Act of God by Susan R. Sloan Read Free Book Online

sixteen years, through good times, bad times, and very bad times: unemployment, illness,
     hunger, homelessness. And this was the first time in all those years that she had ever seen him truly frightened.
    Helen Gamble couldn’t stop crying. Aside from a few minor broken bones and some lacerations, the twins, having been released
     from Children’s Hospital, were safe and sound in their West Seattle rambler. Helen’s husband, Walter, cut a business trip
     short and flew home as soon as he got word. But even with her husband by her side, the tears still flowed uncontrollably.
    “It’s nerves,” the doctor told Walter. “Don’t worry, it’ll pass.”
    “It’s for all those poor babies who won’t ever come home,” Helen told a reporter from
People
magazine who had played on her sympathy to get a foot in the door. “And for Brenda Kiley, who I owe so much more than I can
     ever hope to repay. And for all those other people who died… so many of them. I can’t believe this has happened.”
    The first thing she did, after making sure the twins were all right and in good hands at Children’s Hospital, was to go to
     Raymond Kiley, put her arms around him, and assure him that Christopher and Jennifer would never know a day without his wife’s
     name being spoken.
    “They will understand,” she declared, “that there were two women in this world who gave them life.”
    “We always wanted kids,” Raymond said. “We were never lucky.”
    “You have two now,” Helen assured him.
    Brenda Kiley was laid to rest on Monday. Ignoring her own injuries, which had turned out to be far worse than those of the
     twins, Helen dressed Christopher and Jennifer in their Sunday best, and took them to the private service for friends and family
     only.
    Then she went home, put the twins up for their nap, and wept.
    Three-year-old Chelsea Callahan, who had escaped injury in the blast that killed her mother, was placed in foster care while
     Child Protective Services tried to find a relative who would take her.
    The foster family reported that the only word the little girl seemed able to say was “Momma,” and that she cried herself to
     sleep every night.

    After evaluating the results of an eight-hour surgery, the doctors at Virginia Mason concluded that Betsy Toth would never
     walk again. Her fractured spine had been reassembled, but the nerve damage was too great. The twenty-year-old nurse’s aide
     would spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair, and have only minimal use of her hands and arms.
    Andy Umanski sat by her side, holding her hand, and watching her sleep. She had slept most of the last five days, which was
     a blessing, he decided. The stronger she was when she heard the news, the better. She certainly didn’t look very strong to
     him right now. In fact, she seemed so fragile—pinioned, as she was, to a very scary-looking contraption that rotated her whole
     body face-up or face-down—that he was afraid she might slip out and fall. At the moment, she was facing up. He leaned over
     and rested his cheek on her hand.
    “I had a dream,” she murmured, waking for a moment, and seeming to know that he was there. “I dreamed we had a baby boy with
     brown eyes and blue hair. Isn’t that silly? I told the doctor there had to be some mistake, but he said there wasn’t; that
     this was a special little boy, meant just for us.”
    Andy squeezed her hand. “Good for us,” he whispered, and watched as she drifted back to sleep. In the two years he had known
     her, and particularly during the last six months, after they had become engaged and began planning their wedding, it was always
     the first thing on her mind, having a big family to make up for being orphaned at the age of eight. He sighed heavily. There
     would be time, too, but not yet, to tell her that there would be no babies.
    Ironically, Shelly Weld and Denise Romanadis, who had shared their last moments of life together, were buried on the same