3-4 Calgary, Alberta

Because Carlisle was an emergency surgeon, we had our own telephone line. And that meant that any time our phone rang, you knew.

By the time Carlisle hung up, I had seen the whole thing. The accident, which would go on for a half hour because of the fog. The highway, slick with blood and gasoline and oil, and littered with car parts. Carlisle, running between cars, grabbing bodies and carrying them to safety. In surgery all night, returning to us in the morning looking almost as tired as he might have if he were a human.

And, because they were running in the woods too near the crash, Maria…and Jasper.


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