Nighttime Is My Time: A Novel by Mary Higgins Clark Read Free Book Online Page B

with a Gucci scarf would be perfect for the chilly day that was forecast. According to the weather report, the temperature would only reach the low fifties.
    An outdoor girl, I'm not, Laura thought, but since everybody says they're going to the game, I'm not missing it.
    Gordon, she reminded herself as she tied the scarf. Gordon, not Gordie. Carter, not Howie. At least Robby was still Robby, and Mark was still Mark. And Jack Emerson, the Donald Trump of Cornwall, New York, hadn't decided to be known as Jacques.
    When she went down to the dining room, she was disappointed to see that only Mark Fleischman and Jean were at the honorees table.
    "I'm just having coffee," Jean explained. "I'm meeting a friend for breakfast. I'll catch up with you at lunch."
    "You'll go to the trooping of colors and the game?" Laura asked.
    "Yes, I will."
    "I never went up there much," Laura said. "But you did, Jeannie. You were always a history buff. Didn't one of the cadets you knew pretty well get killed before graduation? What was his name?"
    Mark Fleischman took a sip of coffee and watched as Jean's eyes clouded with pain. She hesitated, and he clamped his lips firmly together. He had been about to answer for her. "Reed Thornton," she said. "Cadet Carroll Reed Thornton, Jr."
    14
    The most difficult week of the year for Alice Sommers was the one leading up to the anniversary of her daughter's death. This year it had been particularly hard.
    Twenty years, she thought. Two decades. Karen would be forty-two years old now. She'd be a doctor, probably a cardiologist. That had been her goal when she started medical school. She'd probably be married and have a couple of children.
    In her mind, Alice Sommers could see the grandchildren she had never known. The boy, tall and blond, like Cyrus—she had always believed that he and Karen would end up together. The one thing about Sam Deegan that really upset her was his unshakable belief that Cyrus had caused Karen's death.
    And what about their daughter? She would have looked like Karen, Alice had decided, fine-boned, with blue-green eyes and jet black hair. Of course, she would never really know.
    Turn back the clock, Lord. Undo that terrible night. It was a prayer she had uttered thousands of times over the years.
    Sam Deegan had told her that he didn't believe Karen ever woke up when the intruder came into her room. But Alice had always wondered. Had she opened her eyes? Had she sensed a presence? Had she seen an arm arcing over the bed? Had she felt the terrible thrusts of the knife that had taken her life?
    It was something she could talk about to Sam, although she had never been able to express it to her husband. He had needed to believe that his only child had been spared that instant of terror and pain.
    All this had been running through Alice Sommers' mind for days. On Saturday morning when she awoke, the heaviness and pain was lifted at the thought that Jeannie Sheridan was coming to see her.
    At ten o'clock the bell rang. She opened the door and embraced Jean with fierce affection. It felt so good to hold the young woman in her arms. She knew her welcoming kiss was for Karen as well as Jean.
    Over the years she had watched Jean evolve from the shy, reticent sixteen-year-old she had been when they became neighbors in Cornwall to the elegant, successful historian and writer she was now.
    During the two years they'd lived next to each other before Jean graduated from high school, went to work in Chicago, and then went to Bryn Mawr, Alice had learned to both admire and pity the young girl. It seemed incredible that she was the child of her parents, people so caught up in their own contempt for each other that they never could see what effect their public brawls were having on their only child.
    Even then she had shown so much dignity, Alice thought, as she held Jean out to inspect her and then hugged her again. "Do you realize it's been eight months since I've seen you?" she demanded. "Jeannie,