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much for shopping, he welcomed every opportunity to drive his new Mercedes SUV.
    Halfway between Dallas and Houston, he’d lost control of the Mercedes and crossed the grassy median into oncoming traffic.  The luxury SUV hit a small pickup truck traveling well over the speed limit.  The driver and passenger hadn’t been wearing their seatbelts.  Tab was the only survivor.
    He’d been trapped in his car.  Despite his head injury and the shock, he’d managed to find his cell phone and call her.  When her brain slowed down, she could still hear his awful, tearful words.  He’d seen the two bodies on the grass and the blood.  He apologized and cried over and over.  She hadn’t wanted to hang up on him, but she needed to call emergency services.
    She didn’t remember getting dressed or meeting the ambulance in Huntsville.  The poor lady at the admitting desk had kindly put up with her terse answers and biting sarcasm.  When all the damn forms had finally been filled out, an orderly had escorted her to her brother.  He was still strapped to the stretcher with a brace wrapped around his neck; Georgiana had beaten the doctor to him.
    When he’d cracked opened his eyes, they’d been bloodshot and filled with so much heartache that she’d nearly vomited on the floor.  He opened his mouth to say her name, but all that came out was a pained croak.  She’d scrambled onto the narrow bed and held him as tightly as possible.
    His pained, heartfelt mantra was the stuff of her nightmares.  “ It should have been me.  They’re dead, Gigi.  It should have been me. ”
    She disagreed.  She was sorry two people had died, but Tab was all she had.  He’d spent two nights in the hospital.  They stayed another night in a Huntsville hotel before returning to the townhouse.  His broken wrist, broken ribs, and busted head healed on schedule.  His spirit hadn’t faired so well.  His status as a minor and her team of downright vicious lawyers had kept the story from the media.  It was one of the few things that had gone right for them.
    As soon as the cast had come off his arm, he’d attempted to slit his wrists in the bathtub.  A week after that, he’d chased a handful of Tylenol with two tumblers of vodka.  Even after the coroner had determined that the two in the other car had been drunk, and the county district attorney had opted to not press charges, Tab continued to blame himself.
    Four psychologists had sat with Tab.  Survivor’s guilt was the diagnosis every time.  Two of them recommended time in a full-time facility.  The less tactful of the two received an apology and a hefty pay-off check after Georgiana had thrown her mother’s favorite vase at his head.  She’d listened to their advice, though, and worked with Dan on NORA and ERIC.
    Six months after the accident, they were in a holding pattern.  Tab refused to leave the townhouse.  He completed school assignments and video chatted with a private tutor.  They didn’t talk about suicide or blame.  They didn’t talk about the accident either.  Georgiana knew it wasn’t healthy, but she was afraid of pushing him and shattering the fragile balance.  She felt like they were floating aimlessly, sharing half a life, and didn’t know how to move past it.
    Certain that she wouldn’t wake Tab, Georgiana lifted one of her synced tablet PCs off the bedside table and unlocked it.  It only took a moment to access NORA’s system.  Dan had given her one of the rooms in his workshop for a project of hers she didn’t want near Tab.  He had full access to the room, but he’d respected her privacy.  She didn’t believe Robert, given his attitude earlier, would be as considerate.  After changing the access requirements for that room, she quickly updated NORA’s system with the doctor’s instructions for Dan’s return home.
    Glancing through her personal calendar made her stomach ache.  She hadn’t gone for an extracurricular MBA like her