Jane of Austin

by Hillary Manton Lodge

  Because the worry in her eyes probably looked like the worry in mine.

  Ten minutes later, Ian and Pierce had joined us in the search. Ian and Celia walked the neighborhood, while Pierce and I took the lakeside path, each of us starting off in opposite directions.

  At the house, Nina, Mariah, and Charlie waited up, keeping watch in case Jane returned, or if the household’s only sleepers, Margot or Bowie, woke up.

  I scanned the path and the terrain as I walked, my gaze frequently straying to the lake. The water reflected the dark sky, rippling beneath the stormy winds.

  What if she’d somehow fallen in?

  If only I had my military-issue night-vision goggles. Or ten minutes in a helicopter with an infrared camera. I could have used them, but after starting down the path, I had a thought about where Jane might have gone.

  After all, there was a white house across the lake, owned by one Sofi Grey.

  I hated that Sean still held any power over her. Hated that I hadn’t said anything that would have dissuaded her affections, hated that it probably wouldn’t have improved the matter.

  But as much as I hated the situation, hated myself, hated Sean, none of that would help me find Jane. So I focused on the path, watching for Jane’s small form.

  Lightning zipped across the night sky, and rain began to pour. I walked on. My leg ached, but I walked on. As the sock grew wet and chafed against my stub, I walked on. If there was one thing I had learned in the marines, it was that I could keep going, in almost any circumstance.

  My heart thudded in my chest, and I felt rivulets of rain down my neck and back.

  Ahead, I saw a pier. Squinting, I tried to make out the shadow I saw at the end. The closer I came, the more the form took shape. And the more it took shape, the more I recognized Jane’s familiar silhouette. I hadn’t realized until that moment how much I knew her, that even from hundreds of feet away I could see the way she stood, the tilt of her head, and know her at once.

  I called her name, but even as I called I knew she wouldn’t hear. The wind blew in my face, carrying my voice away and far from earshot.

  Still, I worked to pick up my pace, sweat mixing with rain.

  The closer I came, the more details I could see. The rain had soaked through Jane’s hair, and likely her clothes. How long had she been standing out there?

  A bolt of lightning, two, and then the roll of thunder just overhead; it sounded like the roar of a fighter jet. The storm was close.

  More thunder. I wanted to call to her, but I knew I wouldn’t be heard. Still, as if she could have heard my footfalls, she turned my direction.

  She turned, but in that instant, a bolt of lightning struck the pier.

  I heard Jane’s shriek. I didn’t know how, but I heard it. And I couldn’t do anything but watch as she lost her balance and fell into the lake’s dark waters.

  “Jane!” I yelled again, futilely, my legs picking up their pace, keeping time as I counted the seconds. She wasn’t coming back up.

  “Jane!” I yelled once more, her name tearing out of my chest.

  If only I knew the lake better; if only I had the gear. I tried to remember what I knew of the area, what had been mentioned in passing. I knew this section was deeper than the rest.

  I struggled into the water, unused to swimming with my prosthetic leg attached, my body absorbing the pain. I knew how to do this, to shove the pain into a place in my brain that didn’t care.

  And then I was under, swimming, searching. The flashlight was water resistant, but I didn’t know how long I had.

  This was just a mission, I told myself. I had been on dozens. If I didn’t have a light, my eyes would adjust to the dark. I could go a long, long time between breaths.

  I swung the light from side to side, searching, even as I made my best progress through the water. It wasn’t my old body—but this one was tougher. More stubborn. And the stakes were too high to think about.

  Right, left, right, the light cut through the darkness as I searched.

  And then I saw her.

  She was unconscious, her body sinking, her hair floating like a cloud around her face. The water wasn’t very deep, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t dangerous.

  With renewed energy, I fought through the water to reach her. Closer, closer—and then the light went out.

  It doesn’t matter, I told myself in the darkness. You saw where you were going. Just find her.

  I closed my eyes, relaxing, allowing my hand to drop the flashlight. It was easier to reach her without it; in my mind, I focused on where I’d seen her, on my body in the water, on each stroke, staying straight and true in the water. In my mind, I measured the distance.

  When I opened my eyes, she was there. A hand’s breadth away.

  One more kick, and I had her. I wrapped my left arm around her and relied on my good foot to plant into the lake floor, and my good leg to propel us to the surface.

  It had to be about seven, eight feet deep. Too deep for me to stand, but not so deep that we didn’t reach the surface in a hurry. Holding tight to Jane’s torso, I could feel her unconsciousness.

  Fast. I had to be fast.

  I swam toward the pier, and then along it until I could touch and use the ground to hoist Jane onto the hard surface. I climbed up after her as fast as I could. Her head lolled to the side. Leaning over her, I rested my ear next to her nose. No breath.

  I’d done this before: CPR and first aid in the field. I’d been there for members of my unit, for friends. It was part of the job.

  But this? I bent over to breathe air into her mouth, but I could feel the tentacles of panic squeezing my chest even as I compressed Jane’s rib cage beneath my hands. One cycle, two.

  I replayed her fall in my head. She’d gone under and not come back up. Had she given up? Decided to rest under the water like the heroine of a Victorian novel? Had something happened, and she’d lost consciousness during the fall?

  I blew into her mouth a third time, being careful with her ribs as I compressed.

  And then her body shuddered beneath my hands, and her eyes flew open. She gasped and coughed at the same time, choking on the water as it worked to leave her body.

  She rose unsteadily on her knees, and I braced her with my hands so she didn’t topple from the pier a second time. She vomited then, and I held her hair as her body expelled the contents of her stomach and coughed the lake water from her lungs.

  “Just breathe,” I told her. “Even if it’s little breaths, get all the oxygen you can get.”

  She looked at me then, wide-eyed, swaying gently. The motion must have caused her pain; she winced and reached gingerly for the back of her head.

  “I— It hurts,” she said, her voice hoarse.

  Out of habit, I reached for my phone to call for help.

  And then I laughed, rocking gently until my weight rested on my tailbone.

  “What?”

  “My phone. It was in my pocket.”

  “Oh no!”

  “No. No. It’s the least, very least, of my concerns. Other than the fact that it means I can’t call for help or use the light to look at your head.” The thoughts sobered me up fast. “We have to get you back. Can you walk?”

  “I think so,” she said, and we struggled together to stand upright.

  But she doubled over again, the shifting of her body sending whatever remained in her stomach onto the pier.

  “Climb on my back,” I told her.

  “What if I throw up on you?” she asked, weakly.

  “It’s happened before,” I told her truthfully.

  “Your leg—”

  “It’s fine. I used to carry packs that weighed twice as much as you.” That statement stretched the truth, and she knew it, but I crouched down, and she eased onto my back.

  She didn’t weigh that much—enough to be counted as a real, solid woman on my back, but not more than I could carry.

  But she wasn’t wrong that my leg was being taxed well
beyond what any physical therapist or physician would ever recommend or allow. So much of it hurt that I couldn’t tell what it was doing, but from the sharp, stinging pain coming from the surgical site, I didn’t think it was anything good.

  It could wait though. If they had to take more of my leg off, let them have it.

  Jane couldn’t wait though. Jane needed to receive real medical attention as soon as possible. That thought alone kept me going as I walked the long miles down the path along the lake, back to the lake house.

  29

  The sky in Texas is the most amazing sky in the whole country, I think, like you can see more sky in Texas than you can see anywhere else in the world.

  —IDINA MENZEL

  Callum

  I staggered through the Palmers’ downstairs patio door, half dragging Jane. It wasn’t a pretty moment. Nina leapt to her feet when she saw us. She threw the doors open and ordered Mariah to call for an ambulance, while Charlie called the other members of the search party.

  Celia made it back first, gasping when she saw Jane. “You’re bleeding? What happened?”

  “Slipped on the wet pier,” Jane answered wearily. “It was stupid. And I think I hit my head.”

  “You’re not sure?”

  “I blacked out.”

  Nina put a hand on Celia’s arm. “Don’t worry, the ambulance is on its way. Charlie, dear? Bring your warmest blanket downstairs.”

  Charlie, phone still pressed to her ear, nodded and jogged upstairs.

  “Do you think we could drive her instead?” Celia asked, softly. “Our insurance ended last month. Margot’s covered still, but Jane and I…”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Nina told her. “I would pay for a fleet of ambulances, twenty times over.”

  “But—”

  Nina ignored her, turning her attention to me. “Beckett, sit down.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I sat heavily, every muscle shouting at me in the process.

  Charlie returned with blankets and towels, which were handed to me and Jane. “Thank you, dear,” Nina said. “I’m going to turn on the fireplace. It’d be nice to warm them up before the EMTs get here.”

  Jane waved a hand. “I’m fine; I don’t need a hospital.”

  “You almost drowned,” I said, my voice overloud.

  Pierce and Ian returned then, their footsteps heavy in the entryway. “You’ve got her?” Ian asked as he entered, catching sight of the lake-soaked Jane. “She nearly drowned?”

  “Calm down,” Jane told them, but no one listened.

  I rose from my seat. “Hand me your flashlight, Ian.”

  “Here you go. Lose yours?”

  “In the lake.” I shone the light into Jane’s eyes. Her pupils contracted, but not fast enough. “You’re still concussed,” I told her.

  “I’m fine,” Jane protested. “Someone just help me upstairs. I’m sure I’m fine; I just need to sleep it off.”

  Just then, Margot came down the same stairs. “What’s going on?” she asked, her eyes squinting from the light. “Jane?”

  “I’m fine, honey,” Jane said, holding her blanket tight.

  I remembered I had a blanket in my hand, and I absently wrapped it around myself. “You’re not fine,” I told Jane. “You’re going to the hospital.”

  “But—”

  “You nearly died!” I shouted.

  Margot burst into tears then, followed by Jane and Celia, and I realized the enormity of the mistake I’d just made.

  Yelling at a man in the field? In my line of work, it saved lives.

  Yelling at a woman who’d been through a traumatic experience in front of her sisters? Not wise. Looking at their tears, knowing I’d caused them, I felt like the lake scum that clung to my shoe.

  Nina stepped in, her shoulders squared. “We’re all very concerned for Jane, but she’s here and well because of Beckett. The hospital is nonnegotiable.” She turned to Margot. “If you’d like to come, dear, you can ride with me. Go get your jacket.”

  Nina left Ian, Charlie, Pierce, and Mariah with a list of instructions of things to find and pack, and by the time the EMTs arrived at the door, Nina, myself, and the Woodward sisters were prepared for a trip to the hospital.

  EMT Joe looked Jane over swiftly and agreed with my assessment of a concussion and the value of having her seen. He still heard water in her lungs. “That may need to be aspirated,” he said with a grimace.

  Celia asked to ride along in the ambulance, and the EMTs agreed.

  Jane protested the gurney, but they ignored her, placed a brace around her neck, and carried her away.

  The sight sent a chill through my body. She’s fine. She’ll be cared for. She’s safe, I told myself, setting aside the blanket and reaching for my car keys.

  “Sir.” The youngest EMT lagged behind. “I’d like to examine your leg.”

  I shook my head. He was young, this kid, his uniform too big for him, his skin smooth, and his face full with the last traces of baby fat. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Sir, it looks like you’ve bled through your sock.” He pointed at the sock I wore that covered my stump.

  Sure enough, dark red had seeped into the fabric, fabric already soaked by rain and lake and sweat.

  Celia, standing in the doorway, looked over her shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

  “It’s fine,” I said through gritted teeth. The EMT looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to remove my prosthesis and sock.

  I would have died before letting Jane see it. Celia—I didn’t like that either. Not now, not ever. But she walked back, and the EMT waited.

  “Can I wait,” I said, “and let them check it out at the hospital?”

  “It’s a long ride,” he said, his feet shifting. “And I have to. It’s my job. I have to make sure everyone’s been attended to.”

  “But—”

  “Callum,” Celia said, in that soft voice of hers. “Please, let him look. I’ll leave if you want me to, but please.”

  I sighed, reached over, and unclasped the prosthetic harness before removing the sock.

  Sure enough, carrying Jane had taken its toll. The scar had reopened; it was hard to say how much.

  The EMT blanched, but recovered. “I’ve never seen this happen at an amputation site,” he said as he set about cleaning and rebandaging. “Did you put a lot of pressure on it?”

  Literally, metaphorically, yes. I mumbled some sort of reply.

  “This is going to need real stitches,” he said. “It’s cleaned now, and I packed in gauze to slow the bleeding, but you should have it looked at.”

  “I will.”

  “Tonight.”

  I took a deep breath. “I’ll follow the ambulance.”

  The EMT straightened. “Sir, I don’t recommend that you drive.”

  “I can drive,” I began to say, but stopped when Nina strode back into the house.

  She paused in the foyer, taking in my newly bandaged stump and the very anxious EMT. “Beckett? What’s wrong?”

  “He needs stitches, ma’am.”

  I glared up at him. Kid probably just violated HIPAA or something.

  She looked at me, looked at him, and looked at me again. “I’ll drive you, or you can ride in the ambulance.”

  Ride with Jane? The idea held some merit. I’d be able to make sure they were taking care of her. But I knew Celia would do that as well. My leg was screaming at me, and the last thing I wanted was for Jane to see me like this.

  “I’ll ride with you,” I answered.

  Despite my expectations, Nina remained quiet and focused during the drive. “I have to watch carefully,” she said. “My eyesight.”

  “I could drive,” I told her.

  “I don’t think that sweet baby EMT wanted you to.”

  I snorted and looked out the window. “It’s too soon for him to be away from his mother.”

  “When I was young,” Nina said, her voice wistful, “firemen and paramedics were handsome and strappin
g.”

  “Did this group not meet your expectations?”

  She sighed. “No. Such a disappointment.”

  I stifled a laugh. “Is it regional? Maybe we should try again in San Antonio.”

  Nina sat up straighter. “Maybe.” She looked at me. “Jane is going to be fine.”

  This time I fixed my eyes on the dash. “I had a buddy. We got him in time, rescued him. He seemed fine. And then he went to bed and never woke up.” His face flashed before my eyes. “Secondary drowning. There’s enough water in the lungs that the lungs become irritated and swell up. We got him out of the water and breathing, but he didn’t make it.”

  “Jane’s in good hands. I’ll bully anyone who tries to give her half-hearted medical treatment—you know I will.”

  I smiled at that. “I believe it. They probably have your photo posted at every hospital in Texas.”

  “And Oklahoma,” she added, “after Mike passed on. I’m probably on some nursing board’s watch list.” She reached out and patted my leg. “She’ll be fine.”

  We were silent the rest of the way, both listening to Nina’s stereo and praying that Jane would pull through safe.

  30

  A crisis pauses during tea.

  —TERRI GUILLEMETS

  Jane

  Celia held my hand when I woke up at the hospital. “When did I fall asleep?” I asked, struggling to sit up.

  “Hold still.” She rose, gently pressing on my shoulder to encourage me back to my reclining position. “You feel asleep during the CT scan.”

  “Ah. Convenient. How did it go?”

  “They didn’t tell me, but since you’re here and not in surgery, I’m optimistic.”

  “Oh good.” I wrinkled my nose. “My lungs hurt.”

  “You tried to breathe water. That doesn’t work.”

  “Noted.”

  “Jane,” Celia started, then paused for a moment, her face frozen as her brain decided how best to phrase her next words. “Callum said you fell off the pier. And you didn’t come back up.”

  “Lightning hit the pier. It was stupid,” I told her. “I shouldn’t have been out there, in the storm like that.”