WISHBONE

by Brooklyn Hudson

  He placed a hand on her shoulder as she sobbed into the cuffs of her shirtsleeves.

  He wanted to console her. “There was a mistake. A country docteur…he is old, Rach.” He scrambled to find the right words. “He made a mistake. He mixed up the x-rays and…and…is probably senile…incompetent.”

  Rachael snapped at him again, “But I know what I saw, Julien. Forget about the fucking x-rays! You were laying there in a…in this...” She sat back looking out the window beside her and mumbling, “This is fucking impossible. There’s no way.” She wiped at her face again and asserted, “I am…I am losing my mind.”

  Julien felt his blood pressure rise. He was getting angry with her again; worried she would talk herself right back off the deep end. “What do you want from me? Do you want me to pretend? We can switch the seats, you can drive us home and I will lie there on the sofa for the next month and…”

  She glared at him and hissed, “Oh, fuck you, Julien!”

  He bellowed, “I do not know what you want!”

  They heard a car door slam and both turned to look out the back window. A man was helping his wife into a wheelchair, intently watching their car.

  Julien lowered his voice, “What do you want for me to say?” He lit another cigarette and started the car. “Fuck me, you are saying?” He laughed nervously, knowing how close he was to rubbing her nose in their lack of a sex life. He took a long, calming drag from his smoke then rolled down the window.

  He turned to look at her again. “This whole thing, it is out of control. We are not going to see Lind. We are going home.”

  He understood that Rachael’s Post Traumatic Stress Disorder caused her reactions to sometimes be magnified, but while there appeared to be no explanation for his miraculous recovery; he felt sure there really was one.

  Rachael sat quietly watching the scenery fly by as they drove back to Kings Hollow.

  * * * *

  Ptak listened to the phone ring several times before Dr. Lind answered.

  He spoke before the country doctor could clear his throat, “Dr. Lind, this is Roman Ptak.”

  “Yes, yes, Dr. Ptak. I’m surprised to hear from you so soon.” He laughed.

  “Dr. Lind, what is the meaning of all this? I am a busy man.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I am a busy man and have little time for foolish pranks. This is not a small-town practice, Dr. Lind…”

  “Dr. Ptak, I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. Furthermore, I may keep a small-town practice, but this doesn’t give you the right to be disrespectful.”

  “Disrespectful? Do you think sending a patient under false pretense constitutes peer respect?”

  “Start over, Doctor, I’m not following you. What is it that you’re accusing me of here?”

  Ptak sat back in his chair. He began to question his assumptions.

  “You sent me a patient,” Ptak answered, scanning the top of the chart. “Grenier…I read your report and took a look at the films which were clearly not Mr. Grenier’s.”

  “And you say they aren’t his x-rays because…?”

  “Because the x-rays and report you sent me where for a seriously injured man who probably should have been medevaced to Albany General last night. However, the man who walked in here this morning, under the name Grenier, did this on two perfectly functioning, healthy lower extremities.”

  Dr. Lind took a seat. He absently fiddled with a picture frame containing a photo of his daughter at the head of his desk.

  He asked, “Mr. Grenier came into your office this morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “French, heavy accent, dark hair, in his forties?” He paused to think of Julien’s description. “A bit of a bad attitude?” He chuckled again; a nervous habit he had developed about fifteen years earlier.

  “He never said a word to me but I heard him talking to his wife in a strong accent, yes.” Ptak glanced at his watch impatiently.

  Lind continued, he wanted to be sure, “His wife…pretty girl, brown hair?”

  “This isn’t a game Dr. Lind. I have no time for this. I consult for surgeons around the world every day—”

  “I know who you are, Doctor,” he interrupted. “I am perfectly aware of your credentials. You say he came in walking without assistance?”

  Ptak sighed, “Entirely unassisted, Dr. Lind, yes.”

  “Was he in a back slab?”

  “Nope.” Ptak’s professionalism was waning. “Jeans and a shirt…a pair of boots.”

  “This is preposterous. I treated Mr. Grenier myself, just last night.”

  “Then the man who walked into my office today was not Mr. Grenier.” Ptak looked at his watch again and continued, “Look, if this wasn’t a joke then I apologize for the accusation, but I don’t have time to play Matlock with you. I had a consult five minutes ago.” He pushed his chair away from his desk. “Thank you for the referral, Dr. Lind. Have a great day.”

  The phone went dead in Lind’s hand. He sat listening to the humming line for a long moment then replaced the receiver onto its cradle. He went to his closet, exchanged his white coat for a sports jacket and left his office.

  * * * *

  They were still fifteen minutes away from home when Rachael finally spoke up, “What did you wish last night?”

  Julien looked over at her. “Wish?” he asked.

  “Yes…the wishbone game…remember?”

  Julien laughed, but Rachael held her ground, looking straight into his eyes.

  He glanced ahead at the road then back to her. “Rachael, you cannot be thinking what I think you are thinking. Come on now...” He chose his words to avoid sounding as if he were accusing her of insanity.

  She nearly dared him, “What did you wish?”

  He looked away again, concentrating on the road. “I do not remember,” he replied.

  It was her turn to look away now.

  The car fell uncomfortably silent once more. He wanted to suggest she take a Xanax when they returned home, but he thought better of it.

  This will be a long day.

  He pondered her question for several uncomfortable miles, having completely forgotten about their wishbone interaction in all the excitement of the morning’s events.

  As he turned up the winding road leading to their driveway, the words came out of him unexpectedly. “I wished the ladder had not broken, or something like that,” he blurted. “For no operations…I don’t remember the exact words.”

  She slowly turned toward him again. She waited, knowing what he would say.

  “It is just a game, Rachael. The docteur made a mistake and that is all.”

  Pulling up before the porch steps, Julien collected his things, but before he could empty the car’s console, Rachael was out the door and heading for the barn. He left the car door open behind him as he hurried after her. He wanted to stop her and make her wait at the bridge while he went into the barn alone, but she broke into a run just as he gained on her.

  The barn was dark and still except for the soft cackling of chickens behind the coop door. Rachael stepped into the darkness first, her eyes adjusting to the shadows. Julien followed her. As they walked further into the barn Rachael stopped short, causing Julien to walk into her.

  Together their eyes traced the ladder, undamaged and in perfect condition, leading to the loft above.

  A car door slammed and Julien spun around. In the distance, he could see Dr. Lind approaching the Lexus then glancing around the property. Julien ducked behind the doorframe.

  “Go get rid of him,” he demanded.

  “But…”

  “Get rid of him, Rachael. Tell him I am not here. That I went to the city…something, anything.”

  Rachael nodded and rushed back over the bridge, the ducks following her part of the way. She slowed down as she neared the house.

  “Mrs. Grenier.” The doctor nodded and smiled politely.

  “Hi, Dr. Lind, I didn’t expect to see you today…Julien�
��he’s gone. He went down to the city.”

  Dr. Lind looked at their Lexus with its door left ajar.

  Rachael added, “A friend…a friend came to get him. We were really worried about seeing a doctor we didn’t know, so we decided he should see this specialist in Manhattan who came recommended by a friend.” She spun the lie.

  “Hmm.” The doctor leaned back on his heels eyeing her. “You didn’t make it to Schenectady then?” He forced her to reaffirm the lie.

  She shook her head, almost too adamantly. “No, like I said. I wanted him to see a doctor in the city.”

  Dr. Lind offered a light smile then nodded and took a few steps back.

  “If this city doctor has any questions for me, please give him my number.” He returned to his car. “You have a blessed day, Mrs. Grenier. I hope you’re husband has a rapid recovery.”

  Rachael, her heart pounding, watched the doctor driving away.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “He knew I was lying,” Rachael said as Julien came to sit beside her on the porch steps.

  He lit a cigarette, which Rachael took from his lips though she rarely smoked. He lit another for himself.

  “It is not mattering.” He held the warm smoke deep in his lungs before releasing it in rings above her head. “I went up and down that ladder three times and it is solid.”

  Rachael huffed, “You didn’t actually climb that thing?”

  He stared ahead and nodded. “Three times, yes.” Though he was talking to her, he was very much lost in his own thoughts.

  There is an explanation for everything.

  “Do you think someone told Randall and he came up to fix it while we were gone today?” Rachael asked.

  That’s a possibility.

  “Maybe?” Julien took another long drag. He sat back and leaned his elbows on the top step behind him. “Do we have any wine?”

  Rachael smiled. “I could use a little sip myself.” She scooped up her sandals, balancing them on two fingers, and left him to his thoughts.

  In the kitchen, she found two glasses and a bottle of red wine. Turning around to grab a corkscrew out of the drawer, she gasped—the glasses dropped to the floor. Sitting on the counter, beside the sink, was a butchered chicken. She licked her lips and swallowed, her mouth instantly watering. It is just a fucking chicken, she chastised herself.

  She cleared her throat and found her voice. “Julien?” she tried to call, but her mouth was so wet she had to stop and swallow again. “Jules!” she tried again, more audibly.

  He could tell by her tone that there was a problem.

  What now?

  He got up from the step and rushed inside. In the kitchen, his eyes scanned the shattered glass at her feet. Rachael motioned with a nod toward the counter.

  He looked past her at the gutted bird. His mouth began to water, but something inside of him was resistant.

  There is nothing strange here.

  It is just a chicken.

  She should not be entering our home uninvited.

  “Okay, that is it!” he barked. “She cannot just walk in and out of our ‘ome as she please.”

  Rachael, overwhelmed by her need for a drink, found two more glasses and worked quickly to open the wine and pour—the dark liquid glugged and splattering the counter between their stems. She took one and knocked it back like a shot of whiskey, refilling her glass and leaving the room with the bottle.

  Julien took the other and followed her to the porch. She sat quietly on the swing, Julien on the steps.

  They shared a long moment of silence before Rachael began, “Do you think there’s such a thing as co-dreaming…a shared dream?” She sighed.

  “I have not heard of this, no.” He took a sip of wine.

  She should have let it breathe.

  “What happened yesterday? This morning?” she paused; this was no time to be cautious. She would go out of her mind if she could not find the answers. “I mean it, Julien, and I have to know…I can’t just pretend this didn’t happen.”

  This is bad.

  She’s going to lose it.

  He needed to give her something to hold out for, “I will give a call to Randall and find out if he was here fixing the ladder.”

  “He didn’t fix that ladder and you know it.” She had no valid reason to be so sure, but she was.

  “So what I do, Rach? Call the newspapers? Turn the place into the next Fatima?” He took another sip of wine and lit a smoke. “Rachael, I am in the same places as you. I do not have the answers any more than you do. I know there has to be a rational explanations for everything.”

  “That chicken…last night…you said it yourself… It didn’t taste like anything you’ve ever eaten.”

  Julien nodded subtly. While he remembered saying it, he knew what was coming and did not want to perpetuate the discussion. He refused to be part of more melodramatic crazy-making. He had no answers to her questions and he could not explain what had happened, but he was not going to fuel her fire by playing along.

  Rachael sat back frustrated by his refusal to discuss the matter further.

  She glared at him. “I’m cooking that chicken in there and we’re going to eat it and break the wishbone again.” She waited with folded arms, a child-like look of defiance on her face.

  His chin dropped to his chest; he shook his head then turned to face her “Rachael,” he said. “Please, you can’t honestly believe this game has anything to do with this.”

  “Humor me,” she countered.

  “What?” He was unsure of the expression.

  “Humor me…go along with it for my sake.”

  “No.” He wanted her to understand where he was coming from. “For your sake, I will not go along with this. That is what is for your sake!”

  She filled her glass again. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She drained half in one swallow.

  “It means that there have been enough hysterics.”

  “So I’m hysterical now?”

  She is looking to fight.

  She is frustrated…worried about her own mental state.

  “I do not want to fight this with you,” he insisted. “I am trying to protect you.” His patience reached its peak. “Enough.” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I cannot do the god-damned roller coasters like this…” His voice trailed off. She would keep this going forever unless he agreed there was something more going on here, but once he did, there would be no telling where she would go with it.

  “Then what are you afraid of? Just eat the fucking chicken and crack the fucking wishbone and the theory is disproven…never to be discussed again.”

  “You cannot be serious. This is your theories? The fucking wishbones healed me and repaired the ladder? Do you hear yourself?”

  “And your theory is…?” she held her palms up in the air, mocking him with a tight grin. “At least I have a theory.”

  “My theories is that the stupide docteur make a fucking mistake. There was a mess-up with my x-rays and Randall came and fix the ladder today… Sarah to the rescue again.” He reached for the wine bottle and poured a second glass.

  She will win this.

  I will fucking give in to her insanity for the sake of my sanity.

  So why do you bother to argue?

  She pointed at his shirt pocket. “Okay, call Randall right now.”

  “And how do I say it? Randall did you come fix the broken ladder, or did the wishbone do it? I have to think about this first.”

  Rachael sneered. “Just ask him if he came and fixed the ladder…,” she mumbled under her breath, “…fucking asshole!”

  Julien reached into his pocket for the phone and scrolled for Randall’s number. The line rang; Randall answered.

  Julien, his voice laden with trepidation, “Hi, Randall, this is Julien Grenier. How are you?”

  “I’m good…yourself?”

  “Very well, thank you.” He shot Rachael a look. “Listen, were you up here today in the b
arn?”

  “No, was I supposed to be?”

  “No, no. We had no plan. You weren’t here last night or today?”

  Randall laughed insecurely. “No, why?” he asked. “What’s going on? Is there some sort of problem?”

  “No problem, no. It’s a long stories, but I wanted to call and be sure.”

  Randall paused before continuing. “I haven’t been on your property since I did the work,” he said somewhat defensively, feeling he was perhaps about to be accused of something.

  “No, I’m sure you have not. It is not a big deal. While I have you, I need to talk to you about hauling some of the garbage away in the barn. Do you do this kinds of things?”

  “Sure, I can do that. Anything for a buck these days, right?” He laughed.

  Rachael waved at the air, hurrying him off the phone.

  Julien continued, “I will call you next week and we can set up a day for you to come.”

  “Sounds good. Call me when you’re ready,” Randall agreed.

  Julien hung up.

  Rachael was anxious. “Well? He wasn’t up here was he?”

  “No, he was not.” Julien drained his wine.

  “So that rules out at least part of your theory.”

  He knew it was hopeless and he gave in. “Rachael, go cook the thing and we’ll play your game. I don’t know what else to do to appease you.”

  Julien stood up. “What will you do when nothing happens and no wishes are granted?” he inquired. “Where will you get your answers then?”

  “I’ll agree that the bones are ridiculous,” she offered, “but no more so than you waking up fully healed this morning.”

  Julien walked away from her, entering the house and allowing the screen to slam between them. “I am going upstairs to lie down,” he informed and walked away.

  Rachael felt a twinge of pain in her jaw and caught herself clenching her teeth. She hated that they were fighting about any of this and for a moment, standing alone, she agreed she was being foolish. Then the events played out in her mind once more and she felt her frustration with Julien rise again. She could not fathom how something so incredible could happen right before their eyes, and yet he could sweep it under the rug with no questions asked.