Jar of Dreams

by Liz Flaherty

  “We’re here.”

  Lucy’s voice was close, but when he tried to pinpoint its source, the smoke was impenetrable—he couldn’t see anything at all. God, what did they do in the movies when there was a fire? Why hadn’t he taken classes on what to do or at least paid attention when someone told him? Noise. Yes, noise. “Bang on the floor so I can find you.” He was afraid to breathe, even more afraid he’d pass out if he didn’t.

  Something thumped the hardwood floor and he went toward the noise—at least he hoped he did—and nearly tripped over Gert. “She’s unconscious.” Lucy was there, her voice hoarse and barely audible. “I did something to my ankle. I can’t walk. Take her out and I’ll crawl behind you.”

  Boone drew Gert into his arms, one arm behind her knees. What if she was more than unconscious? What if she… Please, God.

  “Here.” As he had for two thirds of their lives, Crockett showed up at Boone’s side. His voice was low and calm. “The experts are right behind me. Let’s make a chain. Stay down—” he pushed Boone back to his knees when he tried to rise with their aunt in his arms, “—we’ll pass her man-to-man.”

  It was probably less than a minute later that Boone carried Lucy outside, followed and supported by a firefighter, but it felt much longer. A lifetime longer. Emergency medical technicians were already lifting Gert onto a stretcher for transport. There was a mask over her face, and Boone exchanged a look of dread with his sister and Crockett.

  “I’m fine.” Lucy drew his attention by arguing with an EMT in a raspy voice. “Put me in a chair and go to the hospital. Take care of Gert.”

  “Pardon me, miss.” The technician shook her head. “You need to go too. Smoke inhalation’s nothing to mess with. Your family can follow the ambulance.”

  Boone met Lucy’s eyes in the harsh light from the vehicle. It was like seeing a scream. “Go. Take care of Gert for us till we get there.” That would make her go. He knew now—if he hadn’t before—that there was nothing Lucy wouldn’t do for Gert Taylor.

  A black Blazer parked in front of the house and Tom Simcox and Micah Walker got out, running up the driveway to where Boone stood. He ignored them, watching helplessly as the EMTs aided Lucy into the ambulance.

  Crockett came to his side, grasping his arm. “Can you stay?” he asked the newcomers. “We need to go to the hospital with Gert and Lucy, plus idiot-man here needs to be checked out, too.”

  Micah waved them away. “We’ll call Eli. He’ll meet you there.”

  Boone got into the back seat of Gert’s car. Eli? Why would they call Eli?

  But then he knew, and the knowing increased the horror he felt. Eli was Aunt Gert’s minister. He would need to be there if she was dying.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Twilight Valley, the community hospital, was small. In serious emergency cases, patients were stabilized and transported to Lawrenceburg or Cincinnati—there were no specialists on staff at the Valley.

  Gertrude Taylor didn’t give a good damn. She wasn’t wearing one of those gowns that gaped open all the way up the back, she wasn’t going to be quiet and by God she wasn’t going anywhere. Except home, that was, thank you very much.

  Lucy, her ankle wrapped in a bandage and throbbing nicely, felt relief flowing through her in spite of the pain. Anyone able to complain as much and as loudly as her business partner surely couldn’t be too sick.

  “It’s bronchitis, is all,” Gert wheezed. And coughed. Her face, already an unbecoming shade of pale, grew even more ashen.

  “What were you doing in the den, Aunt Gert?” Kelly asked. She stood beside her aunt, rubbing a trembling hand up and down her arm. Up and down. “We all went to bed at the same time, but then, I couldn’t find you. Thank God Lucy did, but what were you doing there?”

  Maria Simcox picked up Gert’s other hand. “You going to tell your family or am I going to accidentally let it slip in front of them here and have you go to all the trouble of suing me for not respecting patient confidentiality?” She laid the thin hand on the coverlet. “You can, you know. Kelly’s my lawyer and she’s real good so I’m pretty much fearless.”

  “I’ll tell them when I want them to know.” Gert glared at the circle of faces.

  “That should be any minute now, right, Aunt Gert?” Boone asked easily, standing at the foot of the bed with Crockett.

  They were shoulder-to-shoulder, both still filthy and wet, their arms crossed over their chests. Lucy wasn’t sure she would have argued with either of them. “All right, all right.” Gert’s glare was gone, replaced by a sulky expression. “I love you children.”

  “We love you too.” Crockett didn’t relax his stance even a little bit. “And?”

  “And I have a minor heart problem.”

  Maria snorted. “You had a minor heart problem. It’s not so minor now. You’re agreeing to see a cardiologist or I’m transferring you to Cincinnati. Then I’m going to fire you as a patient and leave you there. I’m not sure, but I think I can fix it so you have to pay me unemployment insurance.”

  Gert ignored her. “My medication was in the den. I’d gone there to get it because I had a little pain.”

  “Were you overcome by the smoke?” Kelly asked.

  “No, there wasn’t any smoke.”

  Maria rolled her eyes. “She had a heart attack,” she explained. “If it hadn’t been for the smoke, she’d probably still be lying there. Not that the smoke in and of itself was good for her—oh, God, no—but it may well have kept her alive.”

  A spate of curses from the hallway drew their attention. Maria stepped outside the cubicle, to return a moment later with Sims. He kissed Gert’s forehead and sat beside her on the bed, taking her hand in his.

  “You make that appointment,” he told Maria, his gaze never leaving Gert’s. “We’ll see she keeps it. I don’t know much about that S and M business, but I got no problem with tying her up to get her there.”

  “Now just a damn minute, Josiah Sims. I can make my own appointments when and if I choose to.” Gert tried to pull her hand free, but he held it fast.

  He shook his head. “If that were true, you’d have already done it. Is she spending the night here, Maria?”

  “Yes.” The doctor’s voice was pleasant but firm. Lucy thought she’d be entirely capable of handling Gert if the patient got too recalcitrant. “Maybe two. I’ll decide tomorrow. Unless you’d rather go into Cincinnati, Gert?” She raised an elegant eyebrow at her patient. “Didn’t think so. Now, the rest of you need to leave so that we can get her into a bed. She’s going to have a good, long sleep.”

  “Except me,” Sims said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Except you.” Maria pressed his shoulder. “We’ll get a cot in the room for you.”

  “I’d sleep better at home,” Gert complained, “and I need to see the damage.”

  “You’ll see it tomorrow or the next day—whenever you get to come home. We’ll take care of things tonight.” Boone bent to kiss her, followed by the others. Lucy went last, and when she would have walked away, Gert reached for her hand.

  “Thank you.”

  Lucy shook her head. “It was Kinsey. She woke me up.” She knew if she said anything more about the missing cat, she’d end up blubbering, so she forced a smile. “See you tomorrow, Gert. Rest now.”

  In the hallway, they spoke with Eli.

  “I’ll spend a little time with her before she goes to sleep and make sure Sims settles in too,” he said. “Rest easy.” He shook hands all around and offered up a beatific smile at Crockett and Boone. “After all, your money’s safe with me.”

  The emergency vehicles had left and the buildings seemed to be intact when Boone, Crockett, Kelly and Lucy got home. Micah’s Blazer was still on the street and he and Tom were raking ash away from the house. Jack was with them, and Lucy checked the time in consternation. What was he doing out at this hour? Even on Saturday night, she was sure his curfew was midnight. His mother worked nights at the casino, but L
ucy would have bet the boy honored her wishes.

  “Maria called, so we know about Gert. We already contacted the cleaning service,” Micah said. “They’ll be here Monday morning, but you’ll be able to go in tomorrow. The only smoke and water damage is in the back of the house—the kitchen and laundry area and Gert’s suite of rooms. The fire started in the leaves and it damaged the back wall, but nowhere else on the outside of the house—although it came close. Even the roof and the eaves are intact.”

  Boone and Crockett’s faces were stricken. Lucy knew they were wondering if the fire had started because they’d piled the leaves too densely.

  “The fire marshal’s already been here?” Kelly asked.

  “Yes. The insurance adjustor was too. He’ll come back tomorrow for further assessment in daylight, but we’re cleared to start clean-up. Landy called and reserved rooms for you at the bed and breakfast on the edge of town if you want them, but you’ll be back in the house in just a few days. Martha Mayhew, the proprietor, said not to worry when you came or even if you did—it’s late enough no one else is going to request the rooms.” Micah yawned hugely and leaned his rake against the garage wall. “I’m going to go home now. My wife would notice if she got up for church and I wasn’t there.”

  “Hold up and you can drop me off.” Tom held up a hand. “The deputy took the cruiser.”

  “I still don’t get how it started.” Boone pulled Lucy to him with an arm around her waist. “There are stacks of leaves everywhere this time of year. Why would the ones in Aunt Gert’s back yard ignite?”

  “Because someone lit them.” Tom’s voice sounded calm and furious at the same time.

  Lucy thought she might have fainted if Boone hadn’t been holding her. The pain in her ankle seemed far, far away, replaced by a sense of dread and guilt. She didn’t know what the latest fire had to do with her, but she hadn’t known with the others, either, and still they had occurred. She should have left after the car fire. If she wouldn’t have stayed, this wouldn’t have happened. Gert wouldn’t be in the hospital. Kinsey wouldn’t be gone. She sobbed before she could stop herself, and Boone held her closer, his lips brushing the top of her head.

  Tom spoke again, still the voice of reason, still with that anger whistling through the reason. “Let’s sleep on it. Everyone is safe for the moment. The deputy will patrol through the night. I’ll be back here tomorrow at—what time was that adjustor coming tomorrow, Micah?”

  “Ten.”

  “Just hold off on everything until then. Everybody get some rest.” Tom wiped an arm over his sooty forehead. “Jack? What are you still doing here, son? Your mom know where you are?”

  The boy kept on raking. “She’s workin’. It’s not a problem. She’d want me to help Mrs. Taylor.”

  “That’s good, Jack.” Crockett’s voice was heavy. “Aunt Gert will appreciate it, but you need to go home. We’ll get started on this again tomorrow, and we’ll welcome your help then.”

  “But I can—”

  “No.” Boone was never stern—his idea of being authoritative was not sharing his tuna sandwich with Kinsey—but his tone brooked no argument. “This day needs to end, Jack. One of us will take you home. Tom, can we go into the house long enough to get a change of clothes?”

  They could, going in the front door and feeling like thieves in the shadowy house. After an exhausted discussion about who would go where, they divided by gender. Lucy went home with Kelly. Boone and Crockett drove to the bed and breakfast, agreeing to drop Jack off on their way.

  *

  “This has grown up a lot since we were kids.” Crockett looked around at the cookie-cutter ranch houses in Twilight View, the neighborhood where Jack lived. “The honchos who owned the brewery also owned the land this development was on. It used to be like three streets, all named something beer-related. Long Neck Lane and Tall Cool Avenue and—what was the other one, Boone?”

  “Six Pack Street,” Jack supplied from the back seat of Gert’s SUV. “That’s where I live. The new roads are tree streets, like Elm and Maple. I guess some people thought that made the neighborhood sound more respectable-like.”

  “Micah lived on Long Neck,” Boone remembered. “Everybody called it the Bowery in those days, when it wasn’t nearly as nice as it is now. The trees were all shorter than I am and about three inches around and there weren’t any sidewalks or curbs. Do they still call it that, Jack?”

  “Yeah, but my mom was all excited when we moved here—we’d always lived in an apartment before. I didn’t know Mr. Walker was a Bowery rat, though. He seems all professional and educated. Slick.”

  Boone snorted. “He’s educated, all right, and professional too, but not a bit slick. I think not being slick is what won him some major journalism prizes before he came back to Taft.”

  Crockett turned onto Six Pack. “Which house, Jack?”

  “The one on the end with red shutters and the garage turned into a family room. Ma calls it a Cape Cod, but I think it’s just a box.”

  A sign was in the front yard of the pretty little house. The property was being offered for sale by a Lawrenceburg mortgage company. Boone exchanged glances with Crockett but didn’t comment. Even he, a fiscal idiot and fairly oblivious to what went on in the world around him, knew what the sign meant. It didn’t happen a lot in Taft, but even the utopian little town didn’t remain untouched—the house was in foreclosure.

  It also seemed lonely. Not empty precisely, or even neglected. Just…lonely.

  “Is anyone here, Jack?” The grimness in Crockett’s tone drew a sharp glance from Boone.

  The kid’s sixteen. He’s old enough to stay by himself. Let it go, Crockett. You don’t have to be Father Noah right now.

  “No. I told you, my mom works nights. She won’t get home till about eight. And you know where my dad is. Everybody knows that.”

  Boone remembered how hard it had been just telling people his parents were dead. Because every time he said it, he had to know it again—there was no pretending they were just away for a while and would be back in time for the ball game or eighth-grade graduation or Kelly’s eleventh birthday party at the ice skating rink. He couldn’t imagine being a kid and having to tell people his dad was in jail. It had been awful enough that everyone felt sorry for him. Having them be suspicious of him —mentally visiting the sins of the father on the son—would have been even worse.

  “Where are your little brothers?”

  The boy hesitated. “Staying with somebody right now.”

  His voice sounded like a toothache feels. Crockett’s question had hit a nerve.

  They let Jack out of the car in his driveway. Boone was sure Crockett shared his reluctance to just drop him off, because they started to speak at the same time. Boone gestured for him to go ahead, and Crockett said, “You sure you’ll be okay? You can go with us. We’ll text your mom and let her know where you are. Well, I will. I don’t think Boone knows how to text.”

  The attempt at humor fell flat. Jack’s face and voice remained grim. “I’m fine. I stay alone all the time while she works. I’m a big boy.”

  “We’re big boys too.” Boone leaned over to meet Jack’s eyes. “But the truth is Aunt Gert will kick some major ass if we don’t watch after you. Lucy will help her because I think she’s become the big sister you never had and probably never wanted. Crockett pretends he’s not scared of them, but I know better. You’re coming to help at the house tomorrow, right?” He glanced at the clock on the dash. “Well, later today?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

  “Keep track of your hours,” Crockett advised. “You’ll get paid.”

  “Jesus! Sorry, Father, but…Jesus! Mrs. Taylor’s been great to me. Can’t I just help her?”

  “Sure you can. And she’ll appreciate it.” Crockett spoke quickly, in a soothing Father Noah voice. “See you tomorrow, Jack. Sleep well.”

  They waited until Jack was inside to back out of the driveway. Boone frowned at the house as
they drove away. “He didn’t turn any lights on.”

  “I don’t know if they have any lights.”

  “Damn. Lucy’s been worried about him all summer, and Kelly’s driven herself nuts trying to take care of him without him knowing it.” Boone had spent guy-time with Jack, treated him with careless affection, but he hadn’t gone out of his way to learn about the inner workings of the kid’s life. All kids’ lives were a mess, weren’t they? Not only that, they didn’t generally thank grownups for trying to fix the messes, either.

  Boone wished he had. Even if Jack had told him to butt out, he wished he’d tried.

  “Kelly’s hands are tied.” Crockett’s defense was sharp and instant.

  “I know. She knows it too, but sometimes, more often lately, I think, the real Kelly Brennan—the one we used to know—shows up.” Boone chuckled, thinking of his sister. “I like it when she does. I like her.”

  Crockett was silent for so long Boone thought he wasn’t going to respond. It wasn’t until he pulled Gert’s car into the curved driveway of the bed and breakfast that he spoke. “Yeah,” he said, his voice morose, “me too.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kelly’s condo was lovely, with large rooms and acres of hardwood floors. Lucy would have been afraid to sit on the furniture even if she’d been clean, which she most decidedly was not. “I’m afraid to take a shower here,” she said, standing in the doorway of the guest bath Kelly showed her to. “What if all this soot clogs the drains?”

  “We’ll call a plumber and say we have no idea where all the crud came from, since I’m as filthy as you are.”

  Kelly smiled at her and Lucy marveled that even with the dreadfulness of the night, it was one of the most genuine expressions she’d ever seen on the beautiful face.

  Twenty minutes later, they met back in the living room. Kelly handed Lucy a cup of tea. “With any luck, we’ll get to sleep before daybreak and no one will call before at least ten.”

  As if in direct response, Lucy’s cell phone rang.

  “I just wanted to hear your voice, even though it does sound like you swallowed gravel,” Boone said. “You feeling all right? How’s your ankle by now?”