“I see your hand,” said Augie, confused.
“But do you see blight right?” he asked, intentionally switching his “l’s” for his “r’s.”
“No,” Augie said with a sudden lump in her throat. “Is the light on?”
“No,” said Doctor Nguyen playfully. “I just testing.”
“Oh… you…” Augie began, but couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Whoa!” blurted the doctor. “You going to call me bad name?”
Augie chuckled and said, “Almost, you… you jokester!”
“Whew!” he said with a pretend wipe of his brow on the back of his lab coat sleeve. “Nurses call me bad name all the time.”
Colleen giggled to herself. Every time the doctor spoke, she giggled louder and couldn’t control herself.
“Okay,” said the doctor. “We take rook with right this time.” He shined the flashlight in Augie’s right eye and was pleased with what he saw. Her pupil was reactive to the light, which was a good sign.
“Now I can see the light,” said Augie. “It’s very blight.”
“That’s good,” said the doctor as he stood up and returned the pen light to his pocket. “I don’t see damage in eye, but when you go home, you make appointment with eye doctor.”
Augie suddenly felt a wave of nausea just as she had before. Her stomach seized, causing her to double over in pain again. Doctor Nguyen watched her color turn from a warm hue to white as a sheet.
“You have pain in belly?” he asked with a sense of urgency.
Augie grunted but said nothing. Doctor Nguyen grabbed her right shoulder and leaned forward in an attempt to look at her face. Augie glanced up at the doctor and leaned back again.
“You have pain in belly?” he repeated.
Augie swallowed hard, leaned further back against her pillow and closed her eyes. “Y—yeah,” she finally answered mid-swallow.
“You going to pass out?”
Augie opened her eyes again and tried to focus on the light fixture above her bed. Fresh tears escaped the corners of her eyes and raced down her cheeks toward her ears. She swallowed hard and wiped them away before they hit their mark.
“Welcome back,” said Doctor Nguyen. “Did you lose conscious?”
“No,” Augie replied with a throaty wail. “I’m just really dizzy.”
“You almost throw up, yes?”
“Yeah.”
“I give you something for nausea,” said the doctor. “And we get more picture on your chest.”
“Picture?”
“X-lay,” replied the doctor. “I need to see you libs.”
Doctor Nguyen always made Augie feel at ease. She loved his sense of humor, which usually came at his own expense one way or another. She knew that the doctor was capable of speaking nearly perfect English, but the fact that he intentionally mispronounced his “l’s” and “r’s” was great medicine in itself.
Colleen sat quietly in her bed and listened to the conversation. She felt much of Augie’s pain, but suspected that the young, melon-chested blonde had deeper psychological burdens that only a seasoned professional could help with.
“X-lay,” Augie repeated with a weak smile. “I like that.”
Doctor Nguyen turned and proceeded to wash his hands.
“Will I see you the same time tomorrow, Doctor?” asked Augie with a more comforted tone. He turned back toward her and dried his hands. She searched his face optimistically but was immediately disappointed.
Doctor Nguyen took a deep breath, tossed his paper towel at the wastebasket without looking, crossed his arms and said, “Not tomorrow.”
“Oh,” said Augie. “The next day then?”
“No,” he said. “You go home today.”
Augie suddenly felt a wave of nausea building in her stomach again, but she swallowed extra hard to keep it at bay. “Today?” she blurted with a broken wail, and then took a deep, painful breath. “I can’t go home today! Pleeeease don’t make me go home today!” She buried her broken face in her hands and sobbed uncontrollably.
Doctor Nguyen uncrossed his arms and stepped toward the side of Augie’s bed again, but stopped short. Colleen sat up straight, ignoring the stabbing pain in her shoulder.
“Today?” Colleen whispered softly.
“I give you prescription for pain meds before you discharge,” said the doctor, trying to reassure Augie. “You do much better at home.”
The silence in the room was deafening, aside from Augie’s whimpers. Colleen had to speak. She couldn’t help herself.
“She can’t go home today, Doctor,” Colleen said loudly.
†
Carlos Guzman ran his hand down Thunder’s right front foreleg and squeezed at the tendons just above the pastern or “joint” of her leg. Thunder responded by lifting her hoof for inspection.
“Bueno,” said Carlos aloud. “Muy bueno.”
“Looks good?” asked the young Victoria Cambridge as she turned off the water spigot at the front of the wash stall.
“Si,” said Carlos. “Looks much better.”
“She’s always been a fast healer,” said Victoria. “How much longer should I be careful with that hoof?”
“No need,” replied Carlos in English. “Good enough to clean like normal.”
Carlos let go of Thunder’s leg and stood up straight. Thunder shifted her weight and whinnied loudly to the other horses relaxing in the stalls nearby. Carlos ran his hand down her back and patted her on the rump. As he exited the wash stall, Thunder responded with a hard flick of her tail.
“Thunder!” scolded Victoria. “Stop it!”
“She thinks I am a fly,” said Carlos.
Victoria playfully slapped Thunder’s neck. “She’s just being mean in my opinion,” she said.
“She’s a good horse,” said Carlos. “She just likes to play.”
Victoria leaned into Thunder’s withers and gave her a neck a big hug. “What is the Spanish word for torment?”
“Ask me en Español,” Carlos said in a hybrid of English and Spanish.
“Let me see…” said Victoria. “¿Cuál es la palabra española para el tormento?”
“You answered your own question, my friend,” said Carlos with a chuckle. “Just apply correctly for torment, and there’s your answer.”
Victoria smiled and combed her fingers through Thunder’s shiny mane. She thought about the different verb forms for the word in question.
Carlos adjusted his hat and then stretched his back in the hot August sun. Merlin oinked lazily under the shade of a large bench near the open-ended tack room opposite the wash stall.
Ruby-throated hummingbirds flitted busily about the raised flower boxes that surrounded the sturdy brick dressing rooms and vending machines next to the show ring.
Suddenly Carlos heard the familiar roar of an engine that was running badly and in desperate need of overhaul. Sheriff Lohr and his thirty-year-old Blazer rounded the corner and pulled up near the show ring. The Blazer’s rusty door hinge squeaked open in protest and announced the sheriff’s arrival nearly as loud as the tired old engine.
Jeff had a habit of leaving the driver’s side door open, which left the dome light on and constantly drained the Blazer’s battery. Many times over the years, Jeff ran the battery completely dead, sometimes in the dead of night. Despite several warnings from MaeBelle, Jeff called her instead of his deputies to avoid scrutiny from “the boys.”
Following what seemed like the hundredth “midnight rescue,” MaeBelle decided to remedy the situation once and for all. Once the Blazer was started, she hoisted herself to the running board and calmly asked Jeff for his night stick, to which he obliged. He scratched his head and figured he shouldn’t ask what she was going to do with it.
When she leaned in the window, Jeff thought he was about to receive a kiss. As he puckered up, MaeBelle leaned in, and with a quick flick of the wrist, relieved the Blazer of its dome light. She then returned the night stick to her husband
and said nothing as she hopped down, disconnected the jumper cables, dropped them to the ground, and tore off in her BMW.
Jeff dared not say a word about the incident. Not even an apology, which he knew would only make MaeBelle’s eyes turn green like The Incredible Hulk. He also knew he dared not repair the dome light, since his habit of leaving the door open wasn’t going to change, and today was no exception.
Carlos removed his gloves and repositioned his hat as the sheriff made his way over toward the wash stall. He took an extra step or two to the left to avoid a fresh pile of road apples as he approached.
“Carlos? How are ya?” asked Lohr as he extended his hand.
“Bueno, my friend,” replied Carlos with a firm handshake. “Would you like to go for a ride?”
“You bet I would. Mind if we take the Jeep?”
“Not at all,” said Carlos.
Jeff visited the Triple C regularly, whether it was for a social visit, charity events, or official business. He knew that the Triple C did well, but had its troubles from time to time, just like any other ranch in the Conejo Valley.
Every spread within a hundred miles experienced problems with the occasional vagrant, but Jeff knew when Carlos called him that he was more concerned about this one.
Victoria Cambridge stood on her toes and peered at Carlos and Jeff from behind the withers of the freshly-bathed Thunder. She pressed the tip of her nose against the gray’s thin coat and took in a deep breath, filling her nostrils with the aroma of freshly-applied fly spray, which she freely admitted she liked.
Carlos raced the Army surplus Jeep’s engine as the sheriff jumped in the passenger seat and adjusted his Stetson. Victoria’s heart sank as the two men drove past the wash stall without so much as a quick glance in her direction. She followed the jeep with her eyes as they disappeared around the corner of the training ring. “Aw nuts, Thunder,” she said as she turned her head and rested her cheek against the mare’s withers. “I’m the one who found it to begin with.” Thunder responded with a low whinny and a flick of her tail as if to say, “I understand.”
Victoria daydreamed about the campsite and listened to the sound of the Jeep’s engine in the distance. She drew a large heart in the short, grayish hair on Thunder’s side with the tip of her index finger. Inside the heart, she drew the letters “VC” with a plus sign underneath, and then paused while she thought about which initials to put below.
The sound of the jeep in the distance suddenly interrupted her thoughts. She thought it sounded like they were getting closer rather than farther away, but she dismissed it, remembering that the steep rocky hillsides can echo loudly and play tricks on the ears.
“Miss Cambridge!” Jeff’s voice suddenly thundered from the opposite side of the show ring.
Victoria whipped her whole upper body around the opposite direction, which startled Thunder. The double wash stall chains rattled as she jerked her head upward in response to Victoria’s sudden movements.
“Me?” Victoria called loudly across the ring. She instinctively patted Thunder’s neck to settle her.
“Can you spare a few minutes?” Sherriff Lohr replied sharply like the crack of a well-used lunge whip.
Victoria’s heart leapt from her chest with excitement. She covered the hundred-yard distance between the wash stall and the waiting jeep in record time, kicking up more dust in her wake than an Oklahoma twister.
†
“She can’t go home today, Doctor,” Colleen repeated, but this time without as much volume.
Doctor Nguyen appeared from behind the curtain. “I do not understand,” he said. “Why she can’t go home today?”
Colleen took a deep breath and thought about what she was going to say. After her conversation with Augie about being over-protective, she knew she had to choose her words carefully. “I… I don’t want her to,” she said after she could find no other reason and decided that honesty was all she had left.
Doctor Nguyen was taken by surprise. In all his professional years, he had never had another adult tell him that a patient couldn’t go home because of the reason, “I don’t want her to.” “I’m sorry, Miss Caldwell,” he said. “I can’t talk about my patient’s condition, but you already hear me tell her she can go home.”
Colleen’s face turned red. She tried to calm herself and find a way to reason with the doctor. She had to find a way to keep Augie in the hospital one more night. “I’ll tell you what,” she said. “How about if I pay for her to stay one more night?”
Doctor Nguyen couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He blinked exaggeratedly and nervously clicked a ball-point pen in his coat pocket. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “It’s not work that way. I wish she could stay too, but they tie my hands.”
Colleen was getting even more frustrated. Her shoulder ached as her heart raced faster and faster. Augie’s sobs continued, which made Colleen feel even more helpless. Suddenly, the bright young widow had an idea. She knew that she couldn’t budge the doctor because of potential ethical issues, but she knew there was a way to get what she wanted. “Thank you for all you’ve done, Doctor,” she said. “I tried, but you’re a tough cookie,” she added with a weak smile through her pain.
“I never been call tough cookies before, but I take what you say as compliment.”
“It was meant as a compliment,” Colleen said with a nod. “Thanks again.”
All Doctor Nguyen could say was “Welcome” before he turned on his heels and headed for the door. Augie’s whimpers grew louder for a second, and then stopped abruptly.
“Hello,” said a young man’s voice. “Doc wanted a set of X-rays before you’re discharged.”
Augie said nothing. Not even a sniffle. The sound of rustling papers cut through the silent air of room 258 like a buzz saw.
“If I can just check your arm band,” the man said. “Can you verify your date of birth?”
“Seven, eighteen, eighty-five,” Augie’s stale voice recited as if she were being questioned by the FBI.
“Great,” said the man’s voice. “I’ll wheel you down to X-ray and then we’ll get you on your way.”
“Peachy,” said Augie.
Colleen heard rustling bed sheets, and assumed the man was transporting Augie by wheelchair. She knew she had to move fast if her plan to keep Augie overnight was going to work.
“If you turn with your back to me, I’ll move the chair closer,” said the man’s voice. “There you go.”
“Don’t go anywhere, Colleen,” Augie said blankly.
“I’ll be right here when you get back.”
The familiar squeak of foot rests being moved into position echoed against the thick concrete walls. Colleen figured she had maybe thirty minutes to herself, at best.
CHAPTER 10
Las Gaviotas Motel had a steady flow of customers, most of which were guests that actually paid for their stay. Room 13 had its share of customers over the years, including those who paid by the hour rather than by the night.
“My name’s Min, what’s yours?” asked the Asian girl standing in the doorway.
“Jim.”
“Well, Jim,” she said. “You gonna invite me in?”
Jim leaned forward and scanned the parking lot for anything suspicious. An old Lincoln Town Car the color of beet juice sat near the parking lot entrance with the engine running. The windows were tinted deep purple, and a brawny, unshaven Mexican with a white hat sat in the driver’s seat and puffed a cigarette. Smoke billowed through the half-open window with a lazy swirl.
“He with you?” Jim asked.
“You could say that,” she said. “It’s more like I’m with him.”
“I got it. How long?”
“Twenty minutes. If I don’t come out by twenty-five, we’ll have visitors.”
“Fair enough,” said Jim. “Let’s go.”
Jim reached for the girl’s arm, but she stepped quickly backward half a step.
“That’ll be thirty in advance, and the c
lock starts when I get it.”
Jim put his hand in his right pocket and produced a crumpled wad of bills. He carefully thumbed through them with the fingers on his freshly-bandaged left hand and pulled out a twenty and a ten. That left him only a few other bills and some change.
“What happened to your hand?” asked Min.
Jim looked up at her with a menacing squint. “What happened to your face?”
Min said nothing as she stared at the thirty dollars. Jim surveyed her face and likened her makeup job to a whitewashed picket fence. Her acne scars were covered with a pale, white paste, and the redness of new blemishes dotted her cheeks liberally.
Min snatched the money from Jim’s outstretched hand and waved at the Mexican in the Town Car. The man flicked his spent cigarette to the ground and rolled up his window. Jim grabbed Min’s arm, gave it a yank, and both disappeared inside room 13.
†
Carlos skidded the jeep to a halt, pulled the parking brake, and let out the clutch. The jeep lurched forward and the engine died. Sheriff Lohr hoisted his tired bones from the passenger seat. His antique ostrich cowboy boots, a Christmas present from MaeBelle, hit the running board and he noticed Victoria standing to his side with her arms outstretched.
“Watch yourself, little lady,” said Jeff as he pivoted on the running board.
“Oh,” she said, “I was going to help you down.”
“Help me down? How old do you think I am?”
Victoria smiled and stepped out of his way.
Carlos wiped his brow and squinted at the evening sun as the other two joined him at the edge of the brush. “There it is,” he said.
“Doesn’t look like the typical tin-pan from here,” said Jeff. “Did you see it up close?”
“We didn’t have time,” Victoria interrupted.
The two men leaned forward and beamed at her playfully. She balanced on her tiptoes and shielded her eyes from the sun as she studied the arroyo, and then suddenly realized that it was she who had spoken and not Carlos. “Sorry,” she said, her face reddened.
Remembering August (Triple C Ranch Saga) Page 28