Tia stood back as the woman rolled him to the elevator and then to a room, not in the ICU, she realized with relief. A younger, plumper nurse joined the first. They transferred him to the bed, and the older nurse said, “He did well through surgery. He’s strong.”
He was strong. And brave. And good. Tears formed again. “Thank you.”
The other nurse checked his IV, connected his oxygen, and replaced the clip on his finger to monitor his oxygen. She took his blood pressure and made notes on his chart. “The chair’s a recliner if you’re staying.” She wrote “Nancy” on a small whiteboard. “That’s me if you need something.”
“Thank you.”
The blue-gray chair next to the bed pulled out into something like a bent cot. She could feel the frame through the cushioning. At home with Piper, she had been too upset to sleep. Beside Jonah, she drifted into a raw and anxious semiconsciousness where Piper ran blindly, hands outstretched. Jonah chased a shadow, blood streaming from his side, as Lauren waited with bandages, and Enola snarled at something dark and menacing in the woods.
With a gasp she woke to Jonah’s open eyes.
He moistened his lips. “Can’t stop sleeping together.”
Curled on her side facing him, she reached through the bars and grasped his hand. “I don’t want to.”
One side of his mouth pulled. “I don’t either. You’re the only one whose hair looks worse than mine in the morning.”
She pinched him.
“Ow.”
“Sorry.” She rubbed the spot. “And I’m sorry about last night.” Then realizing last night was pretty broad for him, “What you said about Reba, about us.”
She massaged the muscle of his unbandaged forearm. “I didn’t want it to be true that she could love me that much when I hurt her so badly. Then I realized she’d done it for you.”
“For both of us.”
She brushed her fingers down the arm. “When I thought of it that way, I could understand.”
“You don’t see how people love you.” He blinked. “But you will.”
When she realized he’d fallen asleep, she phoned Piper, who sounded a little more like herself. “Are you doing all right?”
“I guess. I’m done throwing up and walking into things.”
“I’m sorry I had to leave.”
“It’s okay, but where are you?”
“The hospital.” She looked at Jonah’s sleeping face, drawn and pale. “Jonah got shot.”
“What?”
“He’s going to be okay.” No other outcome allowed.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. He’s pretty out of it.”
“Do you need me?”
“No. Just take it easy, okay?”
“I’m going to shower and try to eat. Might not make it to work, though.”
“Me neither.”
“Take care of Jonah and don’t worry. If I decide to kill Bob, I’ll give you time to get there.”
Tia laughed. “It’s a deal.” She settled back down beside Jonah, feeling an oncoming repose that, in the chair, would probably maim her.
Together we sit. Together we stand. The cameras flash.
A voice says, “How do you tell them apart?”
Apart? We are never apart. We don’t run away to separate places, separate games. We are one.
“What are you thinking, Lizzie?” Lucy’s voice was hardly a breath.
“About the TV people who filmed us that first time, remember?”
“Why the funny look?” Lying across her lap, Lucy tipped her head up.
“The cameraman who asked how to tell us apart.”
“And Mom said, ‘Well, one is on the right, and one is on the left.’” Lucy’s giggle rasped.
Liz raised an eyebrow. “As though we might rearrange ourselves.”
“Silly, silly, silly.”
“Very silly.” Liz stroked her hair.
“I’m glad you’re back. I hated you leaving.”
“I know.” The sadness passed before Lucy looked up again. Liz stroked her sister’s cheek. “I know.”
She had awakened from her sleep, and soon, everything would be different.
Under the warm, streaming water Piper realized, thought by thought, what could have happened to her. She soaped her body, feeling the intended violation. How dare he?
After toweling off, she stepped out of the claw-foot tub. She pulled on stretchy shorts, a sports bra, and tank, then turned on her Turbo Jam DVD workout. Throwing the punches felt good, kicking out in controlled power even better. Before she’d finished the final stretches, she heard a knock at the door.
Her heart thumped. Bob was in jail, wasn’t he? She swallowed. It might be a friend of Tia’s or someone about the house. She’d never before been afraid to answer. Slowly she made her way to the door and looked through the cut glass. Miles?
She pulled open the door as he raised a bouquet to her face. Laughing, she lowered the flowers to see him. “What are you doing here?”
“You didn’t open the bakery.”
“I’m taking a sick day.”
“Are you sick?” He paled.
“Not contagiously. I promise.”
“I brought you these.”
She took the mums and daisies. “They’re pretty.”
“They’re from my garden. But they want water.” Miles shifted from foot to foot.
Last night she had put herself in danger without realizing a thing. She hesitated, then motioned him in with her head. “Come on.”
He closed the door carefully and followed her to the kitchen. “This house is old.”
“It’s one of the originals. Part of Old Town, if you include the residential district.” Piper put the flowers in the sink and searched for a vase. She settled on a glass pitcher, filled it halfway with water, then added the stems. “There. Kind of still-lifey.”
“I have a book about Dutch still-life painters.”
She smiled. “I’d like to see it sometime.”
“I could bring it over.”
“I could see it at your house.”
He searched the kitchen to avoid her gaze, then blew air through his lips. “People don’t come to my house. It’s a safe zone.”
“But you might get my germs here and take them back with you.”
He nodded. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Do you want some tea or coffee? I have a half an orange-mango coffeecake.”
His brow puckered. “You’re not upset?”
“That I can’t come over?”
“About last night.”
How could he possibly know?
“You didn’t want to go out with Bob.”
“Don’t get me started on that.” She filled the kettle with hot water and turned on the stove. “I’ll just get mad all over again.”
Miles looked stricken. “What do you mean?”
She cut the coffeecake and put the slices on two plates, anger welling up. “Bob drugged me. He planned to—”
Miles backed into the pantry door, hands gripping his head. “No!”
“Miles.”
“It’s my fault. My fault you were with him.”
“Nothing happened. Jonah caught him.”
“But you wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t—”
“Miles!” She gripped his wrist. “It’s not your fault.”
He froze.
She could feel him shaking.
The Adam’s apple jerked up and down in his throat. “You’re touching me.”
“I know.”
“People don’t touch.” He sounded strangled.
“Do you want me to let go?”
“I don’t know.” He slackened against the door, keeping only the arm she held stiff.
She stared into his soft brown eyes. “Can you help me understand the touching thing?”
He blinked, blinked, then sighed. “I was too big. A pituitary gland tumor. It causes gigantism in children.”
> “You’re not that big.” Six feet seven maybe, a burly, round-shouldered build.
“I was four feet ten in kindergarten. My hands and head were huge. Big clumsy feet. I banged and bumped everything. Auntie Beth said, ‘Don’t touch, don’t touch.’ But I couldn’t help it.”
“Oh, Miles.”
“The kids were so mean.”
“I just bet.”
“Not the five-year-olds like me, but the older ones. They pushed. They made me fall down in the dirt, in the mud. They made my clothes dirty, my hands dirty.” His chest heaved. “Aunt Beth said, ‘Don’t touch people.’ But one time, that one time, I couldn’t stop it. I pushed back.”
Piper ached.
“I had big strong bones, big long arms. They hit, and I hit harder.” He hung his head. “I didn’t mean to hurt them. I just wanted them to stop.”
“Of course you did.”
“I never went back to school.”
She melted. “You didn’t need school.”
“But now I’m this.” He raised his clasped wrist, and she could see his hand shaking.
She softly let go. “You’re going to be okay.”
He looked at his hands. “Can I use your sink?”
Twenty-Nine
And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two.
—ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING
Jonah pressed through the fog as voices penetrated, Tia telling someone he was sleeping. But he’d done enough of that. He opened his eyes to Jay, looking confused.
“You’re not bulletproof?”
Jonah pulled a wry smile. “Now you know.”
“Gotta watch him,” Jay told Tia as she pushed up from the chair. “He does this stuff.”
“Gets shot?” She tried to tame her crazy mane.
“Anything for attention.” He extended his hand. “I’m Jay. You were preoccupied with your friend last evening, then Jonah goes and pulls a stunt like this. You’d think people were conspiring.”
Tia smiled. “Nice to finally meet you.”
He watched her take Jay’s measure, watched them take each other’s.
Jay glanced over. “Now I see.”
Jonah guessed he did.
“They think you’ll live?”
“Last I heard.”
“Then you guys don’t need me hanging around.”
Tia objected, but Jay quieted her with a hand.
“I’ll go fraternize with the nurses. One in particular.”
Jonah sank into the pillows, pain making an edge inside him. He wouldn’t be much good if it got hold, so he depressed the morphine pump.
Tia noticed. “Is it bad?”
“Bad enough.” He brushed her hand. “Are you okay?”
“Me?” She looked incredulous. “No.” She paced beside the bed. “My emotions are trapped in time warp. I’m an eighteen-year-old girl in over my head with the boy I’ve adored pretty much always.”
“Is that so bad?”
“I want to be the woman I am now with the man I can’t live without.” He’d take that. But last night he’d seen the chasm. “How do we get there? Intact.”
“I don’t think we can.” Tears sprang to her eyes.
“Tia.”
“No, Jonah. It’s bigger than us. All this … stuff. We’re like the raccoons, utterly dependent and still ripping ourselves apart.”
“So what—”
Someone tapped the door and entered, a bushy-bearded man who amply filled his clericals. His voice boomed like Friar Tuck. “I heard someone’s catching bullets.”
Jonah looked at the bandages on the side of his torso. “This one got away.”
“Even better.” He extended his hand. “I’m Chaplain Casey.”
“Jonah Westfall. And this—” He turned to Tia, who stood staring. “Tia?”
She startled. “I, um, I’m Tia.” She gathered herself. “And I don’t think you’re here by accident.”
“At God’s disposal, I hope,” the big man said.
She brushed a tear, huffing a soft laugh. “I have no doubt.”
Jonah frowned. She’d been saying the connection between them was killing her as surely as the animals tearing their bodies apart. What could she want from the chaplain?
Tia searched his face for something, permission maybe, then started to tell their story. His chest swelled and constricted with the memories, things he’d forgotten, things he hadn’t realized she knew, things he wished she didn’t. He hadn’t known her feelings went so deep so young. She was feisty and loyal and tough and sensitive, and he filled himself with her, more intoxicated than any bottled spirit could render him.
She stopped pacing. “The crux of it is, we can’t go on like this. We need …”
“Christ in the middle?” the chaplain said.
Eyes sparkling with tears, she nodded.
When they had finished the coffeecake and drunk their tea, Miles washed and Piper dried the dishes. “There’s nothing at all you would change?” She slid the last plate into the cabinet.
“It was perfect. Not too much orange, not too much mango. Just perfect.”
She handed him a fresh towel to dry his hands as the water gurgled down the sink. His story had broken her heart. But she was thankful he wasn’t soul-damaged by abuse. A growth disorder, a traumatic incident reinforced by repeated admonitions—they could work with that, couldn’t they?
Bob’s bullying as much as the contact might have set him off. That jerk. He’d probably already talked or bought his way out of trouble. And why not? He was only half to blame. She’d been so desperate to dull the maddening monologue, she hadn’t even noticed the wine turning blue. That kind of stupid got taken advantage of. She’d seen it her whole life, the way her family identified the marks.
People not paying attention. Complacent. Distracted. She shuddered. Bob hadn’t touched her, except for a brief fondling of her knee when they drove and a clasp of her hand on the table. She’d pulled away after each contact. Touching should mean something.
She looked at Miles, recalling the taut tension of his wrist, his pulse against her fingers, his life in her hand. That meant something.
“Miles? You only mentioned your aunt. What about your mom and dad?”
He smoothed every wrinkle from the towel he’d hung on the rack. “My dad was a high-level executive I never met. My mother worked for him before she died of leukemia.”
Her heart melted all over again. “How old were you?”
“Almost four.” His brow rippled. “Everyone wore masks and gloves and said, ‘Don’t touch her, you’ll make her sick.’”
Talk about reinforcement.
“Aunt Beth took me home to her house. So many pretty things.” He sighed.
“She told you not to touch.”
“She wasn’t mean.”
“But didn’t she ever hug you?”
His big shoulders rose and fell.
“You listen to me, Miles. Before we’re done—you and me and Tia? You’re going to give me the biggest bear hug ever.”
He studied her like a program that had developed a fatal glitch.
“I don’t mean now, and I don’t mean tomorrow. But you better run if that’s not okay with you.”
He gulped. “Can I use your sink?”
“No.”
He startled.
“You’re not dirty. And you won’t make me sick.”
Her ringing phone broke their eye contact. “It’s Tia, and I have to take it. The chief got shot last night.”
His jaw dropped.
She brought the phone to her ear. “Tia?”
“Piper, do you feel up to driving? To the hospital?”
“Um, sure.”
“Room 312.”
She looked over at Miles. “We’ll be right there.” She hung up. “Come on. We’re going to the hospital.”
Miles bent his arms like a pretzel over his chest
, his two fists framing his neck as though he had a bad chill. “No, no, no, no, no. No hospital.”
“Tia needs us.”
“People die in hospitals.”
“Some do. But most get well.” She snatched her purse. “Are you driving, or should I?”
“Do you know how many germs are in a hospital?”
“You can tell me as we drive.”
She dug for her keys, but Miles formed a deep sigh. “I will drive.”
She shot him a brilliant smile. “Come on, then.” She locked up and stepped into the brisk morning. Half a block down the leaf-strewn sidewalk, she realized what car he was leading her to. Her mouth fell open.
“The engineering makes it very safe on mountain roads.” He touched the handle, then opened the passenger door of the deep blue BMW Z4 Roadster.
“Omigosh.” She slid into the buff-colored leather as she would a feather bed.
Miles fit surprisingly well, as though it had been formed to him.
“Miles …” she breathed. “How rich are you?”
He slid her a look. “That’s relative. And it fluctuates.”
She laughed. “And you could probably tell me down to the penny. But I don’t want to know. Bob went on and on about the money he makes. I almost puked.”
The big hands clenched.
“Don’t get upset.”
“It’s my fault. Every other time you said no.”
“Maybe I did do it for you, but that was my decision. Now fire it up, and let’s feel this sweetness.”
Miles looked at her. “I don’t think you’re real.”
“You haven’t seen me on a bad day. Well, I guess this was a bad day, but it’s better now, so just get me to the hospital.”
Obediently, Miles made the motor purr, and it was sexier than any roar. Last night she’d been tossed about, but Miles took the curvy highway with such precision she hardly moved in her seat. Her teddy had talent.
“My name is Forsythe,” he said. “Miles Forsythe. Corny, I know.”
“It’s not corny. It’s distinguished.”
“If we don’t die at the hospital, I’ll show you my house.”
The smile almost hurt her face. “I’m hoping real hard we don’t die at the hospital.”
Outside Jonah’s flower-scented hospital room, Tia paced a hall that smelled of canned peas and tomato soup. Inside, the chaplain questioned Jonah. He’d been shot last night—she still didn’t know how. He had burns and cuts and respiratory problems. Was he in any condition for this?
Indivisible Page 28