her closer with his hand.
“I shouldn’t be here.”
“Yes, you should,” he said. “Nearly dying has changed me.”
“How?”
“I need to be with you.”
“Don’t say that. I told you. Kim knows.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should care.”
“I love you, Sandra.” His fingers ran over her hand. “I know you love me, too.”
Sandra sat back down on his bed, heavily. She leaned over him and kissed him lightly on the lips. “When you were lying on the highway, you were dying. I begged God… anyone who would listen… to save you. I bargained for you. And you lived.”
He watched her intently.
“I swore that if you lived, I would let you go. Do you understand?”
“I don’t accept that, not over some crazy superstition.”
“But you know it’s true. Something happened. You felt it. I don’t know what it was. I really don’t.” She stood and tried to steel herself for what she was about to say. She could see monitors beeping, reminders of what had been given back to her, of what she’d bargained for. “Don’t ever doubt my love for you, Rick, but we can never be together again. I won’t tempt fate. Not with you.”
He sat up and grabbed her hand, pulling her back.
“You need to accept it.”
“I don’t have to accept it. I won’t live without you.” He held on to her hand, not wanting to break the connection.
“You can and you will. Don’t make this harder, Rick.”
She turned and shook his hand free, turning.
“Sandra?”
She turned back.
“Will you just give me one last minute. Just pretend that we’re a normal couple, saying goodbye like we’ll see each other again tomorrow. Can you just do that for me?”
Slowly, Sandra walked back over to the bed, savoring the moment and knowing somewhere in the back of her mind that this scene had played out for her before. The knowledge was both a comfort and a heartbreak to her. She leaned over and kissed him. As her lips touched his, she was overcome with the most remarkable sense of something larger. At that moment, Sandra knew for sure that there had been other Ricks—other versions of him with other versions of her. But this idea was impossible. Yet as her skin met his, she knew that this wasn’t the first time she’d said goodbye to him. This sorrow was like an imprint on her.
Rick reached out and touched her face. “I love you.” His tears mixed with hers and he held on to her head, not letting her go, small heaves lifting his chest.
“I love you, too. I always will.” Sandra turned and wiped her eyes and didn’t look back. One turn and she wasn’t sure she would have had the resolve to leave him. Walking around the corner, she slid down the wall, breaking into full sobs.
The following week, No Exit got a prime gig at Gazzarri’s based on their shows at the Shack. Gazzarri’s was a bigger venue and a huge opportunity. Sandra wasn’t sure how Hugh would be with her following the accident. If he knew about her affair with Rick or if Kim had told him, though, he never let on.
Hugh’s nasal baritone blended with Sandra’s harmony in a way that they hadn’t before and he seemed to feed off the energy of a bigger venue. After the show, a tall man was standing in the corner waiting for her. As she made her way through the crowd, she noticed he was still following her out onto Sunset. It gave her a slight thrill that people wanted to talk to her after the show. She’d even signed a few autographs tonight.
“Mademoiselle.” The man’s accent caused Sandra to turn around.
“Yeah?”
“You are a hard woman to catch up with.” The man’s face was pleasant, and there was something familiar about it that put Sandra at ease. “That was a fabulous show.”
“Thank you.”
“Have you thought about making a record?”
Sandra laughed. “Are you kidding? That’s all we think about.”
“I can make that happen.” The man handed her a card. “We have availability in the studio in two weeks if you’re interested.” He nodded, put his hands in his pockets, and walked past her down Sunset.
Sandra looked down at the card. It was pale blue with a gold embossed logo—an expensive card:
Pangea Ranch Studios
Kit Carson Road
Taos, New Mexico
Luke Varner, Producer
“Hey,” Sandra called after the man. “What’s your name?”
“Paul de Passe.” The man smiled and turned, walking back down Sunset.
Hugh was at the wheel of his mother’s 1965 Chrysler Imperial Crown convertible. It looked like a woman’s car—white with a cream interior—but no one dared say a word to him because it was the only memento he had left of her.
The timing of Paul de Passe’s invitation to cut an album had been perfect. Sandra had needed out of Los Angeles for a while. She had to honor the deal she’d struck so that Rick would live. Perhaps she was superstitious, but she felt Rick’s continued well-being was dependent upon her keeping this promise.
They’d loaded their gear in a small U-Haul—Ezra’s drum kit, the Gibson organ, and Hugh’s guitars—that the Chrysler now towed behind it. Clutching two blue suitcases that her mother insisted she bring, Sandra wasn’t sure what to expect, but she’d never seen a trunk as big as Hugh’s. Ezra rode in the backseat with Sandra; by the time they reached the Mojave Desert, he was sound asleep on her shoulder.