Keeping the Peace

by Linda Cunningham

  When he’d left their home this morning, his daughter had been sleeping safe in her bed under the eaves of the warm stone house. But now? He stifled the horrible, random thoughts playing in his head, giving an involuntary, sharp hiccup, almost a dry sob, as he bent closer and closer over the steering wheel.

  At last, he could make out the main street in front of him. He swung out of the steep road, blasting through a large snow drift left by the plows, and made for the intersection. He could see flashing blue lights alongside the red lights of the ambulance. He felt as though he were running through water. The world seemed altogether silent. The snow seemed to have muffled everything, even the swish of the wiper blades. Finally, he was there. He shut the Suburban off in the middle of the street and jumped out. He saw his wife. She was standing near the passenger side of her Jeep Grand Cherokee. The side was crumpled and the door was popped open. He could see that the window had been shattered.

  John strained every sense in his body as he ran forward. A gust of blowing snow blinded him, and he brought his hand up to wipe his eyes.

  “John!” Melanie cried out.

  Now he could see her, running toward him, holding out her arms. They clasped hands and held on, each seeking a life preserver in the other.

  “Is she hurt bad?” he made himself ask.

  “No, no, I don’t think so. She’s conscious and talking. Cully’s putting the collar on her, though. Come quickly.”

  He let her lead him to the side of the crumpled vehicle. He fell on his knees beside the stretcher, his blood thundering in his ears.

  “Daddy,” said the girl, reaching out.

  Cully was tightening the straps on the stretcher.

  “Mouse,” John said, willing himself to stay calm. He looked into her eyes. They were equal and reactive. He began to relax a little. Her color was good.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she whined. “I made Mom go out because I wanted to pick up Emmie. We wanted to spend the day together, and her mother wouldn’t drive or let her take the car.”

  “Shh,” John quieted the girl. “Mouse, are you okay? Anything feel broken or hurt bad?”

  “No, Daddy. I’m fine. I think my shoulder hurts. I’m not sure.”

  “Well, we’ll get you looked at.” He put his hand on her forehead and smoothed back her hair.

  “Where’s Mom?”

  Melanie stepped up. “Right here, baby. Let Cully finish tying you in.”

  “I’m fine, really, Cully.” Mia’s eyes turned toward to the young man fussing over the clamps on the straps that held her to the stretcher. She had known Tim Cully all her life and treated him more like a sibling than anything else. “Let me up. I can sit all right.”

  “Can’t do that Mia,” said Cully, posturing importantly. “You might have some kind of injury we don’t know about and—”

  It was then that an anxious voice suddenly spoke from behind them. “Let me through, please. I just want to know if the girl’s all right!”

  John and Melanie turned and peered through the blowing snow. Someone was pushing through the small crowd of bystanders.

  Even in the confusion surrounding the accident and her obvious concern for Mia, John noticed that his wife seemed intently focused on the stranger. He was handsome, almost pretty, a little older than Cully, perhaps, with wavy brown hair. He was rail thin and ridiculously dressed for the present weather in cowboy boots, black jeans, and a long black leather coat. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, and he was hunched against the wind. He extended his black gloved hand to Melanie. John was not surprised. Melanie had that effect on every man.

  “I’m Gabriel Strand,” he said. “I skidded and hit you. I’m so sorry. Is she all right?”

  Still kneeling beside his daughter, John felt the girl tremble. Alarmed, he turned away from the stranger and gripped her hand.

  “Mouse—Mia,” he said urgently, “are you okay?”

  “Daddy! Daddy!” she said in an almost hysterical whisper. “What did he say his name was? Is it Gabriel Strand? Daddy! Listen to me!”

  John knelt there, confused. He turned to look again at the young man who was still holding Melanie’s hand and talking to her intently. Then, Cully and the other EMT were raising Mia on her stretcher off the ground, preparing to load her into the ambulance. The stranger, apparently loath to let go of Melanie’s hand, stepped up and bent over Mia.

  “Look,” he said, “I’m really sorry. I really am. I hope you’re okay.”

  “Excuse us, please,” said Cully. “You’re interfering, sir.”

  They carried Mia to the back of the ambulance and hoisted her in, John in attendance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Melanie put both arms around the young man in a reassuring hug. Then he saw her step slowly free of him and flash one of her brilliant smiles. Melanie had always been friendly and free with her smiles to the point where an undercurrent of gossip centering around their marriage was always present on the lips of certain local individuals who enjoyed speculating on those things. Usually, John laughed it off, or they laughed together about the latest rumor that filtered back to them, but this time, an uneasy feeling settled over him. Well, maybe she knew who he was, he thought, or more likely, he was overreacting due to the stress of the situation. He shrugged it off and turned back to his daughter.

  Through the blowing snow, he saw the stranger step back and heard him call out to Mia, “I’ll check on you later. Please, I’m really sorry.”

  Steve Bruno strode through the crowd and spoke sharply to the young man. “Mr. Strand. Mr. Strand, you can’t leave the police officer in the middle of interrogation. Mr. Strand? You’ll have to finish this report for me.”

  John lifted his foot to get in the ambulance, but Melanie’s hand was on his arm. “John, you take the Suburban and follow. I’ll ride with Mia. We’ll meet you at the hospital.”

  “Who was that guy? Do you know him?”

  “Not exactly, I guess,” Melanie answered as she climbed into the ambulance.

  “Mom! Mom!” Mia was calling from inside the ambulance.

  Melanie puckered her lips at her husband as Cully slammed the door shut. The ambulance moved away.

  John turned around. Steve Bruno and Gabriel Strand were facing each other. Strand was blatantly shivering. He was hatless, and his thick hair was covered with snow. His lips were blue. Steve was bundled against the elements. He was obviously enjoying himself.

  John said, “What are you doing here, Steve?”

  “I heard it on the scanner as soon as I walked into my house. I didn’t know where you’d gone, so I turned around and came back.”

  A thought flashed through John’s mind about how he might magically fire Cully and clone Steve. “I’m going to the hospital,” he said. “I’ll check with you in a while. You might take Mr. Strand here back to the station to finish the report. He looks cold.” He winked at Bruno.

  Steve nodded back and took the young man by the arm. The chief couldn’t help but overhear Steve’s remarks as he guided the man back toward the cruiser.

  “You can come with me back to the station, Mr. Strand, and then we can finish the report. I see you’ve got a lot of snow piling up on your head. Ya know, in Vermont, we take that as a good sign. When the snow stays on the backs of the cows in a snowstorm, it means their winter coat is heavy enough to insulate them and all their warmth is staying on the inside. The rest of us just have to wear hats.”

  John smiled to himself, fishing for the keys to the Suburban in his pocket. He was beginning to feel the cold himself. Behind him, he heard the grind of a big engine. Larry Sample’s wrecker was pulling up to the battered vehicles, still stalled in the street. Becky was on it today. The wrecker ground to a stop in the road beside him, like some giant prehistoric animal, idling and lurching in place, as if champing at the bit.

  Larry, the dubious knight in shining armor, held his mount steady with greasy hands and rolled down the window. Truly concerned, he asked, “Everything all right with you
r daughter, John?”

  John nodded. “Yeah. She might have hurt her shoulder. They’re checking her out at the hospital. I’m going there now.”

  “Becky said to take these wrecks to Rick’s?”

  “Yeah,” John affirmed, “that’s as good a plan as any right now.”

  “What’d you do with that rock star?”

  “Rock star?”

  “Yeah, the guy that hit your daughter.”

  “Rock star?” John repeated.

  “Yeah, man.” Larry stained the snow with a random spit of tobacco juice. “The guy’s some sort of rock star. They’re supposed to be playing Winter Carnival up at Dartmouth this weekend.”

  The beleaguered chief gave one of his short, sharp sighs. He was beginning to understand.

  Larry snorted. “I can’t believe you didn’t know that, man. You gotta keep up with things. Your kid’ll know. Ask her. Apparently, he’s quite the heartthrob. From California. Can’t imagine what made him think he could drive in a blizzard like this, especially in that Mercedes. Stupid, I guess. Now, you wouldn’t see Toby Keith doing something like that.”

  “Hmm,” said John. “Thanks, Larry. I gotta get to the hospital.”

  The wrecker driver waved his hand. The wrecker-beast bounded forward into position. The newly enlightened police chief got into his Suburban and drove off.

  Chapter Five

  JOHN COULD SEE MELANIE WAITING FOR HIM just inside as the hospital’s automatic doors slid open. They reached out and clasped hands in the gesture that was a habitual communication between them ever since they’d become a couple. It meant that everything was okay now because they’re together.

  Melanie said, “She’s over here, in the ER. They’re getting ready to X-ray that shoulder.”

  “So it might be broken?” he asked as she took his arm and guided him through the reception area. Ahead, past the curtain of one of the little cubicles, he could see his daughter lying on the bed. She wore a foam collar around her neck and her eyes were closed.

  “I don’t think so,” said Melanie. “She moved it around pretty good for the doctor. They just want to X-ray and make sure.” Gently, she pulled back the curtain. “Baby,” she said, “Daddy’s here.”

  Mia opened her eyes, then closed them again.

  “How’re you feeling, Mouse?” John approached slowly and sat on the edge of the bed.

  Mia’s eyes flashed open, and she raised herself on her pillow, grimacing a little with pain. Then she spoke with conviction and authority. “Daddy,” she said, “tell me you did not give Gabriel Strand a ticket or an injunction or whatever it is you give for this. I really hope not. It’s Gabriel Strand, Dad. What was Steve Bruno grilling him like that for? You should be handling this, Dad. Really. This is huge.”

  John’s first response was indignation, but he retained his passive expression and looked back over his shoulder at Melanie, who was standing behind him, a small smile on her lips. “Am I the only one who doesn’t know this person?” he said, trying to appear nonchalant. “Who the hell is this guy? What’s he doing here? And why the hell am I supposed to be impressed?”

  “Mom, you tell him,” said the girl with exasperation, falling back against her pillow.

  Melanie walked around and sat in the chair near the head of the bed.

  “It appears that we were lucky enough to have our car wrecked by one of the hottest pop stars of the day,” she said.

  “There’s no reason to be sarcastic.” Mia pouted, fluffing her thin hospital blanket peevishly.

  “And that matters why?” John persisted.

  This time, Melanie shrugged and wiggled her eyebrows.

  “Daddy, listen, I know you don’t know, but Gabriel Strand is the lead singer of Ragged Rainbow. It’s the hottest group out there. I love their stuff. I know you’ve heard it.”

  “Not that I know of,” said the chief. “Have you?” He looked at Melanie.

  “Yes, I’ve heard it. It’s pretty good.”

  “Pretty good!” exclaimed the teenager. “I guess it’s pretty good. It’s the best! And they’re going to be at Winter Carnival at Dartmouth.”

  “So Larry told me when he came to drag your mother’s car away,” John said with a snort.

  “Larry! Larry Sample, the spitty wrecker guy? Oh, Daddy!” Mia was obviously disgusted with his ignorance. “Emmie and I were trying and trying to think of a way to get tickets. I guess they’ve been sold out for months. He’s so adorable! Isn’t he, Mom?”

  Melanie gave a wry smile. “He’s pretty cute.”

  John looked at her very carefully, trying to interpret the expression that played on her face as he spoke to Mia. “He doesn’t seem very bright, though.”

  “He’s from California, Daddy. He doesn’t know about stupid Vermont’s stupid winters.”

  At that moment, two more people walked into Mia’s little curtained cubby: Emmie Cohen and her mother, Debbie. Emmie was Mia’s best friend. She was tall and athletic, like Mia, with thick, dark hair. When the girls were anywhere together, they looked like a pair of gazelles. Debbie was a small, pretty, pudgy woman whose lack of common sense was compensated for by her unfathomable good nature. Melanie maintained it was this good nature that kept Debbie looking at least ten years younger than she was. John always countered that it was her lack of worry resulting from a parallel lack of any sense whatsoever. That and the fact that her husband was head of surgery at Dartmouth Medical Center. Debbie never had to worry about money. Such a person, John had postulated to his wife privately, was never in danger of developing any wrinkles.

  Debbie entered the cubicle whooping. Whooping was her way of expressing any strong emotion. She threw her arms around Melanie. “Ooh,” she whooped. “Melanie, Melanie, I’m so, so sorry!” She threw her hands in the air. “Ooh, if I had only known! I never would have let you drive down! Oh, this is my fault. My fault!” She turned to Mia and clucked like a mother hen. “Are you okay, darling? Oh, you’re hurt. Is it bad?”

  Mia smiled. “I’m fine, Debbie, really.”

  “I’ll call Jim immediately if you want me to,” she said.

  “Oh, you don’t need to bother him. I think they can handle this here, Deb,” said Melanie, “but thanks a lot.” Despite Debbie’s silly nature, her offer was sincere.

  “Well, I heard you were hit by a star, at least. How exciting!” The plump woman giggled and giggled.

  John sat silently, his face totally bland. He and his wife exchanged glances. Melanie was keeping her lips taut, smothering her amusement. He didn’t feel entirely amused.

  Emmie was on the bed next to Mia, holding her by both hands. “If I had known what was going to happen, I would have made Mother drive me! You’re so lucky! Did you see him?”

  “Yes, I saw him,” Mia answered. “He talked to me, Emmie. Gabriel Strand talked to me!”

  “Oh crap! I can’t believe I wasn’t there! Is he just as adorable in person?”

  “More!”

  “No!”

  “Yes! I’m not kidding!”

  Just then, a nurse’s aide and a radiology technician entered the cubicle with a wheelchair. John heaved a sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure how much more of the current conversation he could stand. “We’re going to take you for your X-ray now, dear,” said the nursing assistant. “Can you get in the wheelchair?”

  Mia obliged and was soon being wheeled down the hallway, accompanied by her mother and father.

  “We’ll wait here,” trilled Debbie Cohen, waving after them.

  Following the wheelchair, John felt his stomach rumbling. “I thought you said the oatmeal would stick to my ribs.”

  “It’s only ten o’clock, John. Are you hungry already?”

  “I’m starving.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Melanie. “I think it’s just a reaction to the stress.”

  “After this X-ray is over, I’ve got to get something to eat somewhere. They must have a cafeteria here.”

  “You’ve got
to make it till noon,” hissed his wife as they went through the door to the radiology department. “You’ve been complaining about your weight lately, so I thought we agreed no more snacking for a while.”

  “Hmph.”

  They both settled in chairs to wait for their daughter’s return and the results of the X-ray.

  Melanie pulled out her cell phone. “I haven’t called Peter yet to tell him. He was still asleep when we left. Would you call him and tell him what’s going on? Ask him to run out to the barn and give the horses more hay. They’re going to be in all day. Also check the dogs’ water.”

  “Why don’t you call him?”

  “That kid has been obnoxious lately, and frankly, I’m just as happy to have you tell him the news. He’s going to flip out anyway and somehow turn it around to be about him.”

  John nodded. Peter, now fifteen, had always been intense and self-centered. It was the extended family’s opinion that Melanie, knowing he was her last baby, had spoiled him. If he didn’t like what they were having for dinner, she would fix him something special. If he wanted a specific toy, she would scour the greater Northeast until she found it. He possessed a fierce energy; once fixated on something, nothing could divert his attention until he had accomplished his goal. He was going through a particularly surly time now, however, and John had had to step on him more than once recently.

  “Peter,” he said into the phone, “we’re at the hospital. Your mother and Mia got in an accident.”

  “Are they all right?” John could hear the real fear in his son’s voice.