Critical Judgment (1996)

by Michael Palmer

  Tonight, with Bill Tracy, George Oleander, Martin Bartholomew, Lew Alvarez, and Ives competing for headspace with Josh, she felt fortunate to make it home with any dinner left at all.

  The house Josh had rented was a six-room, cedar-shingled ranch on the north side of town. The charm of the place came from its setting at the end of a wooded cul-de-sac at the base of the hills. Over the weeks she had been living there, Abby had reconnected with her love of the outdoors.

  The drive from the hospital to the house was about two miles, but she took a long way around, paralleling the north side of the valley, hoping she might catch up with Ives. By the time she pulled into their driveway, it was almost nine. The smell of cooking told her that Josh had decided not to wait for her to arrive home with their dinner.

  "Honey, I'm home," she called out, knowing that their gravel driveway made the announcement redundant.

  His not coming out to the kitchen to meet her probably signaled another evening of tension. She paused by the back door for one more rib.

  "In here," he said.

  As she passed through the kitchen, she noticed the bottle of pills on the counter. They were prescribed for Josh by the employees' clinic at Colstar. Fioricet--headache medication with generic Tylenol, some caffeine, and a moderately strong sedative. At least he had gone to see someone. If he mentioned having a headache, fine. But she had started enough skirmishes by bringing the subject up herself. Not tonight.

  He was on the couch in the living room, his favorite spot, eating some vegetable stir fry, watching a baseball game, and doing a crossword puzzle. Taken as an isolated freeze-frame, the scene looked incredibly normal. She bent over and hugged him from behind. Then she took off his glasses and inserted herself between him and the puzzle.

  "In case you can't tell," she said from breath-mint range, "I'm a little starved for affection."

  He blinked as if he had just noticed she was there. Then he took her face in his hands and, for a moment, seemed to be peering at her through a fog. Even so, his blue-green eyes drew her in as they always had. Finally he responded to her closeness with a kiss, lips nearly closed, eyes open. It was hardly an invitation to anything more intense, but for the moment she would take it.

  Josh was thirty-eight, an electrical engineer who had been married briefly in his early twenties and had been a gun-shy bachelor-about-town since. Two and a half years ago a mutual friend had fixed them up, accurately predicting that neither of them would be intimidated by the other's intellect and good looks. Abby adored him from night one. Josh wasn't as certain about her initially, but the time constraints of her job at St. John's required him to make something of a commitment if he wanted to see her at all. Within six months they were living together--an idyllic relationship, spiced with good friends and a wonderful merging of styles, humor, temperaments, and interests.

  During medical school Abby had had a two-year relationship with a med student who decided in one tumultuous week that he was neither ready to be a physician, nor to be romantically involved with anyone. Over the years that followed she had dated as much as her demanding schedule allowed. But having a man in her life was never an overriding priority. She had good friends and a stimulating job in a city that she loved. If Mr. Right came along to share all that, so much the better. If not, she wouldn't be shattered. It was only after she met Josh that she was able to admit that, subconsciously, she had been kidding herself all along, purposely minimizing the importance of finding someone because she feared it simply wasn't going to happen for her.

  From the very beginning the two of them were at ease with one another. Josh was more fun to be with than any man she had ever known, and it seemed as if there wasn't one aspect of her life that wasn't better, richer, because of him. Even her ER work became less stressful knowing that the end of the day meant sitting in a theater together or trading puns as they jogged through the park or squeezing into their small tub together before making love. She knew without doubt that this was the man she had held out for--the man she had somehow had in mind when she had worked so hard to find fault with the others. And at almost thirty-five, she had no desire to begin the process again.

  "Sorry I'm late," she said, setting what remained of the Chinese food on the table. "I finished up the day from hell with a really tough case."

  "Tree resin, six letters, begins with m."

  "Mastic. Josh, listen to this. There's this hermit. He lives in the forest someplace north of town. A former professor, believe it or not. He got beat up and I sewed up his face. But he ran out of the ER before I could treat his infected leg. I think I scared him away."

  "Hey, he wouldn't be the first guy you've scared away. How in the hell could any man not be frightened of a woman who looks like Nicole Kidman, knows about tree resins, and can put someone back together who's been run over by a bus?"

  Abby smiled and felt some of her tension easing away. She brought him the last sparerib, and he ate it without comment. A truce had tacitly been declared over her getting home late with dinner, and his not waiting for it. Buttons had been pushed by each of them, but neither had reacted. The night might yet be saved. She sank down beside him on the couch and kicked off her shoes. Her feet sighed relief.

  "His name's Ives. I brought some medicine and equipment home from work. Tomorrow I would love it if you could help me find him."

  "Tomorrow we have plans," he said coolly.

  It took several seconds before Abby remembered. Tomorrow was family day at Colstar--the first chance Josh would have to introduce her to his world. Forgetting his company outing was the sort of thing she had been doing that was adding to the stress between them. Thank God she hadn't innocently switched days at the hospital with anyone.

  "Hey, the Colstar picnic," she said. "Just a momentary lapse. I've got my outfit all laid out and I'm ready to go."

  "You don't have to come. In fact, I have things I need to get done at the office."

  Another button.

  Easy, she thought. Tread easy. If she simply didn't react, they still might make it through the night without a blowup.

  "Josh, seriously, I've been looking forward to it. That's the truth. I just lost track of the days. I'm sorry."

  "Look, I don't want you to come. Just forget it."

  Damn. It was happening again.

  "Honey, please, I--"

  "You know, you don't see it, but you've been so damn wrapped up in that hospital, I might as well be on the moon. What is it? Are you upset that I went and got myself a good job again? Are you trying to make sure everyone in Patience knows you're still number one?"

  "Josh, that's not fair."

  "What's not fair? When I got laid off, tell me you didn't lord it over me for all those months. Tell me you weren't smiling every time you came home from your big-shot job with all those strokes from all those patients and students and fellow professors, and all I could say was that someone had promised they'd keep my resume on file. Tell me it didn't feel great to be the only one in the house bringing in the bucks."

  Abby felt her neck get hot. She was the one who had encouraged him to take the Colstar job, even though it meant trying to make it as a long-distance couple. She was the one who had begun a dialogue with the people at Patience Regional. And, ultimately, she was the one who had made the sacrifice of her job and teaching career in order for them to be together.

  And now, once again, she was being treated like the enemy. He was so fragile, so volatile, she always ended up on the defensive. It had to be that he was disappointed with his job--that he was overwhelmed or unstimulated or having trouble with his boss--and just couldn't admit it. No other explanation made sense.

  "Josh, honey, I'm sorry. Work has been tough for me, and today was a real bear." She took his hand and was relieved when he didn't pull away. "Believe me, I'm really looking forward to meeting the people you work with. I just hope they don't think I'm a jerk."

  She saw some of the tightness leave his face. His fist unclenched. She tou
ched his lips, then set her hand on his lap and stroked him in a way she knew he loved. He moaned softly, closed his eyes, and leaned back onto the cushion.

  "I told them we'd be there at ten to help set up," he said without opening his eyes. "Maybe we can get up early and I can help you find your guy."

  "That would be great. You may even like him--he's sort of a grown-up version of those kids you used to bring home from the basketball court for dinner."

  She unsnapped his jeans and undid his zipper. It was no longer automatic that she could arouse him, but this time there was no problem.

  "Doc," he said, "for what you're doing, I not only help you find this guy, I carry your medical bag."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Abby lay facedown, trying to convince herself that she was still asleep, but knowing that she wasn't. She reached across the bed, but Josh wasn't there. Then she realized why she was awake--the repeating sound of an ax slamming into wood, and the crunch of logs splitting. She squinted at the pale sunlight filtering through the blinds. Before six, she guessed. She fumbled for the clock radio and groaned. Twenty after five. From the backyard the wood splitting continued at a furious, nonstop pace. A new chapter.

  Josh, what in the hell is going on with you?

  She rolled onto her back and blinked until the ceiling came into focus--more specifically, it was the poster of Albert Einstein that Josh had tacked there the day she'd arrived six weeks ago, telling her it was the sort of thing that happened when engineers finally felt comfortable with a mate. Six weeks. It seemed more like a year.

  She pulled on a T-shirt and scrub pants and squinted at herself in the dresser mirror. She was certainly no Nicole Kidman, even with her contacts in, and five in the morning hardly brought out the best in her. But she still had decent looks and a better-than-decent body. And it was an almost sure bet that Nicole Kidman wouldn't know thing one about reducing a dislocated radial head in a screaming three-year-old. She ran her brush twenty-five times through her shoulder-length hair and, in spite of herself, wondered if Lew Alvarez was living with anyone. She knew he was a widower--one of the nurses had told her that much.

  She went to the kitchen and loaded up Josh's fancy European coffeemaker. The bottle of Fioricet had been moved from the counter to the table. Sometime between the end of their lovemaking and now he had taken some. The label, dated two weeks ago, read fifty tablets. There were ten left. Forty in fourteen days was at the high end of the prescribed dosage, and the pills did have addictive potential. Was that what was behind his volatile, erratic behavior--drug dependence? It was hard for her to believe. He had always been a health nut, obsessive about conditioning and diet. Until now she had never seen him take a pill other than a vitamin.

  She peeked out the window. Josh, his back to her, stood barefoot on the dew-covered lawn, stripped to the waist. His sinewy body glistened with sweat. Vapor rose from his shoulders and in his breath. The ax blows he was delivering--vicious, roundhouse, over-the-head swings--made her shudder.

  She opened the door and stepped out onto the back stoop. The air was cool and utterly clear, with a sweet mountainy smell that blended wonderfully with the chips of oak and ash. From just beyond the yard the dense fir forest extended a hundred yards or so to the base of the rocky foothills. There were many things she missed living away from the city, but there were compensations.

  "Hey, Bunyan," she said, "how about stopping for some coffee?"

  One more swing, two more pieces of log. Wiping his brow with the back of his hand, he turned to her. His expression was peaceful, his broad smile genuine--pure Josh.

  "Sorry if I woke you. Coffee would be great."

  Abby packed her medical bag into Josh's large backpack, along with the surgical equipment, culture tubes, and IV antibiotics she had appropriated from the hospital. Then she added some of Josh's old clothes, some canned food and pasta, and an eclectic bunch of paperbacks, ranging from Daphne du Maurier to Stephen Crane to John Grisham, and loaded the carton into the back of Josh's Jeep. The khaki Wrangler Safari, more specifically the down payment on it, had been a gift from her when he'd landed and accepted the Colstar position.

  "We've got about two hours before I have to be at the park," Josh said, hopping behind the wheel. "Think we can find your hermit in that time?"

  "I think so. Lew Alvarez, the doctor who knows him, told me where to park and what to do once we found the trail. He hadn't been there in over a year, so his directions were a bit shaky."

  "Alvarez. Dark hair, mustache, looks like Omar Sharif in Doctor Zhivago?"

  Abby was startled.

  "A little, I suppose," she managed to say, "now that you mention it. You know him?" She sensed the heightening color in her cheeks and quickly looked out the window to her right.

  "He's the one who sewed up my thigh when I tore it on that nail, remember?"

  "I remember your telling me about the accident, but I don't think I ever knew who did the suturing. At that time I didn't have much interest in PRH. He did a fine job, though."

  "Damn fine. Seemed like a nice guy, too."

  Abby continued staring off to her right. What had been going on in her head since the end of her ER shift was nothing more than a perfectly innocent little fantasy--and a G-rated fantasy at that. But somehow she felt caught out.

  Josh was animated and relaxed as they drove east toward the hospital and the Colstar cliff, then cut north across the valley. Morning was in full force now, cloudless and already warm. Perfect picnic weather. Abby wondered if nature had ever dared to frown on a Colstar function.

  They easily found the street Lew had directed them to. It was paved and built up for half its length, then reverted to dirt for a quarter of a mile or so before ending.

  "This is it," Abby said. "The trail should be right over there."

  They were about two miles from the hospital. The hills on the north side of the valley were steeper than on the south. She felt sadness at the notion of Ives, battered and exhausted, making his way down this road and up into the woods at night with no light. Then she reminded herself that, for whatever reason, he had chosen his life of solitude.

  Josh swung the backpack on and buckled it with practiced ease. Abby followed as he set off.

  The trail was rocky and fairly steep, but quite well defined. It wound eastward through awesome, dense forest, made all the more imposing by the muted sunlight filtering through the branches.

  Lew had guessed it would be a mile before they had to leave the trail and cut straight up. The markers for the turn would be a large boulder overseeing the valley, and a narrow brook, spanned by a fallen tree. Josh climbed with the vigor and confidence of an athlete and outdoorsman. Abby worked a bit harder at it, though she was pleased to realize that she was still in reasonably good shape. During the first few weeks after her move to Patience, before she had started at the hospital, they had hiked the hills and even done some quasi-rock climbing almost every day or evening. Lately, not at all.

  The cutoff was exactly where Lew had depicted--a scuffed area at the base of a rise of boulders. The next hundred feet, almost straight up, had Abby breathing heavily. Then, through the trees, they saw it--a small clearing hewn into the forest. At the rear of the clearing, pressed against the hillside, was a crude hut of scrap lumber, corrugated aluminum, and roofing shingle.

  Beside the hut was a workbench with carving tools and partially completed projects. To one side of the clearing, hanging from a tree, was a thick straw dummy, roughly human in shape, with half a dozen long hunting arrows protruding from it. Pinned to the base of the dummy in a most persuasive spot was a No Trespassing sign.

  "I confess I didn't really think we'd find anyone living up here," Josh said. "It's still hard to believe someone does. But I suppose if you're a hermit, this is the Ritz."

  "Ives," Abby called, without approaching the hut. "Ives, it's Dr. Dolan from the hospital. Hello ... Ives?"

  For several seconds there was only silence. Then, from somewhere up an
d to their left, came the snap of a bowstring. Almost simultaneously, with a crack like a bullwhip, an arrow slammed into the dummy chest high. Reflexively, they stumbled back behind a tree.

  "Be right down, Doc," Ives hollered, his voice sounding fairly distant.

  Josh walked cautiously to the dummy and inspected the arrows.

  "Just one of these could bring down a jet," he said.

  Ives emerged from the woods carrying a long, richly polished bow. The tissue around his eyes was badly swollen, and, in fact, his entire face was puffed and bruised. He had changed his bloody clothes for worn chinos and a frayed work shirt with the name Norm stitched above the breast pocket. There were still some flecks of dried blood in his beard, but Abby felt certain he had tended to that as well. She also noted that her suture lines were holding nicely.

  "Sorry I took off on you last night," he said. "I have this thing about hospitals and doctors."

  Abby said she understood and introduced him to Josh.

  "Nice shot," Josh said, gesturing to the dummy. "Especially with your eyes nearly swelled shut."

  "Only fifty yards or so. I could do that blindfolded."

  "You hunt deer?"

  "Don't hunt anything. Don't eat meat. There're a few dummies like that one I've got scattered around in various places. I shoot at them. A long time ago I spent some time in Japan and ended up studying archery. I still like shooting--especially since I finished making this new bow."

  Abby could tell that Josh was intrigued.

  "Ives, I want to help you with your leg," she said, "but I'd also like your promise that if I get in over my head, you'll see a specialist and at least consider doing whatever he recommends."

  Ives didn't respond. He was studying Josh's face.

  "Olive-drab Jeep Wrangler, California license eight-two-eight, C-J-W," he said.

  They stared at him, puzzled. There was no way he could have been at the bottom of the trail to see them arrive, and then deep in the woods with a bow and arrow when they reached his camp. His expression suggested he was enjoying the game.