The Rescuer

by Dee Henderson

  He walked through the room removing any signs of his presence. He slipped from the house. The entire subject of Neil and Craig needed to be thought through in detail.

  Stephen wiped water off his face. He had gotten drenched from his run to the house. Meghan had left the door open as promised. He slipped off his wet jacket to hang on the coatrack, going off memory, for the kitchen was dark, the only illumination coming from lightning. “Meghan, where are you?”

  “Up here. I left a flashlight on the stairs for you.”

  He hoped the power came on soon. He wasn’t nearly as good at walking around in the dark as Meghan was. He found the flashlight and headed upstairs.

  The first sight of her was one he would remember for quite a while. She was dragging a roll of heavy plastic from the spare bedroom. Her jeans were new and her sweatshirt was faded red. Her feet were bare, and her hair was blond. She’d been a brunette yesterday at Jennifer’s visitation. She looked cute as a blonde.

  “Watch the toolbox.”

  He spotted it in the hallway beside a piece of plywood and stopped on the top step to stay out of the way. “You’re a trusting soul to leave the door unlocked.”

  “Who else is going to be out in this downpour? Your shoes are squishing.”

  “And my socks. It’s a minor flood out there. Can I help?”

  She settled the plastic against the wall. “The bathroom window got taken out by a tree limb. I’m going to let you do the hammering if you don’t mind getting a little wetter.”

  “I doubt I’ll notice more water. When did this happen?”

  “Shortly after the power went out the second time.” She took a step toward him and her hand found his chest. “I’m sorry about Jennifer.”

  He found it hard to look at eyes staring at his left shoulder. She couldn’t see. It ripped his guts. He wanted—needed—to avoid the subject of Jennifer tonight. “Let’s talk about it another day.”

  Her hand smoothed out the fabric of his shirt. “I’m really going to miss her too.” She nodded down the hall. “The bathroom is the second door on your right.”

  He heard it now, the close sound of wind and rain. He covered her hand with his, squeezed it, and then stepped away. He walked down the hall and opened the door, using the flashlight to inspect the damage. “The branch took out the top pane of glass and cracked the other panel. And the shower curtain has seen better days; the wind has it wrapped around the towel rack.” He stepped into the room, careful of the glass shards and the plant, to see how long the branch was and if he could tug it completely inside to remove it.

  “Did it damage the walls?”

  “No. And I don’t see any chipped floor tiles, although it’s hard to tell with the fern and dirt. Stand in the doorway, Meghan, and hold the light for me.” He took her hand and placed the flashlight in her palm, showing her how he’d like it positioned. “Right there.”

  She leaned her shoulder against the doorpost and held the light steady. “I’m sorry to put you to work as soon as you walked in the door.”

  “Don’t be. I’m thinking seriously about becoming a carpenter in my new career.” He tugged the branch through the window, wishing he had brought gloves. He broke off smaller branches from the tree limb so he could set it sideways in the tub until he could carry it outside. Cleaning up the glass would be a challenge. He began taking down the ripped shower curtain. “Do you have a trash can or a box I can put these glass pieces in?”

  “I’ve got a packing box that will work.” Meghan held out the flashlight to him. “Be right back.”

  Her dog stayed in the doorway watching him rather than going with her. Stephen walked over to the doorway and without hurrying crouched down and held out his hand. The dog looked warily at him. “Blackie, how are you?”

  Blackie wagged his tail and pushed against his hand.

  Stephen warmed his hand in the canine’s thick coat. “Taking good care of her, are you?” He pulled in the heavy plastic and began boarding up the window.

  He stepped to the doorway when he heard Meghan coming back and turned the flashlight down the hallway to see if there was anything likely to trip her up. She ran her hand along the chair rail on the wall judging the distance. The box she carried was wide enough to take the larger glass pieces. “That should work, Meghan, thanks.”

  “I gather I should be glad I can’t see that mess.”

  He looked back at the bathroom. “It’s a mess all right. Give me twenty minutes. And maybe find something else to do so I can talk man-to-man with Blackie while I fight this.”

  She smiled at him as he’d hoped. “I’ll find some dry towels to mop up the water.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  Stephen folded a towel for the side of the tub to give himself a place to sit. He picked up a piece of glass and dropped it in the box while Blackie lay in the doorway. Stephen angled his flashlight so it wouldn’t shine in the animal’s face. “I hear you don’t like storms.” Blackie wagged his tail. “Can’t say I blame you. I’d rather see the storm blow over completely before we drive to Silverton.”

  Stephen picked up the destroyed fern and dumped it in the box. “Meghan’s grandparents will need to buy another one, won’t they, boy?” He was talking to a dog. I miss you, Jennifer. You would have at least had something interesting to say about tonight. He had to get a dog for his trip, or he’d be talking to himself before it was over.

  When he was done with the repairs, Stephen carried the box of discarded pottery pieces and glass downstairs and out to the garage. He found Meghan in the kitchen wiping down the counter. “The patch should hold until the rain stops and someone can do something permanent. And the floor is once again safe for bare feet.”

  Her toes curled before she turned, drying her hands on the towel. “Thanks.”

  “You’re very welcome.” He leaned against the counter beside her.

  “You smell like flowery soap. Sorry about that.”

  He lifted his hand and found she was right, then checked his shirtsleeve. “Better than smelling like sweat, smoke, or too much deodorant.”

  “Your shoes have finally stopped squeaking.”

  “But my socks are still wet.” He reached up and brushed her hair behind her ear. She jolted at his touch.

  “I like you as a blonde.”

  Her hand touched his. “I heard I was getting gray hair so it was time for some help.”

  “Not so I noticed. You look cute.” She’d stopped wearing her sunglasses as a defensive shield at some point in the last year. Her eyes looked fine. He looked at them, haunted that there was no animation backing them. The police had never found the driver who ran her off the road. The injustice of it made him so angry.

  “Have a seat, Stephen, and I’ll get the tea.”

  He set his flashlight on the table and pulled out a chair. Meghan poured the tea. He made no attempt to take the cup from her hand but let her slide it on the table in front of him. She was fine getting around as long as no one tried to be helpful and interrupted her movements.

  “The honey should already be out.”

  “It’s here. Thanks.”

  She settled on the chair across from him and picked up her cup. She’d lost some weight in the last few years, gotten a little more assertive with her words and more deliberate in her movements. Just looking at her made him tired—he was having a hard time handling this moment in his life, while she dealt well with so much more.

  “Do you have plans for your travels?” Meghan asked.

  “See some of the countryside, do some fishing, maybe some hiking. If money gets low, I’ll pick up some carpentry work. Maybe I’ll make a few items for wedding gifts.”

  “Kate introduced me to Shari last night. She seems nice.”

  “Marcus found a wonderful lady,” he agreed. “I figure they’ll set a wedding date soon, as will Rachel and Cole, and Jack and Cassie. There’s no more reason for them to delay. No one wanted to make plans while Jennifer was so sick.”
<
br />   “Give yourself time to accept the loss, Stephen. Jennifer’s death is a huge hole in the fabric of your family.”

  “It feels like an abyss.”

  She nudged the honey toward him. “Have some more tea. The second cup you can fix yourself.”

  He rose. “Would you like more too?”

  “Sure.”

  He handed her the refilled cup, careful to wait until she had it steady in her hands before releasing it. The appliances kicked on with a shudder and hum, and the weather channel was on T V. Stephen glanced around. “Finish your tea; I’ll reset the blinking clocks and such.”

  She nodded.

  He walked through the downstairs rooms. When he returned to the living room, Meghan was there resting against the doorjamb.

  “Your suitcases are packed?” Stephen asked.

  “They’re in the bedroom. I’ll show you.” He walked beside her up the stairs. “I’ve just got one suitcase and a bag,” Meghan said. “I’m glad you were here to deal with the window. The neighbor across the street was replacing one last month and cut himself rather badly. Blood was flowing and his wife was hysterical. I’ve never been so glad to hear the sound of ambulance sirens.”

  Stephen could feel his hands going cold as the memories returned—the drunk pinned in his car with his stomach opened up and his guts lying in his lap…the teenager shot for his new tennis shoes…the wife so battered her words slurred, who refused to admit her husband had beaten her up. He could see the blood. Smell it. “Change the subject, Meghan.”

  “Stephen?”

  He’d left it too late. Her hand tightened on his arm as he wobbled, and he pushed her away to avoid taking her with him. The darkness deepened.

  And then there was nothing.

  Seven

  He’d almost taken her down the stairs with him. The nausea that came with that fact overwhelmed him. “Are you okay?” Stephen whispered, struggling to focus.

  “Lie still. I’m not the one who took the header down the stairs.”

  His head was in her lap and Blackie was resting his chin across Stephen’s chest. He’d been here a while. He raised a shaky hand and rubbed his eyes. “How long was I out?”

  “Two minutes, going on three.” Her hand caught his and slid to his wrist to take his pulse. “Did you eat anything today?”

  “Fed Ann’s son Nathan M&M’s, ate a few bites of dinner at Kate’s. I bought a Polish sausage, but didn’t get around to trying it.”

  “You passed out. Totally.” She tightened her grip on his hand.

  A nice headache was blooming and he didn’t feel all that great, but it had nothing to do with the day. Meghan had been talking about her neighbor’s accident, he saw it in his mind, and he felt himself mentally trying to step back from all the blood that was so near he could smell it. He’d fainted again—the second time in a week—at the description of blood. The realization made him cold.

  Meghan rubbed his arm, chasing away the chill she felt. “Want to sit up?”

  “Not particularly.” It had been a long time since a woman held him in her arms and it was…nice.

  She smiled down at him. “Since I can’t see you, I want honest answers to the next questions. What hurts? And what happened?”

  “I’m sorry I scared you.”

  “I admit that for a moment I forgot the storm.”

  He sighed. “I got light-headed and passed out. Hopefully I didn’t do too much damage coming down the stairs.” He slowly moved arms and legs, testing for broken bones.

  “How many times have you passed out like that?”

  He wanted to avoid the question. “A couple.”

  She checked for a fever. He thought about kissing her fingers as they passed by, anything to get that worry and fear off her face.

  “You don’t have a fever and your low pulse is improving.” She lifted his head from her lap. “Up.”

  He reluctantly sat up and his head swam. This wasn’t good.

  She rubbed his neck. “Don’t tense or you’ll make it worse.”

  “I’m okay, Meghan.”

  She gave him a full minute sitting there. “Is it the memories? You asked me to change the subject.”

  He gave a rueful laugh. “I don’t do blood very well anymore.”

  She rested her chin against his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.” He sighed. “It’ll pass. I just need a vacation.”

  “You’ve needed a vacation for a long time.” She got up behind him. “You want something to eat before we head out?”

  “You’re still okay riding with me?”

  She smiled and offered a hand. “You’ll do better behind the wheel than I will.”

  He stood, relieved to find the sense of weakness had passed. “Can you fix me a sandwich? Maybe food will help.”

  “Turkey and cheddar?”

  “Please.”

  She oriented herself with a hand on the banister and turned toward the kitchen. “How about two aspirin for the headache as well?”

  “Sounds good.” He bent to stroke Blackie’s head and then went to get Meghan’s suitcases.

  Fainting. It seemed a fitting end for a day he hoped simply to forget.

  Stephen’s car was comfortable, very warm, and smelled a bit like leather cleaner. It was reassuring in a way to find that he took care of his car like he did his ambulance. Some habits died hard. Meghan settled deeper in the seat, debating the odds she would soon be asleep. Blackie was already snoring, stretched out in the backseat. Stephen had turned on the radio for her. She tilted her head toward him. “I remember the time you ran away when you were fourteen.”

  “Meghan.”

  She smiled at his discomfort. “I wanted to go with you and you wouldn’t let me.”

  “There wasn’t much reason to run away if I was taking someone along.”

  “Why are you running away this time?”

  “I thought the point of running away was not to have a reason.”

  “You’re an O’Malley. You’ve probably got reasons stacked on top of each other.”

  “I’m looking for some space, some peace, and that needed vacation.”

  She listened to the rhythm of the wipers. She could push or not. Jesus, which is best? She reached over and either he found her hand or she got reasonably lucky reaching out. She squeezed his fingers. “I’d like postcards from the various stops you make.

  Mom can read them to me.” He was feeling cornered by so many pressures.

  “I can probably manage that.”

  “You know you’re worrying your family.”

  “I know.”

  She sighed. “I’m not going to change your mind, am I?”

  “Were you trying to?”

  “Apparently not hard enough.”

  “I need this, Meg. A trip with no destination and no clock governing my time.”

  “I hope you find what you’re looking for.” She was afraid he wouldn’t. The peace he sought could only be found in what he was avoiding: faith. Jesus. She tried last night at the visitation to mention heaven and what Jennifer believed but had gotten the politest of brush-offs. She knew a stubborn will when she met one. She had herself as a model. The O’Malleys were right. It was best to let him go. Lord, this journey needs to end with his finding You. Please. He’s hurting. Maybe he’ll be ready to listen this time. “Don’t be gone too long, okay?”

  He squeezed her hand. “Like I told Kate, I’ll be back.”

  Meghan used the pillow she had brought along to cushion her head against the window. “Do you want help staying awake?”

  “Go ahead and sleep while you can. I’m fine for now.”

  “I sleep more now that I’m blind. It’s subtle but I’ve learned to love naps.” She closed her eyes and let herself relax. Stephen was one of the few men she trusted to drive safely for the conditions.

  She was going to help Stephen through the next few months, even if it meant postcards JoAnne helped her read and phone calls to ke
ep him current on news at home. He wanted to leave, but what he really needed was to stay. He’d figure that out eventually.

  Tiredness overwhelmed her and she didn’t fight it. She slept.

  “Meghan.” Stephen rubbed her arm. “We’re outside Silverton.”

  She awoke with a start, her dream filled with music. He’d changed the radio station she realized groggily. Whatever this station was, it was nice. “Do you need directions? Dad said he’d leave the porch light on.”

  “I remember it’s two right turns then watch for a huge rock.”

  “The rock moved a bit when someone ran into it, but it’s still a safe marker. Are you getting tired? Should I find you a hotel room? Silverton has its first really nice tourist hotel and restaurant now.”

  “I’ve gotten a second wind; I’ll be okay through the dawn.” She heard the blinkers come on. “The night has cleared, the sky is full of stars, and there’s a full moon over the western sky.”

  “It sounds like a good night to drive.”

  The car slowed. “There’s the rock.” The pavement changed to gravel in the long driveway to her parents’ house. Stephen parked. “I’ll bring your bag.”

  Meghan gathered up her water bottle and pillow, opened her door, and let Blackie out of the car. The gravel driveway had a distinct edge and a moderate downward slope. It took her only a few steps to place her position and walk confidently up to the house. She stepped inside, reaching back to hold the door open for Stephen. “Just set the bag by the stairs. Are you sure you wouldn’t like some coffee?”

  “I’m fine, Meg. Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?”

  He was ready to move on. She smiled at him, determined to make it easy for him. “I’m home; this is comfortable terrain. Thanks for the ride.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She put out a hand to find Stephen’s chest, then stepped forward to hug him. “Promise me, no heights until you stop with the fainting.”

  He laughed and ran his hand across her hair, ruffling it in a gesture that was as affectionate as it was simple. “No heights. It was nice having company tonight.”