Sawbones

by Pamela Fagan Hutchins

  She sat up, sniffling. “I know, Dad. But it’s not my fault.”

  “Everyone is just trying to keep you safe, Trish. Yesterday, Wes sacrificed his time off work to help, and you skipped school with Brandon. Today, you ran off with the boy you’re supposedly afraid of, the one who kidnapped you, while Henry was here.”

  Her eyes were impossibly blue behind a layer of tears. Her lower lip quivered. “I didn’t ask them to help.”

  “Whether you realize it or not, we need their help. And it’s not just our volunteers, either. Your actions have gotten the principal of your school involved. And the sheriff’s department. Word is getting out that you’re acting like a spoiled brat who doesn’t care about anybody but herself. Do you think when people hear that, they’ll want to keep dropping everything to help you?”

  Trish threw herself back into Susanne’s shoulder and started wailing again.

  Susanne patted her back. “Patrick.”

  “What? It’s true.”

  “I think she gets the point. So do people two counties over.”

  Patrick rubbed his forehead violently. “What can we do differently, Susanne? Do we have to lock her in her room?”

  Trish’s head came up, and Ferdinand rose, tail tucked. “No!” she shouted. She jumped to her feet.

  Ferdinand snuck away toward his bed in the laundry room.

  “What would you do if you were us, then?”

  “You don’t understand anything. Even if I told you, you wouldn’t understand.”

  Patrick sighed. Notwithstanding that she hadn’t answered his question, she was probably right. He didn’t understand what made her do the things she did half the time already, although he loved her anyway. In some ways, she was so much like him. In a few, she favored her mother. But in many, she was her own unique and baffling creature. He rubbed gooseflesh on his arms. The room had grown colder. Outside it was a whiteout. The flakes were big and thick. The roads would get bad quickly. Kim had promised to call if they needed him at the hospital. He was only ten minutes away, except for the rapidly accumulating snow. If he got an emergency call, he’d have to take the Suburban. It had good snow tires and four-wheel drive. He didn’t want to leave Susanne and Trish to shovel the truck out to go get Perry, but he wouldn’t have to if he weren’t called in.

  He went over to the fireplace. They were low on logs. He stoked the fire and stacked the remaining logs on top of it. Then he sat down heavily on the hearth. “Try us. How much worse could it get?”

  Trish scrubbed at her eyes. “Ben said Brandon is ch-ch-ch-cheating on me. With Charla.”

  A blinding rage flashed up in Patrick. What was wrong with Brandon? Trish was such a tough girl about so many things, but not when it came to her heart. There, she was tender and critically low on self-esteem. He hated that since she’d started dating him, her world revolved around being Brandon’s girlfriend, when she was so much more than that. Hadn’t they raised her to believe in herself? She was ten times the person that boy was. And he was treating her like garbage. Patrick was glad Brandon wasn’t here, because he wanted to take the kid out behind the barn and whup him good.

  Susanne reached for Trish’s hand. “I’m so sorry. I know how much you like him—”

  “I don’t just like him, I love him, Mom. We’re planning on getting married. He’s my soulmate.”

  Patrick sure hoped they weren’t planning on getting married anytime soon. He didn’t know whether Trish’s feelings were real or not. He’d felt that way about Susanne at Trish’s age, and their relationship had stood the test of time. But most teen romances were temporary. Chances were this one was, too. He knew better than to say that, though. He probably shouldn’t say they had far bigger problems than one teenage boy’s libido and lack of morals either. He managed to hold back, just barely.

  Susanne stroked Trish’s hand with her thumb. “And I know you and Charla are competitive—”

  “Anything I ever want, she tries to take away from me. Well, she can’t have Brandon!”

  “What has Brandon said about all this?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did he admit to cheating on you? Does he like Charla?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to ask him. Because of his mom and because you guys kept me out of school.”

  Susanne got up and went to sit on the hearth with Patrick. “So, Ben told you? Today when he came over?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you and Ben becoming . . . friends?”

  “Not really. No.”

  “Why did he come over then? Just to tell you about Brandon?”

  “No.” Trish’s face colored and she backed up a step. “He, um, wants to be my boyfriend.”

  “Over my dead body,” Patrick said, his voice dangerously close to roar-level again. The only thing worse than Trish dating Brandon Lewis would be Trish dating Ben Jones.

  “I know, Dad. I’m not an idiot. And you don’t have to yell. I’m not deaf either.”

  He bit the inside of his lip to restrain himself from debating the idiot issue, based on recent behavior.

  Susanne held up her hand in a ‘hush’ gesture. “Is everything okay there? With you and Ben?”

  “He’s pretty mad at me.”

  “Why?”

  “When he told me about Brandon, I said some mean things. But that’s not what’s the matter. Brandon and Charla are what’s the matter.”

  “So, yesterday in the park with Brandon—you weren’t there talking about Charla?”

  “No.”

  “Everything was fine then?”

  “Not really.” Trish stuck her hands in her back pockets.

  “What happened?” When Trish hesitated, Susanne said, “Trust us, honey.”

  “He, um, he wanted to have sex and I didn’t.”

  Now the roar was inside Patrick’s head. Every muscle in his body tightened.

  Susanne squeezed his knee to keep him quiet. “I’m proud of you.”

  Patrick began to relax. Susanne could handle this topic better than him.

  Trish turned away from them. “Well, it’s cost me a boyfriend because now he’s messing around with other girls.”

  “Lots of boys want to have sex. That doesn’t mean it’s true about him and Charla. Ben might have only told you that because he wants you for himself.”

  “Charla is a slut.”

  Susanne frowned. “Trish, that’s uncalled for.” Trish rolled her eyes and Susanne didn’t pursue it any further. “You need to talk to him.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “For starters, because I’m scared he’ll say it’s tr-tr-tr-true. But also, I can’t tell him Ben told me.”

  “Are you afraid of getting in between them?”

  “No. Because Brandon would be upset that Ben came here, and that I rode off with him alone in the truck.”

  Patrick balled his fists. “You don’t need Brandon telling you what to do.”

  “He isn’t, Dad.”

  Patrick didn’t believe her. “You’re the one who wanted to skip class yesterday?” The Trish he knew was much too conscientious a student to do that.

  Trish stared at the floor and bit her lip.

  Patrick gave a sharp nod. “I didn’t think so.”

  Susanne stood up. “Patrick, could I have a word with you in the kitchen?”

  He followed her, checking his watch. He felt bad that he’d run out on Dr. John and the staff at the hospital.

  Susanne poured them each a coffee.

  “Thanks.” He took a sip. It was lukewarm, but it was caffeine.

  She set her cup down and slipped her arms around him. He squeezed back with one arm, the other holding his cup aloft so he wouldn’t spill coffee on her. “I’m so glad you weren’t hurt today. I’m sorry I haven’t even had a chance to tell you that, with this newest Trish drama consuming our attention.” She shuddered against him. “The thought of someone shooting at you is awful.”

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nbsp; “They missed me by a mile. That wasn’t even the most interesting part of my day.”

  “Oh?”

  “I got a call from Governor Rawlins.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “It’s a long story, and not all of it is good, but he’s sending one of his security team members up tomorrow to help us until the trial is over.”

  Her weight slumped into him. “That’s wonderful news.” Then she released him and motioned him over by the refrigerator, where their voices wouldn’t carry back to Trish. She whispered, “About Trish. I think it would be cruel not to let her try to resolve this with Brandon, Patrick. It could be days or even a week or more before she’s back in school.”

  “She needs to dump him.”

  “Maybe. But she can’t if we don’t let them talk.”

  “Are you forgetting part of the problem is his mother?”

  “About that. I was thinking maybe I could take Trish up to the school to see if Brandon wanted to come talk to her here. Or at the library. Somewhere I could be sure she was safe and that his mother wouldn’t find out.”

  The phone rang. Patrick groaned. He let go of his wife and snatched it up. “Hello?” He felt the cold wet nose of his dog on his free hand. Poor Ferdinand didn’t like it when his family was upset. Patrick massaged his head.

  The caller was Wes. “Doc, we’ve got a multi-vehicle accident half an hour or less out. This darn spring snow.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  He hung up. “I have to go. Emergency. The kind that is going to take hours and hours, I’m afraid, so don’t wait dinner for me. Would you mind if I took the Suburban?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I hate that I don’t have time to clear the driveway for you, but you’ve got Trish to help you.”

  “It’s not a problem.”

  “And make sure she rides with you to pick up Perry, please. I don’t want either of you alone. Not in this weather and with the roads like this, and not after the things that happened to you in town yesterday.”

  Susanne nodded. “What do you think about what I suggested—letting Trish talk to Brandon?”

  “I’m fine as long as it’s in public or here. But she messed up, Susanne. There has to be consequences. Make her do the shoveling. Get her to do some chores around the house. We can’t let her just lay in her room like this is a vacation.”

  Susanne drew in a deep breath. “My head is killing me. How about I go take care of things at the hospital and let you supervise Trish’s consequences?”

  She did look pale. “I definitely drew the longer straw today.” He kissed her on the forehead. “My mother swears by a cup of coffee and salty popcorn for a headache.”

  “I’ll try it. I just wish we had more time to talk. It’s the story of our life lately. I have so much to tell you.”

  “Me, too. Quickly, anything important?”

  “Oh, just about my lunch with Barb and her friend. I ran into Max, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to him about the conflict of interest. We still need to, before the trial, which means today. He didn’t call you, did he?”

  “No. Do you mind trying him again?”

  She nodded and hugged him. “I’ll do it as soon as you leave. Drive safe. And don’t get in front of any more bullets. You’re everything to me, you know.” She pressed her face into his chest for a few seconds.

  He soaked in her warmth. He got choked up on his response, and only half of what he wanted to say came out, but he thought the rest, with everything he had. “Be careful.” You’re everything that’s precious to me, too.

  Chapter Thirty: Conquer

  Buffalo, Wyoming

  Tuesday, March 15, 1977, 2:30 p.m.

  Trish

  Trish pushed the shovel under the snow and walked it like a plow toward the barn, then tossed the load as far as she could when it got too big. Their driveway and parking area were just too large to scoop the snow up and carry it one shovelful at a time out of the way. The parking area at their old house had been a lot smaller. After a winter of keeping this big space clear, her dad had promised that next year they’d buy a snow scraper for the front of his truck. He probably wouldn’t though. Not while she and Perry were at home and he could make them do the work.

  This was like her three thousandth trip. With each one, she was creating deeper and deeper mounds of snow. Now it looked like someone had dumped a bag of extra-large marshmallows on the ground, where they’d partially melted. The snow was heavy. Her shoulders and thighs ached and sweat dripped along her hairline. Her nostrils burned from the cold air, so much that she smelled blood. Her own. She’d had a nosebleed earlier. Little droplets had rained onto the shoveled ground, where they’d looked like pomegranate seeds. She lost her focus for a second, remembering, and the blade of the shovel hit a rock. It jammed the handle into her chest, right at her diaphragm, and knocked the wind out of her.

  “Ow.”

  This sucked. Big time sucked. And her mom hadn’t been helping, not one single solitary second. She’d said she had a headache and was going to her room to shut her eyes. But she must not have closed them very long, because she still opened the door and checked up on Trish every five seconds. Maybe a little less, but still. Trish knew shoveling was part of her penance, and if she didn’t do it, her punishment might last longer. She’d rather do almost anything than shovel snow, though. Cleaning toilets even sounded good right about now.

  She gazed out toward the creek as she caught her breath. Not that she could see the water. The snow was coming down so hard it was shortening her sightlines and muffling sounds. By the pasture fence, Goldie clambered to the water trough, wet snow packed in balls so high under her hooves that it was like she was wearing heels. The mare looked pretty with her back blanketed in snow. She sucked down big gulps of water, her nostrils blowing steamy clouds over the tank. She lifted her head. Water streamed back out her mouth like she was a horse fountain statue. Trish smiled, although as bad her mood was, she wasn’t sure how it had sneaked out. Goldie ambled back into the pasture, to her little herd, where they ignored their shelter and lined up with their butts to the wind.

  It was amazing how well the horses did in the cold. Dad called it the “two out of three” rule. Cold, wet, and wind—the horses could handle any two together, but not all three at once. They were good at staying dry in most weather, so the two out of three rule wasn’t usually a problem. Their hair adjusted to temperature, even creating water resistant air pockets between their bodies and the outside world. That’s why the snow on Goldie’s back wasn’t melting, and why her blonde coat wouldn’t get very wet.

  New snow had already covered the ground she’d cleared. Trish dug her shovel under the snow one last time. The shovel wasn’t quite wide enough, and snow spilled off either side, but she didn’t care. She was D-O-N-E-done with shoveling after this row. Not only did it suck, but it had given her way too much time to think. She didn’t want to think. Everything she thought about made her sad and nervous. After this, she was going inside until it was time to pick up the runt from school and go talk to Brandon. Just thinking about that gave her butterflies. She’d have to shower before they left, so she needed to hurry. She walked her shovel-plow toward the barn, leaning, and pushing with her legs. When she reached the big structure and finished distributing the snow onto the piles, she leaned the shovel handle against the side wall and went into the house.

  “Mom?” Just inside the doorway from the garage, she stripped her boots off and set them on a boot stand. She put her gloves, hat, and jacket on hooks. Water started pooling below her footwear.

  Her mom didn’t answer. Good. That meant she wasn’t going to be making her do any more penance before they left. Trish went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. She picked up Perry’s dirty underwear and socks with the tips of her fingers and flung them in the middle of the floor in his room. Boys were such pigs, and Perry was the worst. She returned to the bathroom. There were barbells and a coffee cu
p on her counter. She made a face and peeked in the cup. Sure enough, a thick layer of mold complete with floating round spores covered the coffee. She slid it toward the sink but didn’t pour it out.

  When the water was hot and the mirror steamy, Trish gathered her hair up into a ponytail and stepped under the spray. The water was amazing. It was the first time she’d felt good all day. Good enough that she could let all the pent-up feelings inside her bubble up and out where the water could wash them away. Within seconds, silent tears were streaming down her face. Everything was so messed up. Brandon, most of all, but Marcy nearly dying, her parents being so hard on her, the trial coming up, and even Ben. Trish wanted to forget Ben had ever told her anything and just go on with things like they were. But part of her knew she could never forget the things he’d said. Any of them. How could she? Her mom had said talking to Brandon about it was the right thing to do. Trish guessed she was right.

  Trish soaped herself up, then rinsed. If she talked to Brandon, she had to tell him the things Ben had said. And, no matter what she’d said to Ben earlier, she was worried about what would happen to him. Brandon was his cousin. Ben lived in his house. And Brandon’s mom was crazy. Would they kick Ben out? Would they be mean to him? Even hurt him?

  She had to call Ben. To warn him. She’d known it, deep down, from the minute her mom had said she’d take Trish to talk to Brandon today, and it had been eating a hole in her stomach ever since.

  She turned off the shower and dried off. She put on her favorite Gloria Vanderbilt jeans and a fuzzy blue sweater. Then she stared at the phone. Did she have the courage to make the call? She wanted to dive under the covers and hide instead. But she didn’t think she could live with herself if she didn’t do it.

  She snatched up the phone and dialed the number for Brandon’s house.

  Mrs. Lewis answered. “Hello?”

  Trish made her voice higher pitched, trying to disguise it from the woman. “May I speak to Ben please?”