by Paula Boyd
Since evolution has yet to make any major inroads around here, I knew better than to wage war on the dinosaur standing in front of me. The fact that Leroy has a penis--or at least is suspected of it--pretty much guarantees him support over me.
"Yeah," he said, hitching up his pants as much as he could around his girth. "After the way you treated me back in school, I'd like nothing better than to throw your ass in jail."
It goes without saying that Leroy Harper had not been one of my supporters in the old days, not after I'd turned him down for a date about a hundred times. Somehow, while I was saying "Get away from me, you gross pig," he was hearing "Come and get me, baby." Some things never changed. And some things did, like Jerry winding up in ICU with a bullet hole in his chest. I glanced toward the steel doors and shook off a shudder. "Leroy, I'm going to try yet again to phrase this where you can understand. If it were you in that hospital room, what do you think Jerry would be doing right now?"
Leroy looked down and shuffled his feet, apparently thrown off track by a pertinent issue. "I'm going back out to the crime scene now." He paused for a moment, puffed up his chest and tried again. "I'll do my job, don't you worry yourself. But for all I know, somebody was trying to kill you and got Jerry by mistake."
"Me?"
He propped his pudgy hands on his hips. "Well, hell, yes. You come strutting back into town every now and then, acting like you're some queen bee come back to flaunt it in everybody's face that you're rich."
Rich? Me? I was too tired--and too worried--to laugh or I would have. I have a reasonable income from the card company, but it doesn't allow me to shop at Neiman's. Simple economics demand that I wear primarily jeans and simple knit shirts, although I do try to "Buy American." On the way down, I splurged and bought three pairs of shorts and coordinating tank tops at Wal-Mart--my new Kickapoo Collection. Still, Acting Sheriff Leroy Harper had a different take on my financial picture for some unknown reason. I couldn't see how that would work to my advantage, but I filed the information for future reference.
"Okay, Leroy, I've had enough. Let's call a truce and--"
A high-pitched tone echoed from behind the intensive care doors. Through the windows I could see a flurry of activity in the general direction of the first bed. Jerry's. I rushed inside, but the group was clustered around him so closely I couldn't see much of anything. "Is he okay?"
"Ma'am, you'll have to leave. Ma'am...."
I felt a tug on my arm and finally realized a nurse stood beside me. "Is he okay? What's happening?"
"Are you family?"
"Yes," I answered without hesitation.
"She is not," said Leroy's gravelly voice. "She was his girlfriend back in high school, that's all. I'll get her out of here."
The nurse looked at me with varying degrees of pity and contempt then turned away and went back to work.
"Could you at least tell me if he's all right," I called, but she didn't turn around. Before I could say another word, Leroy jerked me by the arm and dragged me out of ICU back into the waiting room. I jerked back the entire time but he seemed not to notice. "Let go of me, Leroy, or I'll rip off every single one of your fingers and stuff them down your throat."
"Yeah, right, like you could." He let go, however, and just stood there, glaring at me. "You get on out of here, Jolene."
I was incredulous. "Don't you even care what's happening to Jerry?"
"He's got doctors and nurses all around him. Nothing I can do one way or another about medical stuff, so I figure the best help I can give him is to keep you out of everybody's way."
"Why you sorry son of--"
"Watch your mouth, Jolene. I could arrest you for that. You just stay out of my way and maybe I won't have to."
"Now, Leroy, how do you propose that I stay out of your way when you are, so you've told me repeatedly, the big man in charge and my mother's home is the latest crime scene? You do recall that she was shot, too? A few more inches and she'd be here instead of Jerry."
"Yeah, too bad how it worked out. Nobody around here'd miss that old biddy."
Pure raw anger grabbed me by the throat. It was one thing for me to criticize my mother. It was damned different to have somebody else do it. "Don't you ever...." I paused and took a breath. "Don't you ever talk about my mother like that."
It did not escape my notice that my thoughts regarding my mother had been less than kind, but she was my mother, and mothers and daughters weren't necessarily meant to see things eye to eye all the time. We never had when I was growing up so there was no reason to think we'd start now. Still, to have this sorry excuse for a human call her an old biddy that was better off dead, well, it hurt. And it infuriated me.
My fists clenched and I trembled with fury, but I refused to raise my voice. "You know, Leroy," I said so calmly that it shocked us both. "I've always thought of you as a pig, but now I see that I was wrong. Pigs are exceptionally smart creatures and would be deeply offended by the comparison. Maybe your garden variety slug that leaves a trail of slime wherever it goes would be a closer fit."
Leroy stood there for a moment, then his face turned an ugly shade of purplish red and his eyes seemed to bulge out from their fatty sockets. "Should've put you in your place years ago," he said, turning away. "When I do, you're gonna be wishing you'd been nice to me. I've had twenty-five years to think of what I'm gonna do to you." He stomped away, apparently forgetting that I was the one who was supposed to leave.
Leroy didn't scare me, although I know he should have. I hadn't done anything seriously embarrassing or emasculating to him back in high school--at least that I could recall. Nevertheless, he was carrying a grudge about something. If I cared, I might have tried to think back at the possibilities. At the moment, all I cared about was what was going on behind the swinging steel doors. A quick look through the window showed Jerry sleeping and only one nurse standing beside his bed.
I slipped back inside, apologized to the nurse at his bed for coming in during non-visiting times and explained my relationship to Jerry, stretching things only in the "we'd just gotten back together after all these years" story line. She seemed appeased and gave me a quick update on his condition then I returned myself to the waiting room.
As it turned out, the high-pitched tone that sent the staff scrambling was only a glitch in a monitor, some wire had come loose that shouldn't have. Jerry was still the same, still sleeping from the trauma and the high octane drugs, but holding his own. The bullet had done some serious damage near his heart and he'd lost a great deal of blood as I well knew. He'd been in surgery for almost three hours repairing the mess. Before it was over, he'd had every single pint of blood in his body replaced. He'd be a long while recovering, but he was alive. That was all that mattered to me. And it mattered a lot.
"Jolene?"
I turned automatically toward the voice and saw a tall, willowy blonde in a Laura Ashley dress standing behind me. Beside her were two kids. It didn't take a great leap to figure out that these were Jerry's kids, which made the woman his ex-wife, Amy.
I'd never met her, had never wanted to. And from the very strange emotions churning my stomach at the moment, I was certain I didn't want to now. Unfortunately, it appeared I didn't have a choice in the matter. I tried to smile a little while I gathered some idea what I might say to the woman.
Amy Parker was prettier than the wedding picture Mother had clipped from the paper and sent me years ago. Her long, straight blonde hair undulated as she moved her head, and the soft pastel paisley dress draped across her slender frame in true supermodel fashion, making her look wholesome, seductive and chic all at the same time.
Yes, I was just a little intimidated. You go face the latest Vogue cover girl, look her right in the chin and tell her how fine you are with being five-foot-four and highly un-waif-like in a society where there are only two categories of woman: those who are tall and thin, and those who are not. And besides that, the woman was a blonde. An absolute, 180- degree direct opposite fr
om me all the way around. I certainly didn't need anyone to psychoanalyze why any of these things bothered me, so I went back to looking for a way to save some small shred of my ego.
Amy didn't have any visible warts, moles or hideous scars, nor did she have bad teeth, complexion problems or even split ends. Faultfinding is childish, immature and pointless, but with glowing perfection staring me in the face, I was grasping at anything. Without a single glaring fault to cling to, I was further reduced to criticizing Amy's tear-stained eyes.
Her gold-flecked blue-green orbs peered out from between puffy lids, and the whites of her eyes were spider-webbed with red. Unfortunately, on Amy, the sad tearful image made her look, well, cute, sort of like a little stray kitten or puppy that you just had to hug. And even though that sort of thing is completely out of character for me, I stepped toward her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. It felt very weird and I made it quick. "I'm so sorry to have to meet you like this."
Amy tucked her wispy, wheat-colored hair behind an ear and sniffed daintily. "It's good to finally meet you, Jolene. I've heard so much about you."
I wasn't exactly sure what she meant by that, but I had a feeling it wasn't just your typical polite thing to say. I couldn't very well reciprocate so I did the next best thing. "Your children are adorable," I said, watching for the older boy to wince. He did, but only a little. The little girl smiled sweetly. "How old are you two?"
Amy draped an arm around the boy, who looked alarmingly like Jerry with his dark, wavy hair and kind eyes. He wore a T-shirt, tucked in, and his jeans were regular cut, not some funky fad thing. "This is Benjamin," she said lovingly. "He'll be eleven next month."
"Nice to meet you, Benjamin." I extended my hand and he shook it, trying not to look bored with the whole scenario. As I turned toward the little girl to shake her hand, I couldn't help but wonder what their mother had told them about me. "Hi, I'm Jolene. Has anyone ever mentioned that you look just like your mother?"
The little girl rolled her eyes and sighed a little, but shook my hand anyway. "Only about a million times."
"Hey, now," I said, laughing just a little. "Your mother's very beautiful, and you remember that every single time somebody says how much you look like her. Okay?"
She tipped her head to the side and nodded indulgently. "Okay."
Amy patted the girl's shoulder and toyed with her light blonde hair. "Rachel just turned eight and we're still working on being more respectful to our elders."
"Mom," Rachel groused, lilting the word into two syllables.
I wanted to chime right in with her as I was not real keen on being called an elder of any kind. Instead, I said, "Well, I'm very pleased to meet you, Rachel."
With the introductions completed I couldn't help but reflect on what I saw before me: Beautiful woman, beautiful and well-behaved children--the makings of a very perfect family. What had happened? Wise enough not to ask, I said, "Jerry's doing fine. There was a problem with one of the monitors a little while ago. Nothing serious, but it was a pretty good scare."
"But he's okay?"
I nodded, and she continued. "We were in Dallas at my mother's when they finally tracked us down. We got here as soon as we could. I still can't believe it. Are you sure he's going to be okay?"
"They say he'll be fine. He won't be chasing any bad guys for a while, but he should be good as new in a few months."
I relayed what I knew of Jerry's medical condition and a still-terrifying summary of what had happened in my mother's kitchen. Rather than relieve her anxieties, it seemed to add to them. Putting people at ease and providing comfort in unpleasant situations is apparently not my forte.
"This has always been my greatest fear," Amy said, a shimmer of tears in her eyes. "In the last twelve years, not a day has gone by that I didn't wonder if it would be the day he got killed."
That stopped me for a minute. As much as I cared about Jerry--had always cared--I surely hadn't spent every single day of my life worrying if he'd come home alive. The thought was sobering on a lot of levels.
Amy wiped her eyes and sniffed daintily. "We moved here from Houston so he wouldn't be dealing with crazies every single day. And now look what happened." She dabbed a tissue under her nose again. "Somehow, I feel responsible for all this."
I didn't want to know why she felt responsible because I didn't want to take on her guilt as my own, which I would be inclined to do, particularly in this case. Furthermore, I didn't much want to know about their married life at the moment. But denial is only good for so much, and it couldn't mask the obvious fact that Amy Parker still loved her ex-husband. And she blamed herself for their divorce.
The funny thing was I felt responsible as well. That I had been seven hundred miles away the entire time they were married didn't lessen my guilt. In my heart, I knew that at least part of their problems had indirectly been my fault.
I glanced at Jerry's kids again, wondering at what point they would decide I was an evil witch who'd ruined their mother's life. I was tempted to confess and save them years of wondering, but I held back. The truth of the matter was that I had talked to Jerry maybe a half a dozen times while he was married--maybe. And it was all very low key, boring even. Yet I still felt guilty as hell over his divorce. Irrational but true.
And for a little more truth, if I thought I could repair his family for him to make him happy, I would do it in a second. In fact, if I could go back in time and stop whatever had started the downward spiral of their relationship, I'd do that, too. I owed him that and more. Yes, I can be a jealous witch, but in the end I'd do what would make him happy. But right now, no matter how much I wanted to help, I was still the outsider and there was only so much I could do. I was also bright enough to know when it was time to bow out.
I smiled at Jerry's ex-wife and tried not to wince when I spoke. "I'm really glad you're here, Amy. I hope you'll be able to stay for the next visiting time. I really need to get back out to my mother's and check on her. The bullet took a pretty good chunk out of her arm before it got to Jerry. She has a dozen or so stitches and her arm's in a sling. I expect she'll need some help."
Amy nodded and brushed a lock of silky hair behind her ear. "Do you think they'll let us in to see Jerry soon?"
I checked my watch. "Maybe half an hour or so. I think they said the next time visitors could go in was at four. Of course, even at the designated time I had to lie to get past the Rottweiler at the nurse's station." The children's eyes bugged a little and I was just as surprised they were listening. "I was just joking, kids. The nurses will be very nice to you and your daddy will be so very happy to see you if he's awake. He sleeps a lot right now."
"Will you be back tonight?"
"I'd planned to come back, but if you're going to be here--"
"Oh, no. I won't be able to stay long with the children. They need to get home and get some rest. We'll be back tomorrow." Amy smiled, but it was more of a sad, resigned effort than an actual smile. "Besides, if he needs anybody to be here with him, it's you." She hugged her children to her. "And his kids."
There it was again, that painful stab of guilt. I hadn't had a single thing to do with either his marriage or his divorce. So why did it keep feeling like I had? Like I was somehow responsible for the misery of Amy Parker, and in turn, her children? All I wanted to do was run.
Discarding that particular option as a cowardly reflex, I spoke to Benjamin and Rachel again. "Your daddy is a very brave man. He's had a rough time. There are all kinds of funny machines by his bed with tubes and wires everywhere. They look scary, but they're helping your daddy."
They said nothing, but Benjamin rolled his eyes a little at my toddleresque delivery. I tried again. "I know you've seen all this stuff on TV, but it's different when you see it in person, and it's very different when it's someone you love. I didn't take it too well myself, and I wanted you to know what to expect."
Benjamin frowned as if to say "Yeah, yeah," but I also saw him giving what I'd said som
e thought. Rachel for sure was.
"I want to go see my daddy," Rachel said, her angelic little face a tad less angelic. "Right now."
My heart twisted. No more. I had to get out of here. "They'll let you in to see him in a few minutes, sweetheart. You just be thinking about all the things you want to tell him. Even if he's asleep, you go right ahead and talk. He'll know you're there." I glanced at Amy as I turned to leave. "It was really nice to meet you, Amy," I said, the urge to flee shaking through me. I practically ran from the waiting room.
I arrived at Mother's house in about twenty minutes, and with each minute that passed, exhaustion weighed heavier. Between the all-night trip down and the emotional toll, the eight hours of sleep in three days just wasn't cutting it.
I went in the back door as I usually did, but I turned the opposite way from the kitchen.
Mother's house is one of the old style homes with a circular traffic area connecting every room, rather than the hallway design of later years. When I'd been overcome with a burning concern for physical fitness, I'd open all the doors and trot from room to room on my personal air-conditioned jogging track. I had been a pretty decent athlete back then, but running for any reason other than to win a short distance sprint race bored me to tears, so I didn't wear any paths in the carpet. Funny, looking back, my mother had been incredibly indulgent of my antics. Had one of my kids gone tromping through the house like that, I'd have had a fit. Okay, I'd probably indulged plenty of fits about very similar activities, but let's don't muddy the waters.
I walked through the first bedroom, trying not to make too much noise in case Mother was napping. She met me in the short hall by the bathroom, walking none too steadily, but I resisted the urge to grab her and scold her for being up. "Hello, Mother, dear," I said cheerfully. "How are you feeling?"
"Oh, I'm doing fine," she said, although I knew good and well she wasn't. When I was allowed in to see her in the emergency room, I'd counted twelve stitches in her lower left forearm. The doctor told me there were internal ones as well. They'd pulled it together as best they could and felt confident that it would heal nicely. They put her in a sling to keep her from moving it too much. They also said it was going to hurt like hell and gave her some serious narcotics.