A terrible death. And Meghan had been here when those death rattles came.
Stephen pushed aside the footstool and stepped around to get closer to Meghan. He nodded to her father.
“Craig overdosed, honey,” Bill said softly. “We can stop now.” He discontinued his compressions and reached over to still her hands on the air bag. “There’s no way to bring him back.”
“No. Do something! He was alive when I got here, when Blackie found him.”
Stephen moved her back and nearly got his chin clipped with the top of her head when she tried to ward him off. He turned her head into his shoulder. Meghan was shaking. “He overdosed, Meg. There was nothing you could have done,” he murmured, trying to comfort her.
She’d seen death before as an ER nurse. But this time— unable to see what was happening and why, with no medical equipment available, and Craig dying—those minutes alone must have felt like an eternity.
He stood, lifting her with him.
The sheriff came in with the county paramedic. Stephen looked over at her father. “We’ll be outside.”
Bill looked at his daughter, then back at him, and nodded. “I’ll need to be here a while. Why don’t you take her home?”
“If I’ve got any questions, I’ll come by later,” the sheriff said.
“Thanks, guys. Come on, Meg.”
She didn’t want to go, but he insisted and led her out of the room. Blackie pushed against her leg and she reached a hand down, seeking his reassurance. Stephen opened the door and her dog led the way outside.
Meghan pulled away from him and sat on the top step. She wrapped her arms around Blackie and buried her face in his fur. Stephen hoped she would cry, but she just clenched her hands in that warm fur. Slowly the shakes stilled. Blackie whined and pushed at her. “What did he take?”
“It looks like cocaine.”
Stephen tugged over the small medical kit the paramedic had left on the porch and found wet wipes. He ripped three open and cleaned the blood from her hands. “You came to see Craig?”
“To drop off supplies,” she said tiredly. “And Jonathan left Craig tickets for the benefit. Not that it was likely he would have come to the symphony but maybe to the gathering afterward. The two were friends since high school… You hope for the best of a friend. Jonathan thought he might come. I offered to drop the tickets off.”
“Was he in seizures when you arrived?”
“Yes.”
“He probably ingested the drugs in the hour before. Seizures like you described mark the final moments.” He wrapped his arm around her and hugged her. “At least he didn’t die alone. You were there with him.”
Her tears finally came. He wiped them away as they ran down her cheeks.
“I wish I’d been able to help him more than that.”
“If he’d wanted help with his drug problem, he would have let you help months ago.” Stephen got to his feet. “Come on. I’m taking you home.”
“I’d rather not go home,” she whispered. “I don’t want to take this with me.”
“My place then. You can walk for a while.”
Stephen stirred the chili and put it back in the microwave, then got out dishes from the cabinet. Meghan might not feel like eating but it would distract her. He saw the sheriff’s car turn into the drive. Meghan didn’t need more hard information hitting her tonight, or questions. Stephen set down the dishes, stopped the microwave, and went outside to meet the man.
The sheriff leaned against the side of the squad car and waited for him. “Whoever sold him that packet might as well have shot him. It was 90 percent pure, not cut down much at all. I sure hope it was only a small batch and the dealer figures it out soon, or we’re going to learn the hard way just how many in this community he’s selling to.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“I wish I had more to tell you, Stephen. We’re inventorying Craig’s things, looking for whatever leads that indicate where he’s been and who he’s been dealing with. Craig’s been acquiring cash to feed his habit from somewhere, and if he’s turned to dealing, I figure we’ll find a trail. I would have never placed him as a dealer, but then I also didn’t see him as stupid enough to die from it.”
“He’s been getting cash from somewhere, Sheriff. Do you think he’s connected to the stolen jewelry we found?”
“Maybe. The one thing Craig did a lot of was spend his weekends away from here, often driving to Chicago and Davenport. He could have been couriering pieces and getting cash that way.” The sheriff pointed to Stephen’s barn. “Now that damage fits what I would expect of Craig.”
“He fits the general size and build of the guy who gave me the shiner.”
“And if you look below the overdose, it’s pretty obvious he’s been in a fight recently.”
“I saw the bruises.” Stephen pushed his hands into his pockets. “Does it end here if Craig was the one searching my barn and the courier for stolen pieces Neil was fencing? Both of them are now dead and we’re finding the remaining jewels.”
The sheriff pushed back his hat. “I’d be relieved if it was just the two of them. The barn suggests Craig knew about the jewelry, and Neil had to be the one creating those excellent replicas. Maybe it does end here. We’ll see what the investigation turns up to further connect them.”
“You’ll let me know what you find?”
“Sure thing. How is Meghan?”
Stephen glanced back to the house. “She doesn’t like people dying.”
“I’ve got no questions that can’t wait for another day.” He opened the squad car door.
Stephen saw the sheriff off, then turned and went back to the house. He could also see Craig going through Meghan’s house while she was away, lifting things he could use to pay for his habit. As tragic as this day had been, it may have just removed a few serious worries.
Stephen let the door close softly behind him and walked through the house. Meghan had shifted on the sofa and her eyes were closed, her hand resting down to curl in Blackie’s coat. The dog was watching her, a vigil that hadn’t changed since they arrived. He stood watching the two of them for a moment, then grinned.
He was jealous of a dog.
He tugged her sock to wake her. “How you doing?”
She moved her feet to let him have a seat on the couch. “Do I need to go home?”
“What?”
“I lost track of time. Do I need to go home?”
“It’s only about eight.”
She sighed. “Okay.”
She slid the pillow up over her face. Dwelling on the memories was the last thing she needed, and sleep wouldn’t come without images to disturb it. He wouldn’t be shaking Meghan out of this silent depression easily.
“Still chilly?”
“A little.”
He added the blanket the baby goat had been playing with on top of the throw she was already using. The dust might make Meghan sneeze, but it was better than letting her end up with a chill.
“This is what you dealt with for years in Chicago—overdoses, guys splattered in car wrecks, and images like it,” she observed, her voice heavy.
“Yes.”
“No wonder your system said enough and forced you to take that vacation. I thought I understood what it was like to deal with trauma from working in the ER. I didn’t even have a taste of it. Not the frontline weight of being first on the scene.”
“You’ll notice I’m now raising fish and pretending to be a farmer.” Stephen reached over and clicked on the music, put the CDs on random play, then turned the volume down. “When I walked away from days like this as a paramedic, I’d go play basketball to wear away the memories. What would you like to do?”
She shrugged.
Letting her rest here wasn’t going to help her get over it. “Come on down to my shop. I’m working on a chest of drawers for Kate.”
“Can I do something to help?”
“Want to help make the knobs for me? It’s a littl
e work with a whittling knife and a lot of work with sandpaper.”
She opened her eyes and moved her head, making the effort to look toward him. “Do you have something warm I could borrow to wear?”
“I’ve still got my North Dakota jacket around here somewhere. It’s bigger than yours, but it’ll keep you snuggly warm. I’ll get it for you.”
She offered her hand. “Put me to work.”
Stephen tightened a piece of wood in the vice and then reached for his measuring tape and a pencil. “I like having you down here keeping me company, but if you fall asleep at that workbench, you’ll fall off the stool and give us both a scare. What do you say I take you home now?”
Meghan ran her hand across the round drawer knobs she had sorted, sanded, measured, and confirmed were identical. “I like being here. How come you’re not getting tired?”
“Because I like working on a piece until late into the night. It’s therapy; gives me time to think. You on the other hand stop moving and the thinking stops; then you start nodding off to sleep.”
She smiled at him. He was falling in love with that smile, and it had taken its time to finally reappear tonight. He didn’t really want to take her home, but it was getting late.
“Did you know Jesus was a carpenter?”
Stephen opened the vice and nudged the piece of wood farther down. “Jennifer mentioned it.” The sadness that came just with saying her name didn’t hit with its normal intensity. It was progress. “I bet He was a good one.”
“I wish you were comfortable with the fact Jesus loves you.”
“I’m working on it. I’m comfortable that Jesus loves you.” He knew she’d be overjoyed to learn he had crossed the line to believe in Jesus, but that conversation would inevitably lead to his mentioning his revelation about Peg and the tears that had ended his night. He wasn’t ready for that yet, and Meghan had already absorbed too much emotion today. A peaceful conversation tomorrow would do just fine.
Stephen walked over and got out the cushion foams from his cabinet of supplies. “Why don’t you toss your towel over this cushion, and you’ll have yourself a pillow so you can close your eyes and rest them a moment.”
“Thanks.”
“Hold still a minute.” He knelt and used his tape to measure the distance from her shoe soles to the back of her knee.
She reached down and touched his hand. “What are you doing?”
“You’re about Kate’s height. It helps if custom chairs are at least within the ballpark of the right height for comfort.”
He walked back over to his workbench and jotted down the figures. “I was thinking I might pick you up next Sunday and go to services with you.”
He glanced over, hoping it might catch her speechless, but that small smile appeared and she just rested her chin on her hand as she looked at him. “I’m thinking I would like it if you did.”
She’d been praying for him again; he was starting to recognize that small smile. Stephen softly whistled as he measured a piece of wood to Meghan’s height. Yes, he could certainly get used to more nights like this one. “Would you like to come to Chicago with me next month for two weddings? Cole and Rachel are having a quiet ceremony on Friday afternoon, the twenty-eighth, and Jack and Cassie are getting married the next day. I’d enjoy your company for the weekend.”
“Can I think about the invitation for a few days?”
“Sure. As long as you say yes.”
“I like the changes you’re making out here,” Bill commented, walking along the new fence Stephen built.
“Thanks.”
Stephen followed Meghan’s father, watching the man as he reached out to touch a post, shake a board, confirming just how solid the work had been done then nod with approval.
Stephen pulled his hand from his pocket and pointed ahead to where the walk to the pond joined their two properties. “I’m thinking about making the path to the pond into something more defined, with woodchips and edging and the occasional post with a different pattern to each top knob, so Meghan doesn’t have to wonder about her location on the path. If I do, would you like me to extend it over to your orchard fence?”
“Please. Come over anytime and I’ll help you mark it out.” Bill paused to watch the sheep. “I appreciate what you did yesterday. I knew it was hopeless as soon as I saw Craig, but I saw how invested she was in saving him—” Bill shook his head.
“You did the right thing. When an infant died of SIDS, we’d often do the same attempts to resuscitate even though it was useless effort just to give the parents a little more time to accept what was happening. You treat the living, and the shock they are experiencing. Meghan did what she could, but nothing could have saved Craig’s life. Accepting that doesn’t come easy, not when she’s blind and having to take our word for it.”
“I shared coffee with her this morning. She’s dealing with it.”
Stephen leaned against the fence, watching the baby goat race through the grazing sheep, running off energy. “I’ve been thinking about picking up that paramedic’s jacket, returning to the job part-time. It wouldn’t solve all the response-time problems given just the sheer distances out here, but it would help.”
“It would let us get one of the county ambulances stationed at the clinic in Silverton, if not as its permanent hub then as a rotating one. Are you sure you’re ready, Stephen? The job chewed you up the last time.”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be really ready. But the last two pages—they’ve felt right. I’m a good paramedic and I’m comfortable with the pressure of being the one who’s responsible. It’s not my job to determine the outcome; it’s God’s. I can live with that.”
Bill looked over at him thoughtfully and nodded. “I’m glad you found that perspective. You sound at peace with it.”
“I am.”
Bill held out his hand. “I’d be honored to have you on the team. We can do the paperwork with the county EMS this afternoon and make it official.”
Stephen appreciated the confidence offered, but he wasn’t sure he had earned it yet. “I won’t let you down.”
“I don’t expect you will.”
As momentous as the change, it was finalized in merely a minute. Stephen kicked at a fence post and figured he’d better get himself a phone to carry with him, maybe get that jacket of his repaired so the emblem didn’t pull away. “I haven’t told Meghan yet; I’d appreciate if you let me break the news.”
“Sure. She’ll be glad to have you coming in and out of the office occasionally.”
“Will she?”
Bill smiled and patted him on the back. “You’re going to settle your questions about God, find the peace you’re after, and start making my life havoc by asking Meghan out. I’m an old man, but
I still notice the obvious. Ever since you bought this place, you’ve begun setting down roots.”
“I’m well on my way to being there. I’ll make her happy, Bill.”
“I know you will. Would you like to come over for lunch Sunday?”
“I’m planning to give Meg a lift to church; I’ll be glad to join you for lunch afterward. Your wife makes a great pie.”
“That she does. How’s the remodeling coming along?”
“Good. Come on up to the house and I’ll show you around. I could use your opinion on my future office. I want to build shelves like those you have.”
Twenty-four
Meghan agreed to a picnic lunch on Saturday, and Stephen chose a place over by the river, hoping even the few miles of distance would help her shake the sadness of the last few days.
The quilt covered the grass and the ground wasn’t that uncomfortable for an hour. At least the ants had yet to appear. Stephen finished his second croissant sandwich and speared one of the olives in the relish tray.
Meghan nibbled her way around the last of a pear. “You make a nice lunch.”
“Thanks.” He leaned over and nudged Blackie, offering him the last piece of cheese. The dog was doin
g his best not to beg but this had to be tough—the food was spread out to one side of the blanket in front of him. The pepper cheese disappeared in one bite.
“He’s a mooch, and you’re just going to make him sick.”
Stephen rubbed Blackie’s ears. “Hard work deserves a reward occasionally.”
He packed away the remains of their lunch and placed them in the picnic basket. “I told your father I’d start working more formally as one of the county paramedics. It won’t prevent days like yesterday, but maybe in the next crisis I’ll be able to help you more.”
“You’re comfortable doing that?”
“It’s time, Meg. And I’m not as queasy at the sight of blood anymore.”
“I’m glad. You’ll do a wonderful job, and the town residents will welcome you to the job with open arms.”
“Think you can handle me wandering in and out of the clinic when I’m in town?”
“Are you going to make a point of letting me know you’re around?”
“Hmm.”
She smiled. “I was afraid of that.”
He rolled onto his back. He was in the mood to close his eyes and catch a nap.
“Something is different today, Stephen. I can hear it in your voice. You sound…I don’t know the right word. Calm.”
“I’m falling asleep,” he clarified. “It’s good to have the decision made. And I made another big one just before it.” He turned his head to look at her, interested in watching her face. “The Bible is starting to make sense, Meg. I understand now how you know Jesus as a friend.”
The pear juice got ahead of her and had to be rubbed off her chin. He watched the emotions on her face—joy, curiosity, hesitancy to make too much of his words. “You believe.”
He smiled at her caution. “Yes, what I understand so far. I was reading through John and it started to come alive as you described, and the pieces began to make sense. Your description of it as a conversation—it fit. The fact Jesus would come and die on a cross for me, when it began to click that He could love me that much— There’s something powerful in that, Meg, that overrides so many of the questions that still linger.”
The Rescuer Page 23