The Desert Behind Me

by Shannon Baker

  Without raising his voice, the deputy said, “Okay, kids. Ranger Sanchez is going to be fine. The Emergency Medical Technicians are doing their job. Police, fire, ambulance… we all work hard to make sure you stay safe.”

  Patricia on the stretcher, the deputy with the kids. The man watching me. I couldn’t help seeking out the plucky girl with the blonde ponytail. She focused on the deputy with rapt attention, and a warm drop of relief spread through my chest. The helpful aide knelt next to a crying boy and hugged him.

  Maybe it was wrong for me to focus on these two girls. They shared the soft blonde hair, long legs, and a certain kindness. So familiar. So painful.

  A six-foot fence kept the man and the rest of the world away from the children. The deputy and the teacher wouldn’t let them out of sight.

  One more glance at the man before running to the ambulance. He tipped his head back and laughed.

  2

  The county deputy knew Patricia well enough to have her husband’s phone number, so he should be riding with her, not me. But, since he already had the kids engaged, and someone should be with Patricia, I reluctantly climbed into the ambulance.

  “Helps knowing she’s diabetic,” the EMT said to me. He inserted a PICC line into the back of Patricia’s hand.

  I’d done one thing right today. Steeling myself, I reached for Patricia’s free hand and squeezed. “It’s okay. Deon is on his way.”

  I had nothing else to offer so I kept hold of her hand until we pulled up to the emergency entrance and they rushed her through the glass doors. A handsome man with dark skin and black hair rushed from the hall. He wore a suit and tie. “Pete!”

  Assuming it was Deon, I stopped and watched them move down the hall. There was no reason for me to hang around, but I did. They’d give her something to stabilize her blood sugar and she’d be fine in a couple of hours. At most, overnight.

  The cool of the air conditioning made me jumpy and the hospital antiseptic smell kicked at my nerves.

  Nothing waited for me at home, so I perched on the vinyl seats in the lobby of the ER. Early afternoon on a weekday, the staff seemed capable of dealing with the few emergencies and I sat with only the voices in my head.

  After a time, the sliding doors to the outside opened and the deputy rushed inside. He spotted me and hurried over. “How is she?”

  “Deon is with her. I’m sure she’s fine.” I glanced at my watch. An hour had passed. It had felt like a couple of minutes.

  An hour. Gone. Missing chunks of time unsettled me.

  He sank onto the orange chair next to me. “I’m Rafe.”

  The name badge on his breast pocket said Grijalva.

  By now, I’d mastered the art of meeting people again, most of the time even able to shake hands without snatching mine away. “Jamie Butler.”

  He watched the corridor where they’d taken Patricia. “You’ve known Pete for a long time?”

  My answer came after the smallest of delays. Maybe he didn’t notice. “We’ve worked together for a year or so. A couple of times a month, I’d guess.”

  “You must be pretty good friends.”

  I had hoped Patricia and I would become friends, but the constant fear she’d hate me if she knew my secret kept me at a distance. “Not really, just work.”

  His face remained passive but I felt scrutinized. “You know she’s diabetic. Pete and I have been friends for a long time; our kids even play ball together. I never knew about her diabetes. But she told you, even though you aren’t close?”

  The industrial tile floor suddenly seemed fascinating. “She didn’t tell me. I noticed her taking one of those glucose packs a few months ago.”

  He seemed curious. “You ask her about it?”

  “Nope.” Everyone is entitled to their secrets. I had enough of my own to protect.

  Deon appeared from down the corridor and Officer Grijalva jumped up to meet him. “How’s she doing?”

  Deon slapped Grijalva’s back. “They’re talking about keeping her overnight but she’s got them convinced she’s fine and won’t miss her assignment patrolling a high school baseball tournament tomorrow. I was looking for soda or something.”

  Grijalva directed him in another direction. Cops know the lay of the land in their city’s ERs. Information gleaned from unhappy circumstances. He tipped a chin my way. “Can I get you something?”

  I’d already risen and headed for the door. They didn’t need me hanging around. “I should get going.”

  Deon hurried away, probably anxious to get his drink and return to Patricia. Grijalva started to say something, stopped and started again. “Isn’t your car at the grade school?”

  I’d already thought of that. “I’ll call an Uber.”

  “Wait.” He trotted after Deon and exchanged a few words. In seconds he was back at my side. “I’ll take you.”

  Sure. Natural. No problem climbing into a cop car and making small talk with a stranger. I’d practiced in front of my bathroom mirror responding to invitations and introductions. My script and rehearsed facial expressions pulled from memories of Before. “Thanks.”

  We stepped into the blazing spring sunshine reflecting on the hospital parking lot, and Grijalva led the way to his Charger. He unlocked it and I braced myself. It had been three years since I’d been in a cop car. The light bar decorating the roof and the county logo on the side of the door pricked like a heat rash. The radio secured to the dash and the heft of the door, the controls for the siren and the unforgettable smell of coffee, old food, boredom, and adrenaline made me squirm.

  I climbed in and reminded myself to draw the seatbelt across my chest, though Grijalva wouldn’t. A cop on duty might need to dash out of a car, but that wasn’t my job anymore. We maneuvered through the lot and onto busy Grant Road. He flicked his eyes toward me, then back at traffic. “Are you new to Tucson?”

  Again with the questions. Of course this is how people get acquainted, but I was out of practice. “I’ve been here about two years.”

  “Where did you move from?” Friendly. Interested. Normal.

  “Buffalo, New York.” I answered before thinking of lying.

  He didn’t laugh or even chuckle, but his eyes somehow gave me that impression. “I can see where moving to the desert would be a big change. Were you a cop in Buffalo?”

  I blurted, “How did you know?”

  “You took charge when Pete went down. You didn’t hesitate. Looked like you’ve had experience in emergency situations.”

  “Yeah. I was a cop.”

  “How long?”

  “Twenty-three years. I’m retired.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You don’t look old enough to be retired.”

  A cold wave smacked my forehead. I’d said the wrong thing. Always. “I started young.”

  “My misspent youth will keep me working for a long time, I’m afraid.” He didn’t seem suspicious. Maybe I’d be okay.

  “I liked being a cop.” That was the truth, even though it had surprised me then.

  “I do, too, I suppose. The brotherhood.” His lips turned up in a hint of a smile. “Camaraderie is the better term.”

  Exactly. Friendships deeper than family ties. My chest contracted with a labored breath. Long, lost friends. “What about you? Been in Tucson long?”

  He seemed to smile, though his face barely moved. “Born here. Three sisters, one brother. Sometimes they drive me crazy, you know? But it’s family and you gotta love ‘em. Don’t see myself living anywhere else.”

  What must it be like to be part of such a large clan? Surrounded by so much love and acceptance?

  We flowed through afternoon traffic to the school. Dismissal time clogged the street and parents lined up to take their turn in the circular drive to pick up their kids. In a well-choreographed dance, the cars moved through until school monitors placed their precious cargo into the safety of their vehicles. These parents probably believed their children were safe.

  In the melee of ch
ildren, teachers, helpers, and parents, I picked out one of the messy little girls from my earlier group. My heart beat quicker until she climbed into the back of a shiny SUV and the adult helper strapped a seatbelt around her before shutting the door.

  Grijalva pulled into the lot to the west of the front doors and I directed him to my car. “You’ve been in Tucson for a couple of years, have you been to happy hour at the Hotel Congress?”

  My chest tightened. He was steering me toward social waters. “I don’t go out much.”

  He stopped beside my car. “I get you. When you’re young, going to school or hanging with your group of friends, it’s easy to meet people. Everyone is going out and having fun. Then you start to pair off and pretty soon you’re having kids and just trying to keep up. Then, if you move or life changes, it’s not so easy to meet people and make friends.”

  In another time, his easy conversation would have prompted me to join in. “I like being alone.” Liar.

  Not that Grijalva boiled over with exuberance earlier, but my words, or maybe the dull tone of my voice, seemed to shut him down. “Sure. Solitude is good. If you feel like you want to have some social interaction, though, feel free to give me a call.”

  Isn’t this what I wanted, to make a connection? Maybe not best buddies, but someone to talk to besides Tara and Mom? I hadn’t prepared for it to happen today. I needed more time to get used to the risk of someone getting to know me.

  He fished in his shirt pocket and brought out his Pima County Sheriff’s Deputy card. “I hike a lot on my days off. If you haven’t been up to Seven Falls in Sabino Canyon, we could plan a day.”

  This whole encounter threw me. Privacy kept me safe. Being alone made my secrets easier to hide. Still, I couldn’t stop from spouting, “That’s one of my favorite hikes. I did it a couple of months ago and the stream was running so high I had to take my boots off to cross.”

  This time he smiled wide enough to see his teeth. “That’s the best time of year.”

  “I even saw a couple of big horned sheep.” It seemed almost easy to carry on.

  “That’s rare. I’ve never seen them up there.”

  “In Buffalo we mostly had deer and squirrels. There’s a lot more wildlife here. I’ve come across javalinas and bobcats in the desert behind my house. Lots of lizards and jackrabbits, of course. I even heard a mountain lion in Madera Canyon.”

  That nearly passive face somehow showed excitement. “Have you been to the Huachucas?”

  “I was stationed there when I was in the Army a long time ago.” The crack in my armor surprised me.

  This time it didn’t feel so much like interrogation. “You were in the Army?”

  “Right out of high school. Like lots of kids, it was my rebellious phase. Kind of a ‘screw you’ to my mother. I grew out of it, went home, and became a cop.”

  “Me becoming a cop was my rebellion. My family hates it.”

  “I loved Arizona when I was in the Army, so when I retired, it seemed like the place to come.” Not to mention the distance between Buffalo and the desert, which could never be enough.

  He glanced at his watch. “Hey, I’m off duty in another hour. Would you like to catch a drink or coffee?”

  Whoa. My pulse ratchetted up and heat scalded my cheeks. Far enough. “I’m. I. There’s something I need to do.” Lame, lame, lame.

  He narrowed his eyes, seeing through my bluster, but he let it go. “Sure.”

  I opened my door and climbed out. “Thanks for the ride.”

  Most of the congestion from after school student pickup had cleared. One of the kids from our demonstration, the plump boy in baggy shorts, held the hand of another boy who couldn’t be more than six or seven years old. They walked away from the school. No adult.

  Rafe leaned down to look up at me from the open door. “You’ve got my card. Let’s do a hike sometime. Or a drink. Or dinner. I like to eat.”

  I tried my best to smile and hide the fear throbbing through me. When the confident blonde fifth-grader with the gangly legs skipped out of the school and down the sidewalk, I quit even trying to smile. She headed off away from us, waving and shouting to friends, before she disappeared around the corner of the school.

  Rafe lowered his chin in resignation. “I’m not as desperate as I sound. Sorry to come on so strong.”

  “It’s fine. You’re… it’s good. Thanks for the ride.” I swung the door closed before it got any worse.

  I was so distracted tracking where the girl went I almost missed seeing the blonde teacher’s aide exit the front doors. She scanned the street, then her face lit up. A generic gray sedan with the typical tinted windows of the desert crept into the pick-up lane. When it lined up with her, the girl leaned over and spoke into the passenger side window. She stepped back, swung open the door and slipped inside. I wanted to shout at her to stop, but couldn’t pinpoint why. The driver was probably someone she knew.

  Something pushed at my brain. It lay buried inside my head. But I wasn’t in any shape to go looking for it.

  Thankfully Grijalva drove away and didn’t wait for me because as soon as he was out of sight, I started my car and drove slowly through the neighborhood surrounding the school.

  I drove the route I’d seen the little blonde girl take. Around the corner of the school. She skipped and sang, her backpack flopping with her movements. We could teach them all about stranger danger and even some self-defense, but this girl paid no attention to anything, not even my red car idling past her.

  The two boys, I assumed brothers, took their time, throwing rocks at a stop sign and petting someone’s friendly Pitbull through a fence, not in any hurry to get to the house a few blocks away from the school.

  I didn’t think I encountered the car that had picked up the aide, but there are a million gray sedans in Tucson. It could have been just about anyone.

  The boys didn’t notice me and by the time they unlocked the door of a tiny slump-block bungalow, my uniform was slick with sweat and my hands shook.

  Today, they’d made it home safely. But I couldn’t be here to protect them every day. I backtracked to find the little blonde. She wasn’t on the street where I’d last seen her, of course, and I drove in ever widening circles. They wouldn’t let her walk home if she didn’t live close, so logic said she was safely munching cookies telling her mother about Patricia’s seizure.

  Probably.

  3

  Patricia’s collapse and meeting Rafe had been more excitement than I’d had for a while. When I pulled into my garage, shut the door, and retreated to the solitude of my house, I realized another couple of hours had slipped by. Had I been driving around? I hated that blank, though it happened less and less often. Worn down with worrying about toeing closer to making friends, and concerned about the aide getting into the gray car, I had a tough time sleeping and ended up taking a half a pill.

  I jerked awake in the middle of the night, sure I’d heard my front door lock click. After checking it, my mind wound itself tight for the rest of the night, playing and replaying scenes that hadn’t seemed disturbing during the day.

  I woke groggy and took a quick swim to liven up. Driving through Tucson on my way to the ball park I had time to think about the day before.

  The man in the blue golf shirt kept appearing in my vision. Royal blue against the dull browns and sages of the desert. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I knew something important, but the memory lay buried with so many others.

  I felt as though I’d been climbing a mountain, the summit in sight, and I’d slid halfway down. I probably should get through this assignment and hurry home to my solitude.

  On such a beautiful spring day, the ballpark was crowded. People squeezed in the bleachers, jostled at the concession stand, and mill about waiting for their teams to play.

  I met Patricia by the parking lot, where her husband dropped her. We said hi and not much else before walking through the ball park. I waited for Patricia to bring up her seizure. Whe
n she didn’t, I thought I should at least show my concern. “How are you feeling?”

  She acted as if nothing unusual had happened. “Fine. Great.” Nothing more.

  I understood not wanting to share everything so I turned my head to the concession stand.

  The crowd shifted and I saw a poster plastered several places on the concrete structure. A locomotive slammed into me and I couldn’t catch my breath.

  The smile, fearless and full of mischief, reached out to me. She grinned at the camera, her blonde hair lit by sunshine. Above her impish face in bold black letters: HAVE YOU SEEN ME?

  Patricia walked several steps before realizing I wasn’t next to her. She followed my shocked focus and gasped. “Oh my God! She was in our class yesterday.” Patricia sounded as sick as I felt.

  I couldn’t move, could only stare at that happy face, so full of life.

  Patricia leaned toward the poster. “Zoey Clark. It says she didn’t come home from school yesterday.” She shook her head as if wanting to rid herself of the thought. “That’s my worst nightmare. Losing one of my kids.”

  My throat was too dry to answer.

  Patricia sounded close to tears as she continued to talk, ending with, “I can’t imagine what her mother must be going through.”

  I didn’t have to imagine.

  We patrolled together for a while without talking, then wandered apart.

  These people filled the stands and ordered nachos and Cokes. So much laughter. A thousand smiles. Their daughters were safe. Life hadn’t ripped apart the fabric of these lives. Yet.

  Shaken and edgy, I pulled out my phone in case I felt the need to talk.

  Two-years-old, maybe three, red-striped T-shirt and red shorts, diaper peeking out of the elastic waistband. Only interested in pushing his matchbook cars in his private bit of sand under the bleachers. Alone.

  I held my phone to my face, my fingers tingling, and watched the boy.

  Frank hissed into my ear. Whether I pretended his voice came through my phone or not, no one else ever heard Frank. “Are you going to stand there and let someone steal him, too?”