The Other Mr. Bax by Rodney Jones Read Free Book Online

room, then turned and headed toward the back door again—pacing. “The time I gave you is accurate.”
    “Yes, but even so… this guy here… he’s either your husband or this is the craziest coincidence ever. That seems like an enticing enough reason to take a little trip and maybe get some answers, doesn’t it?”
    She sighed. “I don’t know.”
    “I’ll leave my number. You can call me should you decide to come, or need anything. I’ll be more than glad to give you a hand with the arrangements.”
    “But, if this guy’s not Roland, then who is he?”
    “Ask him … when you come.”

Chapter five – a synchronicity
    J oyce slapped at the buzzing clock on the nightstand, then dropped back onto her pillow. She panned the ceiling from corner to corner, noting the light, aware of the time and the first stirs of dread—which, like herself, had not yet fully awakened. She rolled to her side, pulled the sheet up over her shoulders, then gazed at the drawing hanging on the wall by the door—another one of Roland’s, one he had completed before they’d met in Saint Petersburg—the face of his little sister peering out of a maze of a swirling, alien, alphabet.
    Her mind drifted from her first impressions of it, of his work, of him, of now, the trip ahead, things she needed to do—now. She sat up, dropped her feet to the floor, and stared off into the space before her at an entirely different image… in her head, the man she’d be seeing later that evening. He resembled Roland, maybe, though not completely it seemed. He was not Roland. And somehow he was.
    After showering, she put on a pot of coffee, fried a couple eggs, then sat down at the table and ate her breakfast. Out the window to her right, the mountains and the butte were aglow in the light of dawn. As she lifted her coffee to her lips, the phone rang, startling her. There was only one person she could think of who’d be calling this early. She jumped up and grabbed the phone off the hook.
    “Brenda?”
    “It’s Brian. I hope I didn’t wake you.” Roland’s brother rarely called, and never so early.
    “No, no.” She braced herself, assuming he was about to ask for Roland—“I was just having some coffee”—and realized she should’ve been the one calling. “I was about to call you.”
    “Oh, then, they’ve already called.”
    “They? Who?”
    “The hospital. They called you, right?”
    She straightened. “Uh… about what?”
    “Well, this sucks. I figured they… really?”
    “What, Brian?”
    “You know about the accident, don’t you?”
    “Roland?”
    “I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. I mean, it’s just a slight—”
    “The hospital in Buffalo?”
    There was a pause, then, “He has a concussion.”
    “The cop called you?” Joyce opened a cabinet, glanced inside, then closed it—no idea what she was doing.
    “No… no,” he said, “the hospital. Roland had them call me.”
    She moved a skillet from the stovetop to the sink, then turned the tap on above it. “He asked them to call you?”
    “Jesus, why wouldn’t they’ve called you first?”
    “Roland had them call you ?”
    “Uh… I’m assuming that’s where they got my number.”
    She stood there running her fingers through her hair, scratching and rubbing the back of her head, gazing at the stream of water filling the skillet. “Did you talk to him?”
    “Well, no, I talked to a nurse. I’m… I don’t get it. Why wouldn’t they’ve called you?”
    She shut the water off —“Someone else did”—then scanned the countertop, searching for her coffee. “What all did they tell you?”
    “Not a whole lot really.”
    “So, that’s all you know? He had a concussion?” She left the pan soaking in the sink, then went and took a seat at the dining room table where she’d left her cup.
    “Kate and I will be driving up there in a bit. We’ll be there by six or seven tonight. I’ll give you a call from there.”
    “No, I’m