Dreamspinner Press Year Nine Greatest Hits

by Michael Murphy

  When he returned a few minutes later, Jimmy had managed to flop onto his back. Shane set the well-washed bucket near the bed and waved a clean towel, which he put at the foot of the bed. He also had a glass of water. “Wanna rinse?”

  “God, yes.”

  “Thought you might.” Shane rummaged through a paper grocery sack that had magically appeared on the nightstand, probably while Jimmy was throwing up. He pulled out a yellow plastic tray. “You can spit into this.”

  “But… what…?” Jimmy’s head was too muzzy to form a proper question.

  Shane didn’t answer right away. First he fluffed the pillow behind Jimmy so he could sit up; then Shane handed him the glass and held the tray for him while he spat. Finally, he set both items aside. “I visited the drugstore and got you some stuff. Let’s see… Tylenol for your fever, decongestant for your head and chest, and cough drops for your throat. Big box of Kleenex. I picked up some 7-Up for you to drink, and I’ve got a quart of chicken broth from Carlotti’s if you feel up to it. If you don’t want it now, I can stick it in the fridge and heat it for you later. I have some of Mae’s OJ too. And crackers, if you want something solid.”

  Jimmy realized he was gaping and shut his mouth. “You brought me all this stuff?”

  “My circuits may be a little mixed up, but I know what a man needs when he’s laid up.”

  “But you brought it for me?”

  “You’re not in any shape to fetch it yourself.” Shane’s eyebrows formed a worried crease. “Hasn’t anybody taken care of you when you were sick before?”

  Instead of answering, Jimmy looked away.

  “Shit. Okay, then. Let’s get some liquids into you and make sure you’re all comfy, and then the best thing you can do is sleep it off. My mom used to tell me you have to let your body use all its energy for healing, not for gallivanting around.”

  Still slightly stunned, Jimmy obediently drank a little pop and swallowed some pills. He even ate a few spoonfuls of soup; this seemed to please Shane, who ran his fingers through Jimmy’s sweaty hair. “Just dial the bar on the house phone if you need anything. Won’t take me more than a minute to get here.”

  “But you have to work.”

  “There’s nothing so important happening on a Wednesday afternoon that I can’t leave it for a bit.”

  “’Kay.” Maybe it was the meds or maybe just the flu, but he felt groggy and slow.

  Shane didn’t leave, though. He chewed on his lip, clearly thinking about something. He cleared his throat. “You don’t have a toilet.”

  “Got the bucket if I puke again.”

  “Yeah, but what if you have to pee?”

  Jimmy didn’t understand the point of the conversation. “I can make it down the hallway. It’s only a few feet.”

  “Yeah. Or… you could crash over in my apartment for a while. Until you feel better.”

  Jimmy’s stomach flipped, and he had to clench his jaw for a moment before he could answer. “I’ll be fine here.”

  “Sure. See ya later, then.”

  Jimmy spent the rest of the day sleeping, waking up only when Shane checked on him and insisted he drink something, which was often. Jimmy puked once more, but again he managed to reach the bucket in time. Shane happened to be in the room and again cleaned everything up almost cheerfully.

  “I don’t know how you’re managing to come near me without a hazmat suit,” Jimmy said wearily.

  “I grew up on a ranch. You ever put your arm inside a heifer to tug her stuck calf out? Or treated a bad case of foot rot? After that, a little barfing ain’t nothing. Anyway, I gotta tell you, it’s nice playing doctor instead of patient.”

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s a real slow night at the bar. How about if Sam takes over for me and I stay here with you? We can watch some TV if you want.”

  Surprisingly, that plan sounded good. Jimmy felt just good enough that he wanted a little company to keep from getting bored. “I don’t want you to catch my plague.”

  “Jimmy, your tongue was in my mouth less than twenty-four hours ago, and mine was in yours. If I’m gonna catch it, I’ve already been exposed.”

  Well, he had a point. Jimmy smiled at him.

  Shane left for about a half hour. When he returned, his hands were full. He’d warmed up more of the soup in his microwave, and he settled Jimmy in a chair with the bowl in his hands. Shane stripped the bed and put on clean sheets. All that bending and tugging must have hurt him, but he didn’t complain. When the bed was made, he accompanied Jimmy to the bathroom, even though Jimmy insisted he could manage, and supervised while Jimmy pissed, washed up a little, and brushed his teeth. Back in the room, Shane stripped Jimmy to his underwear and tucked him into bed. He kicked off his boots, turned off all the lights except one, and sat next to Jimmy on the bed with a pillow behind him and his long legs stretched out. And then he clicked on the TV.

  Jimmy wasn’t good company. He dozed, mostly. But occasionally he woke up enough to focus on the screen for a little while and to laugh with Shane at whatever lame comedy was on. Eventually he fell asleep for real with Shane still beside him.

  “YOU’RE NOT working today,” Shane said sternly, pushing Jimmy back into bed.

  “But I didn’t—”

  “There’s nothing needs repairing that can’t wait. You need another day of rest or you’re really gonna make yourself sick.” He held a hand up to stop Jimmy from further protest. “It’s already cleared with Belinda. She says you can make up the time by helping out on Saturday if you feel better. We’ll have live music and the inn’s fully booked. It’ll be a busy night.”

  Knowing he’d never beat the combined will of Shane and Belinda, especially in his weakened state, Jimmy relaxed back onto the mattress. “I feel useless.”

  “You are useless until you’re healed. So sleep. I’ll stop by later with some food. And if you want to take a bath or shower, I can help you with that.” He seemed downright cheerful at the prospect.

  With a sigh of resignation, Jimmy nodded. “Fine. I’m going to get bored, though.”

  “Watch TV.”

  Jimmy made a face, which made Shane laugh. “Yeah, know what you mean,” Shane said. “I watched a lot of daytime TV when I was in the hospital and rehab. It’s awful. How about reading?”

  “I’m out of books. Look, I’m sorry. I’ll stop whining now. I’ll probably just nap all day.”

  Shane bent down to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Good. Remember, just ring if you need anything.”

  Jimmy did end up sleeping a good part of the day. When he wasn’t doing that, he nibbled on the food Shane brought him—crackers, soup, juice, and cookies—and flipped restlessly through the TV channels. He read and reread Tom’s letter. He found a pad of hotel paper and made a list of chores he wanted to finish before he left Rattlesnake. He stared out the window. And he fretted a little about the dream he’d had, but not too much, because it made his head hurt. He was standing near the bed, juggling two pens and a crumpled ball of foil, when Shane entered his room.

  “Didn’t realize you’d been in the circus,” Shane said, narrowly missing getting conked by a flying pen.

  “Wasn’t. I’m not one for showbiz. It’s just something I picked up on the road.”

  “You’re a man of many skills.”

  “I could teach you.”

  Shane shook his head. “I couldn’t learn it. Too much for my muddled brain. My eye-hand coordination’s shot.”

  “It’s not a very useful thing to know anyway.”

  “I’m on my dinner break. Want some help with a shower or bath?”

  Truthfully, Jimmy felt stinky after sweating for two days. But he also felt bad for taking up so much of Shane’s time and energy. “I think I’m just gonna take a swig of the NyQuil you bought me and turn in. Oh, but that reminds me. How much do I owe you?”

  “For what?”

  Jimmy waved his hand at the collection of new items now gracing his nightstand. “Your
pharmacy haul.”

  “You can’t pay me back for that.”

  “Why not?”

  Shane moved closer until he was well within Jimmy’s personal space. “’Cause it’s a present. Maybe not as romantic as chocolate and roses, but a hell of a lot more useful.”

  “You don’t need to—”

  “I want to.” Shane narrowed his eyes. “What do you think I’m going to spend my money on, anyway? My flashy clothes? A new shiny truck? If I want to blow a few bucks on tissues and cough drops, that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “But I haven’t done anything for you.”

  “You haven’t….” Shane stopped, looked away, and sucked on his bottom lip. “I won’t tally what you’ve done for me because you won’t believe me anyway. Let’s try this instead. What are we?”

  “I don’t understand the question.”

  “You and me. We’re friends at least, aren’t we? We’ve known each other less than two weeks, but we’ve had a lot of sex, and I’ve cleaned up your puke, and you looked right at my scars and didn’t turn away. I figure that at least makes us friends.”

  Jimmy was uncomfortable with the entire conversation. He stepped back, and when Shane followed, stepped back again, until he was pinned against the window. “We’re friends,” he said softly. The words felt strange on his tongue.

  Shane rewarded him with a bright smile. “And friends don’t keep score. You do something for your friend because he needs it or it’ll make him happy, and helping him makes you happy, and that’s trade enough. Maybe nobody showed you that before, but they should’ve.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Want to hear a story about Rattlesnake Murray?”

  That was a lot better than discussing anything personal, so Jimmy nodded. “Sure. Hit me.”

  “Well, he was getting up in years. He still poured whiskey at the bar here, but maybe he needed a little help, least on a busy night. That was fine. He had kids, grandkids. One night a stranger came into town. He sat at the bar and got to chatting with George, like fellows do, and he told how he’d just come through Jamestown and he’d watched a man named Barth Foss tried for murder, and they were gonna hang him the next day. That got George’s attention because he knew Barth. Barth’s father was an old pal from George’s mining days, and he’d held Barth on his knee back when he was just a baby. Old man Foss had died years back.

  “Now, I know nowadays Jamestown’s just a short drive from here, but back then it was a half-day’s ride on horseback or by wagon, and longer on foot. The hour was late, and that road was dark as sin at night. But old George put on his coat and went walking.

  “By the time he reached Jamestown, the sun was just coming up, and I imagine he was more than a little footsore. But he marched straight to the jail and told the deputy on duty to get the sheriff and the judge, pronto. While he was waiting for the sheriff to show up, George talked to Barth through the bars of the cell, getting his story.

  “Now, pretty soon the sheriff appears on horseback, with the judge not far behind. But word’s gotten around that something’s up, so half the town’s following along, coming to see what’s what. As soon as the sheriff dismounted, George walked up to him and demanded he release Barth. The sheriff said he couldn’t, on account of Barth being convicted of murder and sentenced to hang.

  “George said Barth Foss was an innocent man. ‘I’ve known him since before he could crawl, and he’s no murderer.’ I think maybe the judge and sheriff knew George by reputation if not by acquaintance, and so they knew they were only buying trouble if they didn’t listen to him. By then, the townspeople wanted to hear the tale too. Entertainment.

  “Now, I don’t know what George said that morning, but it must’ve been good. Because they freed that man and someone even gave George and Barth a wagon ride back to Rattlesnake.”

  Jimmy had been leaning against the windowsill, listening intently. “Was Barth really innocent?”

  “Dunno. George found Barth a job here in town, and Barth never again got in trouble with the law. He got married and had kids. There are still a few Fosses left. I went to high school with one of them.”

  “Is that a true story?”

  “Who the hell knows? I guess if someone wanted to, he could look up the records in Jamestown and see what they say. My point, though, is George never expected his old friend to pay him back—the man was dead. And he didn’t need anything from Barth. But Barth’s father was a friend, so George walked those dark miles to Jamestown on his old legs and did what he could to save the son.”

  Jimmy hung his head slightly, thinking. “I’ve never been accused of murder.”

  “Glad to hear that. But you see? Compared to what my ancestor did, fetching a few things for a sick friend is nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing,” Jimmy said, looking him in the eye. “I don’t get presents. People don’t do things for me.” That was true. The last gift he remembered receiving was when he was a kid, maybe seven or so, and there was a Christmas toy distribution for the poor. He had gotten a set of plastic figures: horses, a truck and trailer, and two bowlegged cowboys. Fuck. He’d forgotten all about that until just now.

  Shane stood up, walked over, and cupped Jimmy’s face in his hand. “I will do things for you. If you let me. If you stay.”

  Maybe sensing Jimmy’s unease, Shane stepped away. “Have to get back to work. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Jimmy remained against the window long after the door was closed, shivering slightly, trying to calm the storm in his head.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “ARE YOU sure you’re feeling up to working?” Belinda asked on Friday morning.

  “Definitely.”

  She looked at Jimmy speculatively. “Fine. But nothing too strenuous. We’ll really need you tomorrow, and I don’t want you dropping on me then.”

  “I’ll take it easy today,” he replied with a smile. And he did. He spent some time on his inventory project, which at the current rate was going to last another century, and replaced a few of the air filters in preparation for the upcoming air-conditioning season. He also looked over some of Belinda’s fixture selections for the bathroom remodel project; he liked her choices. He took a break to join Shane at Mae’s—French Toast Friday—but ate faster than usual and then left to sand ugly paint off an antique table he’d found in the basement. It was nice wood and he wanted to refinish it. Belinda could undoubtedly use it somewhere.

  Shane came looking for him just as he was washing up. It was nearly four in the afternoon, and Jimmy was thinking he’d take a short break before resuming work. He really wasn’t 100 percent yet. Maybe he’d join the geezers on the bench.

  But Shane had another idea. “Come with me,” he said.

  “Where to?”

  “Surprise. Get your jacket because we’re going outside.”

  After three days almost entirely indoors, that sounded fine to Jimmy. He fetched his jacket and waved to Belinda in the lobby. She seemed to be in on Shane’s plot, because she simply waved back.

  The rain had cleared along with Jimmy’s illness, giving the sidewalks a fresh-scrubbed look. Shane paused in front of the bar’s big windows. “If Belinda got the supplies, do you think you could build a couple of big window boxes? Not just those sidewalk boxes we already have. I saw an old photo of the inn once, and there used to be flowers here. It looked nice, even in black and white.”

  “Yeah, I could manage that much construction, I guess. Would the city care?”

  Shane waved a hand dismissively. “The mayor and two members of the city council are relatives. I think we can persuade them.”

  Window boxes would look nice. Jimmy imagined them in the height of summer, a circus of blooms tumbling everywhere, attracting bees and butterflies. He almost regretted that he wouldn’t be around to see it.

  Shane led him slowly down Main Street for two blocks before turning onto one of the narrow streets running uphill. A young woman holding a baby waved at them from her front porch.
Jimmy didn’t know her name, but he’d seen her and her husband at Mae’s, along with the baby. Next door to her, a little green bungalow sported a sign for a law firm, and next to that, a brown-and-white cottage housed a CPA. Shane turned left onto Washington Street, which paralleled Main. A grand Victorian dominated most of that block, its front lawn converted to a small park, complete with play structure and benches.

  “This was George’s house,” Shane explained as they drew closer. “He willed it to the city. Some people say it’s haunted by the ghost of his first wife, but that’s bullshit because this house wasn’t even built before she died.”

  “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Jimmy said. But when Shane gave him a probing look and then frowned, Jimmy redirected the conversation. “Are you a descendent of his first wife or second?”

  Shane grinned. “Second. The first was a girl he’d met back east, but I think she was too delicate for life out here. She died of consumption. I don’t remember her name. But wife number two was Althea Stewart. According to family legend, she came out west to be an entertainer.”

  “Prostitute?” Jimmy asked.

  “Maybe. Probably. But then she figured out she could make easier money baking cakes for the miners.”

  “I didn’t realize pastries were so sought after.”

  “It wasn’t the pastries. Women were in such short supply that the men would pay a lot for anything made by a woman or just to spend a few minutes in a lady’s company.” Shane chuckled. “I guess men who liked men saved a few dollars. Anyway, Althea did well for herself and was already pretty rich when she met George. They hit it off and had a bunch of kids, and one of those kids was my great-great.”

  “I didn’t see her grave at the cemetery.”

  “Now, that’s a good story too.”

  By now they were close enough to the big house that Jimmy could read the wooden sign hanging on the front porch: Rattlesnake Public Library. He was surprised when he realized that was apparently where they were headed, but he didn’t have a chance to ask about it because Shane was still talking about Althea.