happened next.
Shattering on impact, the exploding airplane shot hundreds of burning fragments of metal, molten rubber, and everything else like bomb shrapnel in every direction. Some of it reached the road because it was so close. Two pieces hit their car. Part of a wing strut struck the front, tearing off a headlight and bending the fender. The second piecewas the three-inch top part of a stainless steel ballpoint pen lying forgotten on the floor of the plane. Like a bullet, it shot through the car window into Danielleâs forehead just above her right eyebrow.
There are wounds that should kill us but donât. Wounds, diseases, terrible accidents. When asked how that is possible, the greatest experts on earth can only examine the survivor, shrug like the rest of us, and smile uneasily. Miracles do happen sometimes.
After studying the grave head wound Danielle Voyles sustained in the accident, doctors were certain she would die no matter what they did for her. In an extremely dangerous six-hour operation, the large piece of pen was removed from her brain. None of the medical team expected her to live through the night.
Half a year later she was sitting on an exercise bicycle in the living room of her apartment, pedaling slowly but steadily while reading an article in a magazine about finding inner peace.
When the doorbell rang, she looked up in surprise. She was not expecting anyone because it was Saturday and sheâd made no dates or plans. Getting off the Exercycle, she pulled up her sweatpants, which had a tendency to droop whenever she worked out. Walking to the door, her mind was still half in the magazine article, half wondering who might have come to visit. Danielle was a friendly woman. She opened the front door without thinking that whoever was on the other side might harm her.
Standing there was a very tall woman in a yellow baseball cap, holding a leash with a dog at the end of it. Danielle had never seen either of them before.
âHello. Are you Danielle Voyles?â the woman asked, and smiled hesitantly.
âYes, I am.â
âMy name is German Landis. Iâm sorry to disturb you like this, but Iâd like to talk to you about your accident, if you donât mind.â
âMy accident?â Danielle reflexively reached up to touch the deep indentation and cruel purple scar on her head that would be her companions for the rest of her life.
âYes. Can you spare a few minutes?â
German was not alone. Benjamin Gould stood next to her, but Danielle did not see him. She
could
not see him. She did not see him for the entire time that this tall woman visited.
She did not hear Ben when he spoke in a normal voice to German, telling her what questions to ask and, before Danielle answered them, what her answers would be, word for word. She did not see him wandering around her apartment, peering in open drawers, opening the refrigerator, and then saying loudly, âYikes!â when he saw how little was in there. She did not see him when he sat down close to her on the couch so that the two of them were directly facing German.
An hour ago Ben and German had met outside Danielleâs apartment building. It was a sunny day and both of them wore baseball caps to keep the sun out of their eyes. Ben had given her the yellow hat months before. It moved him now to see her wearing it and know she still used it. Pilot didnât react much on seeing Ben. He wagged his tail three times and then looked at a Labrador retriever puppy that was passing on the other side of the street.
German waited for Ben to explain why heâd asked her to come. Instead, he gestured for her to follow him to a park nearby. They sat down on a brown bench and he told her his story. Astonishing as it was, it didnât take long. After he had finished, she looked at him as if she had never seen Ben Gould before. She could not hide either her amazement or her dismay. He had expected
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