She got through the days at the self-storage company office by concentrating on the boring aspects of the job: paying the bills, talking to vendors, and the occasional customer. On Wednesday, she was distracted by a short flurry of activity when a pair of police officers arrived with a warrant to search one of the storage units.
She unlocked the unit for them and stood back, looked into the interior and was shocked by what she saw. The owner had put everything into neatly stacked boxes, two dozen of them – she had seen them carefully piled into the storage space. Now the boxes were scattered, some of them broken with contents spilling out onto the floor. She said, “It looks like somebody else got here first.”
The officer shrugged. “I think that’s for us to determine, ma’am. If you’ll just give us the key and let us do our job.”
She handed it to him and turned away, disturbed by the sight of the vandalized belongings and wondering how it had happened, how someone had managed to get inside. That’s what happened to me. My life was in neat boxes, everything properly arranged, all planned, and then Miles came and now it’s like that, everything rearranged. I don’t know where anything is or what I’ll do. She knew that wasn’t actually true, just that everything had changed. She went back to her office, contemplating the unit tenant whom she had met only briefly when he rented the space. He had seemed like an ordinary young man, upset with the turn his life had taken, forcing him to put his belongings away. Is that what Miles did? Put his life away into storage boxes? She wondered what had happened to him. She called the company owner but the police had contacted him first. He could tell her nothing.
And what will happen to me? What has happened to Miles? She had no answers for anything, just a deep sadness she knew she had to overcome. She had a life to live. As she had had before.
As far as Althea knew, the whole episode came to nothing – the police said they didn’t find whatever they were looking for—but it filled much of Wednesday and kept her mind occupied with visions of bombs or a stash of drugs, or some kind of fancy contraband. It was, in a way, entertaining since it did not really concern her.
Thursday morning the business owner called. Stan was disgusted and annoyed. “They arrested that guy, the one who rented the unit, but they didn’t say why, and I guess they didn’t hold him. But he said he couldn’t pay the rent and we could do what we wanted with the stuff. After this he didn’t want it anymore. You’ll have to arrange for an auction when the police are finished with it.”
They had done that before and it was interesting, usually sad to see a person’s life disposed of so casually. It gave her something else to think about for a while, but it wasn’t the kind of excitement she wanted. She would probably have to answer a lot of questions from the police, but there was nothing she could tell them. She had seen him once—briefly.
But how much more do I know about Miles?
She didn’t want any excitement at all, just a return to how her life had been before Miles came into it, a predictable round of the seasons, being one with nature and her gardens. But deep down, she didn’t want that, either. Miles had invaded her life, fulfilled her as no one else had, and now she wanted him to come back and share it with her. She wanted, needed, his poetry, his music, his arms around her.
The storage unit episode gave her another worry. You never know about people. I know Miles isn’t involved in anything like that. He couldn’t be. He doesn’t even smoke tobacco and all he drinks is an occasional beer. He has a well-paying job when he wants to work, could have one permanently. I know he lives in another world, one of his own making, but would that differentness cause him that kind of problems?
~ ~ ~
She tried to put Miles out of her mind, but he was too firmly entrenched in her heart. She tried not to worry about him. He’s an adult. He knows what he’s doing. He’s done this before. If anything has happened, somebody will call Ted. But his leaving had hurt much more than Ward’s rejection of her so many years ago, which sometimes still colored her thinking when she had gone out with other men. Perhaps her subconscious comparison of them with Ward had prevented her from continuing with any of them. I was young then, it was just an infatuation, puppy love. This is different. And now, he’s gone, too.
Business at the stand was slow, as it usually was in the space between Halloween and Thanksgiving. The stand would be open only on Friday and Saturday from December into March when the new maple syrup was available. She had her regular egg customers, along with a supply of winter squash, turnips, potatoes and apples. There was always a variety of jams, jellies and pickles, as well as the craft items. Her neighbors had added a wide variety of gift offerings for Christmas.
Connie was looking forward to the end of the holidays and a period of rest, but Althea dreaded the break. Even though it was the time for planning and ordering what she would need, of sitting down with Ed and taking stock, it didn’t hold the usual happy anticipation. Ed had a schedule of crop rotation, and she left that to him. Together they would decide what new vegetables to try, which ones to grow more of, which were unpopular enough to drop. It was a process she usually enjoyed, that filled her with hope for a new year, a new version of her gardens. This year she wasn’t sure it would help. Another dream, another vision, had crept in and now that was gone.
Maybe I’ll get rid of those old hop vines. Pull them all out and plant some clematis on the wall. Move some of the rambling roses down there. Maybe I should try making craft beer. She knew both thoughts were merely a reaction, a way to stifle her anger and the hurt. She would keep the hop vines. They had been there for over two hundred years and she liked them. She didn’t want to think of them as being in Miles’ memory, or as a reminder of him. He would come back to her.
In the meantime, she would get on with her life, do as she always had. She mentally squared her shoulders, got a good grip on herself, and prepared to do just that. She would win as she always had. She and Ed would make it all work. They always did.
Consequently, she was totally unprepared when Connie called in the middle of Friday afternoon. “It’s Ed,” she said, her voice breaking and on the verge of hysteria. “Come down to the hospital. Please. Now.”
Althea’s breath almost stopped. “What happened?”
“Some guy ran a stop sign, T-boned Ed. The passenger side. Pushed his truck into another car.” Her voice broke. “They won’t let me talk to him, even see him. Oh, God. I need you. Somebody.”
“Hang on. I’ll be right down.” Fear formed a hard knot in Althea’s stomach and tightened around her chest, making it hard to breathe. Connie was undone and she was not easily rattled. “He’ll be okay? Won’t he?”
“I don’t know. The doctors won’t really say anything. They just tell me to keep calm while they evaluate him.” She drew in a few long breaths obviously trying to gain some control. “I know he broke some ribs and his right thigh, and his left shoulder was dislocated, and they think maybe he has a concussion. They don’t know what else. Internally.” She drew another long breath and her voice calmed a little. “They said he was aware when the ambulance got there, and while they pulled him out of the truck and then him got him down here and called me. That was a good sign, they said. He was in surgery when I got here, so I haven’t talked to him yet.”
“He wasn’t wearing his seat belt?” Ed never fastened it, said it was too confining, and he had never gotten into the habit, as often as she and Connie had advised it.
“No. Of course not.”
Althea said as reassuringly as she could, “I’ll be right there.”
“I called Kevin, and Evvie’s coming to stay with me. Tomorrow or the next day.”
“Good. She’ll be a big help.” Althea rarely saw her out-of-state cousins outside of family gatherings, but she knew Connie was close to her son and granddaughter. “You do need somebody.”
“E
d’s sister, Nancy, will come over when she can.”
“Good.”
“And do hurry, Althea.”
Althea hurriedly called one of her part-time people to see if she could come, closed the stand and left. She tried to keep her speed within the proper five miles of the speed limit, but it would still take almost an hour to reach the hospital under the best driving conditions.
~ ~ ~
Althea found Connie in a waiting room, sitting in an uncomfortable chair with an unfinished cardboard cup of coffee on the table beside her. An unread magazine was in her lap, the strap of the handbag in her hands was twisted into knots. Her face was gray and haggard, making her look much older than her sixty-seven years. Connie’s eyes were red, and the marks of tears were still on her cheeks, but her relief at seeing Althea was plain, an obvious easing of the tension, and she almost smiled. “Oh, thank goodness you got here.”
Althea sat down beside her and closed her fingers over her cousin’s hand. “Have you heard . . . ?”
“Not yet. They said they’d call me when he comes to again. They were putting his shoulder back into place and setting his leg.”
“Then nothing has changed. Relax, sit back.” She tried to take her own advice.
A young woman aide came in and asked if she could get them something. Althea asked for coffee, for both of them. She needed some. Badly.
When the aide had brought it, Althea settled herself and tried to get comfortable. The coffee was hot but not great. “Can you tell me what happened? It might help.”
“I only know what the police told me.” Connie drew a deep breath, shuddered, leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. “He was on the Back River Road coming home. He left home with a list of errands and to get some grain for the chickens.” She opened her eyes and met Althea’s. “They think the man who hit him was on his cell phone or something and didn’t see the stop sign.”
Distracted drivers were one of Althea’s greatest fears, and she could think of nothing to say.
“He was arrested, of course, and charged with something. I don’t know if he was intoxicated, but I guess he was cooperating. Not that that helps Ed any.” She added, “At least he couldn’t leave the scene. They said the front end of his car was mashed in.”
Althea didn’t ask about Ed’s old Chevy truck. He’d had it for twenty years and keeping it in shape and running was one of his hobbies, a source of pride and satisfaction in how his truck looked.
Connie said, “They towed Ed’s truck to a garage. I haven’t heard anything. And Ed will ask.”
Althea asked, trying to be practical, “Have you called the insurance people?”
Connie closed her hand around Althea’s. “I gave them, the police, the name of the company. Could you do that . . . ?”
“Of course. I’ll do whatever I can. But we have to wait, to find out just what happened.”
“The insurance card is my wallet.”
The door opened and a youngish man came in. “I’m Dr. Everett, are you Mrs. Hamlin?”
Connie struggled to her feet. “I am. How’s . . .”
The doctor put his hand on Connie’s arm and smiled reassuringly. “He’s all settled and mostly awake and you can come in now.”
She looked back at Althea. “And my cousin?”
The doctor’s glance evaluated Connie’s state of mind. He said, “Come along.”
Althea momentarily resented what she felt was the doctor’s lack of sincerity, that he was spreading a false sense of confidence and goodwill. It left her chilled, but she went, following the doctor through the door into a wide hallway.
The sight of Ed looking small and shrunken in the narrow bed, with an IV tube in his arm and an oxygen line in his nose, left her queasy. A large, lumpy, purple-black bruise on his forehead had darkened and swollen one eye, leaving the rest of his face pale and haggard. The bed was elevated to an almost sitting position, and his left arm was encased in bandaging and strapped to his chest. She could see the outline of the leg cast beneath the blanket.
She tried a jovial, “Hi, Ed,” that did not work.
He opened his eyes and glanced at her but his concern was for Connie.
Connie had his free hand clasped in both of hers, and her eyes were intent on his face.
Ed said faintly, “I’ll be okay, hon. It’ll take more than a few bangs to . . .”
Connie turned to the doctor, questioning without speaking.
“He should recover quite nicely,” the doctor said. “He’s in good shape for a man his age.”
Ed tried to laugh but couldn’t.
Connie said, “Everything will be alright. Althea will see to things for me and Evvie is coming.”
He closed his fingers firmly over her hand and closed his eyes again. “My truck . . .”
“It’s at the garage.”
“I’ll need it fixed,” he said. “Come spring anyway.”
Althea sensed his unspoken concern for what he considered his baby.
“Of course,” Connie said. “You and it’ll both get repaired.”
“Pieced back together.” His voice was fainter.
“Maybe you should let him sleep,” the doctor said.
Connie disengaged her hand. “I’ll be close by, Ed.”
He mumbled an answer.
The doctor said, “You can stay in the room here with him, Mrs. Hamlin.”
“I’ll come back in a few minutes.”
Outside in the hall, Althea said, “If you need me, want me to stay, I will. You shouldn’t be here alone.”
She sighed deeply. “I’ll sit with him and Nancy’ll be along in a bit. You go do whatever you need to do. The doctors have done all they can and he’s going to be okay.”
Althea wished she had Connie’s confidence. But she has to have it. She can’t think otherwise. She said, “I’ll wait with you until she gets here.”
BARRY AGAIN
Althea slept badly, when she slept at all, and opened the stand later than usual on Saturday morning. When she arrived, there were already two cars in the parking area, long-time neighbors who had heard about the accident and wanted news. They also offered to help in any way they could. In addition to sympathy, help she could use.
Althea had little she could tell them, other than Ed had been patched together again and was resting as comfortably as possible with his broken bones. She had spoken with Connie this morning and nothing had changed. Ed was still on pain medication and not moving very much. His chest was badly bruised but his lung had not been punctured. His ribs had been stabilized but there is little one can do for that except rest. Breathing, Ed told them, tended to hurt. He didn’t have a concussion, a result Ed had said, trying to might light of it, of a hard head. At his age, he could be a long time healing.
“But,” Althea said, deciding she was reduced to asking if not actually begging, “I could use some help here, so I can relieve Connie, or at least go sit with her. Her granddaughter Evvie won’t get here until tomorrow.”
Two neighbors promptly offered to spend the afternoon tending the stand, both had filled in at other times and were friends of Connie’s.
“It’s the least we can do,” Betsy Cook said. “We’d do anything for Ed and Connie and they need you right now.”
Althea was grateful.
Another car arrived, a neighbor who brought a big thermos of coffee. “I thought you might need it,” she said. “You don’t have any here and everyone needs a good cup once in a while.”
The group gathered around the counter and Althea produced cardboard cups, but there really wasn’t a great deal to say. The coffee was excellent, just what she needed, as much as the gathering of friends for support. It made the immediate future look just a little brighter. One small ray of sunshine.
“I saw him yesterday, not too long after the accident,” Althea told them. “He was awake and knew us. Me and Connie. But he was still pretty much out of it. Connie called me last night after she got home and she’s gone down again this morning.”
There were general murmurs of condolence and fear for Connie.
“I’m sure Ed will be all right.” Althea said, “Eventually. I’m sure he’ll want to be back out in the gardens come spring.”
“He really enjoys that,” Betsy agreed. “It’s something he can look forward to and do at his own speed, not like a factory job or something.”
Althea nodded and sipped at her coffee. She hoped that thought of returning, getting back to what he was, would bring Ed through.
“So,” Mavis D’Orsey said briskly, “you run along and see Connie and we’ll take care of everything here.”
“Are you sure?”
“We’ll probably close a little early. Mostly what we’ll dispense is whatever news we have. Give us a call when you get to the hospital so we can pass along an update.”
Althea tried to laugh but couldn’t.
“If we don’t know something, we’ll wing it and leave it for you to handle when you get back.” She laughed. “Just run along. You’re in no shape to work anyhow.”
Althea accepted the offer gratefully, but with a few misgivings. She disliked not doing her own work. But Connie needs me. So does Ed. At least until Evvie gets here. She would help Connie through the insurance and financial details.
“Run along,” Mavis said. “And don’t worry about us.”
She went. She cared for her chickens, gathered and packed the eggs, and then had no excuse to linger.
Around noon, she drove to the hospital.
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