Ashley felt her heart start to pound because now she realized why the woman seemed familiar.

It was Joanna Whitman, although it wasn’t surprising she hadn’t recognized her at first because everything about her was different.

Her heart hammered a warning. Her skin turned clammy. She tried to speak but her mouth was so dry she couldn’t produce any saliva.

What was Joanna doing here? What possible reason would she have for turning up at the hospital? Was she angry because Ashley had been in the car with Cliff? Was this about the baby?

This was getting worse and worse.

What was she supposed to say? I’m sorry for your loss. I’m sorry if I was the cause of your loss. I’m sorry for ever getting into your husband’s car. Ex-husband, she reminded herself. Joanna had divorced Cliff. In theory she shouldn’t care who climbed into his car. But you couldn’t be married to the same person for twenty years and not feel something, surely?

The woman sat down in the chair next to the bed. “I’m—”

“I know who you are.” Ashley was suddenly desperate for a drink of water. “You look different.”

“Looking different is the only way to avoid attention. There’s a great deal of interest in you.” She removed the hat and Ashley thought that Joanna Whitman looked as good as a blonde as she did as a redhead.

She tugged the covers higher, conscious of how bad she must look. “It’s not my fault. Someone took my photograph. They think it might have been a patient. I don’t even know why they’d be interested in me.” Don’t be naive, Ashley. Of course you know.

“They’re interested because you were in the car with Cliff when he died.” Joanna’s voice was calm. “Because you’re young and pretty, and they know there has to be a story here. They won’t stop digging until they find it.”

She didn’t want them to find it. She didn’t want any of this, but she didn’t know how to make it go away.

What was she supposed to say? Should she apologize? But for what exactly?

“I don’t understand why you’re here.” She forced herself to look at Joanna, and she thought about what she knew. She’d married Cliff when she was eighteen. Everyone knew the story because Cliff had recounted it often enough over the years in various interviews. I stopped at a little beach restaurant and there she was, my beautiful Joanna, eighteen years old, waiting tables. When I finished my meal I asked for two things. The check and her number.