Spence grinned and said, “I reckon that was a nifty move. Had to make it count. Leastwise she might have killed me and you both.”
Spence stopped. He seemed out of energy.
“Mr. Reeves, you need to rest. The nurse doesn’t want you talking,” Riggs said with a serious look on his face.
I put a hand on Spence’s shoulder and said, “Spence, you keep quiet.”
Spence said, his energy fading, “Well, won’t only me tossed it, as I see it. The man who made it, he helped. Though, maybe I did most of the tossing.” He smiled and laughed again, even more weakly. I sensed the presence of another man, straddling a century and two continents. I swear I felt him next to us. Spence’s eyes closed, and he drifted off into sleep. I studied his face. Fresh swirls of silver stubble spread across his cheeks. He now looked every one of those eighty-plus years.
“I’ve got the biggest lump in my throat,” I said.
“Me too. Let’s leave him be,” Riggs said in a whisper.
“Yeah,” I agreed. Riggs turned off the fluorescent light spanning the back of the hospital bed.
Riggs said, “I love this job.”
“But you about died back there.”
“And that’s one reason I love it. I told you I’d been a lawyer. Always wanted to be one. Like my dad was. What I didn’t know was that I’d hate it. I’ll tell you why in a moment.”
We left Spence’s room, quietly closing his door.
Riggs said, “One of Spence’s daughters has been contacted. She’s on her way.”
“There’ll be a mess of his family crawling all over this place soon.”
“Let’s go to my room,” Riggs said, “I’m supposed to be in bed too. They’re probably looking for me. My nurse will give me hell. My wife too when she gets here. Had to see Mr. Reeves.”
“Yeah,” I said.
Riggs and I hightailed it to his room.
Near his room was a nurse with a worried expression on her face, and standing with his back to us, a tall, silver-haired man with a doctor’s white coat.
“Uh-oh,” said Riggs.
The nurse noticed Riggs, and the doctor spun around. I recognized him. It was Dr. Halderman, his tanned face crumpled up with irritation, his eyes looking daggers at us.
“There he is,” said the nurse. “I told him not to move, Dr. Halderman.”
“Gird your loins,” Riggs said under his breath. Then he called out, “This is all my fault. Nurse Withers told me to stay put. My fault, my fault. I needed to see my friend, Mr. Reeves, who came in with me in the ambulance—”
“Mr. Riggs, I can’t have you going against my orders,” snapped Halderman.
“I know. It won’t happen again,” Riggs said apologetically.
“Good.”
The nurse took Riggs by the arm and led him to his room. She said, “You just keep calm, Mr. Riggs. We don’t want you getting excited. Someone will give you another EKG soon.”
Halderman must have been on call for the night and, as a heart doctor, was the specialist taking care of Riggs. Once Riggs was back in his room, Halderman wrote something in an open chart at the nurse’s station. Gathering enough courage, I approached him.
I said, “Dr. Halderman, Mr. Reeves helped save Detective Riggs’s life a few hours ago. I was there. That’s why he left his bed, to thank him.”
He kept writing and without turning said,
“He needs to stay in his bed.”
“I understand, Dr. Halderman,” I said. I waited for a few seconds, trying to think of what I could add. His pager rang. He examined it and bolted down the hallway without giving me another look, just like when I tore his ticket stub a few days earlier.
The nurse left to attend to something else, and this allowed me an opportunity to slip into Riggs’s room. He was already in his bed with a sheet covering him.
“Don’t be put off by his style, Nate. He knows what he’s doing. It was stupid of me to leave the bed. I do feel a little woozy.”
“Yeah, maybe you deserved it. But I don’t have to like him. He gives me a strange feeling, I don’t know, like I need to give a sieg heil.”
“The fact is, I wouldn’t be putting one foot after the other if you hadn’t got up on that roof and got me breathing again.”
“Well, the fact is if you hadn’t been up on that roof, I wouldn’t be breathing. Samantha, or I should say, Lucille, would have probably shot me before Spence tossed that spear. I’ve got to know. How did you figure she and Jesse Hooker would show up at the mall?”
“I’m not sure I thought it likely. Mr. Reeves told me he’d look out for you when you left, but the more I considered it, the more I just got this strong feeling. I doubled back from home. There was a lot of money in those deposit bags.”
“That reminds me. I need to find out where my Dart ended up. Those bags are still in my front seat.”
Riggs said, “Lonnie Dupree will be working on that.”
“How did you get on that roof?” I asked.
“I came up the back way, after the security guy let me in. Almost left the roof when the storm got close, but a little earlier I had seen an extra car pull up. I wanted to keep a watch on it.”
I said, “I guess it was clever to make it look like they’d left town.”
Riggs said, “And they changed cars. Probably stolen.”
“You went to a lot of trouble over a feeling. I’m glad you did.”
“I suppose there’s a rough justice in all that’s happened.”
“Yeah.”
“You must be beat. And five shows tomorrow, right? And Mr. Reeves won’t be working for a while.”
“I need to get some sleep. I’m hoping Milton Spicer can help out for a few weeks. I’ll make it worth his while.”
Riggs said, “Before you leave, see my jacket on over there. Look in the inside pocket. There’re some brochures for you.”
I examined Riggs’s jacket, still damp from the rain. Three brochures jutted out of the inside pocket, for DePaul, Northwestern, and the University of Chicago.
Riggs said, “My son requested them when he was deciding where to apply two years ago. He’s at Carolina, a sophomore now. I thought you might use them. Was going to give them to you earlier.”
“I really appreciate this, Detective Riggs.” I felt a flood of emotions. To have him looking out for me like this—the kind of thing my dad would have done if he were around. I gave him a long hug.
“These are some of the schools I’ve been thinking about.” How had he figured this out?
“Don’t sell yourself short.”
Riggs stared up at the ceiling for a moment and then turned to me. He said,
“I was going to tell you why I quit being a lawyer.”
“I’ve been wanting to know.”
“You see, one day, early on in the law firm where I worked, I was sitting at my desk with a pile of briefs. I dropped my pencil on the floor. I stared at it. And stared at it. But I couldn’t pick it up. I was that depressed. Law, fine for my dad, wasn’t for me. But I knew that every time I’d met a detective, I wished I was doing what he was doing. I switched careers. Haven’t looked back.”
He gave me another steady look. He continued,
“And you might need a letter of recommendation for one of those institutions of higher learning. You’ve got one from me if you need it. From the very first I figured you for the ‘a’ team, not the ‘b’ team.”
“I don’t know what to say, Detective Riggs,” I stuttered.
“Hey, hand me that cup of water.”
There was a hospital cup just beyond Riggs’s easy reach. I handed it to him, and he finished its contents in one gulp. We were thinking the same thing, the funny scene in Jaws when Hooper crushes a Styrofoam cup with exaggerated bravado in response to Quint’s crushing a beer can. We stared into each other’s eyes with mock intensity. Hooper to my Quint, he crushed the cup.
“Now get out of here before we get into more trouble. We’ll talk ab
out it later. I mean it, git,” Riggs said.
I did as I was told and almost knocked Nurse Withers over as I exited the room. I apologized and kept moving.
Before leaving the hospital, I wanted to check in on Spence one more time. I returned to the corridor where his room was and peered through the small window of the corridor entrance door. A group of people stood near his room. One was Halderman, along with a nurse, having a conversation with Ricardo and his mom. I wondered whether this was why Halderman sped away so quickly. I hesitated. I didn’t want to insert myself into a family situation. Nor did I want to aggravate Halderman yet another time. He might go at me with cleavers. No one seemed distressed, and so I figured Spence must be fine. Dead-tired and relieved that Spence seemed okay, I decided to leave.
I noticed a water fountain and took a few gulps. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was.
Halderman came through the door. We locked stares. I assumed he’d just continue on his way, but he came up to me. My first instinct was to apologize again.
“Dr. Halderman, I’m sorry about earlier. Can I ask how Mr. Reeves is doing?”
His face turned surprisingly reflective.
“Mr. Reeves has the body of a man of fifty. He’ll be fine. Buffalo soldiers are a tough breed.”
“That’s for sure,” I said, sensing a genuine warmth coming from Halderman.
“He told me how they got their name,” Halderman continued. “One of the early Buffalo Soldiers single-handedly fought off about seventy Cheyenne warriors. All he had was a pistol. By the time help arrived, he’d killed thirteen of those warriors, and been shot and stabbed. He lived to tell the tale. Turned out that word got about among the Cheyenne of a new kind of soldier, who, like a cornered buffalo, kept fighting despite repeated wounds. Mr. Reeves is in the same mold.”
I shuddered all over. I hadn’t heard this story.
His pager went off.
“One more thing,” Halderman said, as he examined the pager. “I plan on using those passes you gave me, for that shark movie. Perhaps, then, we can be properly introduced.”
He raced down the corridor.
I’ll be damned, I thought.
I needed to get home for some rest. Mrs. Roe’s house was no more than a twenty-minute walk from the hospital. I headed home on foot.
Chapter Fifty-Five
As I came up the driveway, I detected movement through the kitchen window. A face peered out at me. But then its features seemed to scramble together. It was the window glass, distorted by age, catching the first light of the morning sun, just lifting across the horizon.
Byron must have heard my feet hitting the back steps because he made a ruckus. A scratching behind the ears calmed him down. Marion Lester had already been over to let him out and feed him. I poured myself a glass of orange juice as Keats appeared and wove his shoulders back and forth against my legs. I found a fresh apple and began eating it for a quick breakfast.
My attention was drawn to the unfinished jigsaw puzzle, untouched since Mrs. Roe had passed away. As I worked my way around the apple, I studied the puzzle for the first time with the goal of finishing it. A piece of solid blue caught my attention, its shape suggesting it might fit near the upper corner. It did, giving me a small pleasure.
But what I needed to do was take a shower and set the alarm for three hours of sleep. I was feeling the full effects of all that had happened during the day. I’d never felt so worn out, so spent.
I tossed the apple core in the kitchen trash and noticed a letter with “Nate” written on it, placed to the counter next to the sink. I open it and unfolded a note it contained.
Dear Nate,
I saw on the TV about the long lines at the theater for the new movie. I know you must have had a trying day.
I have some very good news for you. I have recently had the opportunity to sit down with her attorney to go over Hillary’s will. Within the last couple of months, Hillary made some changes. Originally, as she had no immediate relatives, she planned on leaving all of her estate to the local Humane Society. However, she had altered it in one significant way and in one small way. You will be pleased to know that she has left you $30,000 in an educational trust toward paying for a college of your choice.
We can discuss all this very soon of course. It will take a while for the estate to go through probate. I am very happy for you. I know Hillary would be gratified to know that she could give your life a boost in this way.
Marion
One more thing, I almost forgot. The other change made has to do with a piece of jewelry. Hillary also left you a small ring—the one she usually wore—the one that gave her a “certain power.”
A rush of feelings welled up in me as I read the letter. Mrs. Roe’s recognizing my learning problem had already realigned my beliefs about what I could do, and now she was giving me a clear path toward a college education. And the ring too. A new sense of the course my future would take filled me gratitude.
The doorbell chimed.
Byron came to attention, directing both ears toward the front door. Was this Marion? No. I could make out a smaller, thinner shape through the door’s panes of frosted glass. I turned the porch light on and opened the door.
It was Carrie.
“Nate, I’m so—”
“Carrie.”
I stood, frozen, for a moment. She seemed to freeze as well. Then, suddenly, she rushed forward and threw her arms around me tight. So surprised by what was happening, I remained rigid, awkward, unable to return to her embrace, overwhelmed by her presence.
“I heard the sirens. And then the news on the radio at home. It mentioned a robbery at the mall.” Her curls pressed against my face bringing with them the smell of rain mixed with her soapy, sweet scent.
Carrie released her arms and took a step back and said, “I drove to the mall, and they told me that you were visiting Spence and Detective Riggs at Duke Hospital. By the time I got there you had left. Detective Riggs gave me your address.”
“I’m fine. You didn’t need to.” I was thrilled, in fact.
“Your cheek. There’s a scrape,” Carrie said, her face filled with concern. “Didn’t they look at it?” She placed her right hand on my chin, shifting to adjust the angle for more light. “This needs better cleaning.”
“Really, it’s fine,” I said. But she insisted, and I liked the attention. I led her to the kitchen, Byron trailing behind us, excited over having a visitor. I searched the cabinets and found Mrs. Roe’s first aid kit.
Carrie tore open a packet of gauze from the kit, moistened a section, dabbed at the wound, and then applied a touch of iodine to it. As she did this, I answered her eager questions about how I’d received the wound and what had happened at the mall. Some details she already knew through Dupree and Riggs. Some others I left out for another day. All the while, I couldn’t quite believe she was there.
“So you didn’t get to see Spence,” I said.
“No, they told me he was sleeping. He was with family too.”
“He’d lost a lot of blood. He’s strong though,” I said.
“Yeah. I’m so glad he followed you. And, Nate, do you realize Spence can barely read or write?”
“Really?” I was astounded. And how had I missed it? Ricardo must have helped him with the paperwork for his rental property. Of course.
“I overheard a nurse saying this to Detective Riggs. She had asked Spence to sign a form, but she had to read most of it to him. He signed it with something closer to an ‘X’ than his full name. What’s wrong. You’re tearing up, Nate.”
“I mean, this is the United States of America,” I said, with no embarrassment over my tears. “This, this country robbed him. What would Spence have become if he’d been born at a later time? A general, a professor? An archaeologist searching for the grave of an ancient African king? Anything he damn wanted to be.”
“Dreams deferred,” Carrie said. “They dry up like a raisin in the sun.”
“And yet
, you know, Spence wouldn’t want our pity,” I said, quickly composing myself. “He’s not a bitter man, nor one unfulfilled, at least as far as I can read him. He once told me that a man’s life was mostly clay in his own hands—though he put a lot of emphasis on mostly. I’m so proud of him.”
“Me too. He’s a man for the ages.” Carrie’s eyes widened with energy. Her eyes had teared up too. The alignment of our feelings stirred me to my core.
The book of Frost’s poems was on the counter where I’d left it a few days earlier, and it caught Carrie’s notice. She picked it up and thumbed through a few pages, her face lighting up when she came across the familiar favorite. I wanted to kiss her.
She said, “Ah, two roads.”
“You know that one well,” I said, laughing.
But she seemed more focused on the poem, scanning it, even though she knew it by heart. About halfway through, she began reading it out loud.
“Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.”
She stopped and looked up at me. We seemed to be thinking alike.
“Really about the same,” Carrie repeated the line.
“Yes,” I said. “Really about the same.”
“We have it wrong.” Carrie recited the rest of the poem, her voice excited.
“Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the road less traveled by
And that has made all the difference.”
I said, “Of course. Why didn’t we see it? Frost is not saying to take the road less traveled by.”
Carrie added, “His main point is a different twist, very different.”
“Both roads were much same,” I said.
“They equally lay. Equally.”
“And why the ‘signing’? Because—”
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