I smiled. The actor Vince Devereaux was famous for his womanizing.
Daniel went on, "I think he's got some torn ligaments in his elbow, but the whole arm's got blood supply and feeling, so he'll be OK."
George asked, "How did he act when he saw Joey?"
Daniel looked at him, something dawning. "He was surprised. Very surprised. As in like really shocked."
"What did he say?"
"Not a word, at first. Then I explained that Joey had come upon Lance in trouble at the gorge and tried to help him but to no avail. Joey didn't say much. Then Kenner seemed to pull himself together, and he started asking Joey questions about Lance's last moments. Which, as I say, Joey didn't have a lot to say about."
"Hm," said George.
"Then Kenner asked where Lance's body is now."
"Did you tell him?"
"Yes. But he didn't say he wanted to—see him."
"Hm," was all George said, again.
"What's on your mind?" Daniel asked, but George didn't answer.
He didn't really have to. Because a realization was creeping over all of us like a thousand tarantula hatchlings. It can't be, I thought. It can't be.
Daniel said, "What I thought odd was what he kept trying to ask Gina."
"Which was?"
"'Did you and Lance get married? Did you two get married in secret?'"
It had never occurred to me to ask that, given—everything. I hadn't thought through the fact that if they had, she'd be a widow. "Well, what did she say?"
Daniel looked away. "Rita, she's not doing so well."
That was puzzling; she was supposed to have quit faking extremis hours ago.
I started to walk to Badger Cabin, then I started to run. A bolt of lightning struck a rock ledge back from the cabin, and I saw the spark leap the gap between two rocks. Very different from the kind of weather we'd had so far—this was the first lightning. The thunderclap was immediate and earsplitting. No rain.
Gina was conscious and glad to see me. But she was terribly pale and her covers were soaked with sweat. I changed her menstrual T-shirt pad and saw that her period had stopped. Very little flow, I guess her body was really trying to conserve. I washed my hands in the bucket, then returned to her side, drying them on my jeans. Alger, who had followed me in, took the bucket out.
The vagueness in my sister's eyes stunned me to my roots. I took her hand. "We're gonna get you out of here real soon, hon. Real soon. Hon, you've just gotta hang on." Hearing myself and looking at her, I realized that hanging on wasn't going to be enough. I saw the full cup of water on the stool next to her, water critical to keep her hydrated and her blood pressure up, as Daniel had explained to me.
"Have a drink, honey." I smoothed her hair and lifted the cup to her lips, but she turned her head.
"Hon? Not thirsty?"
She looked at me dully.
"Oh, but you've got to drink. It can help a lot. Gina, you've got to fight."
She opened her mouth and I poured a sip in. Her lips were dry. She closed her mouth. Swallowing took a lot of effort. Her mouth was a weak line.
Was my sister going away from me? Was this it?
A sudden harsh din rocked the cabin, as if a herd of elk were taking clogging lessons up there.
I looked out the window at a total whiteout. Very strange, not like a blizzard, but something shiny, almost like it was raining white plastic. "Hail," I muttered. Big hail. Golf balls. Fortunately an overhang deflected the hailstones from the window glass.
I looked up to the unceiled roof. The boards quivered but held strong. No raindrops inside here, no ice. I closed the window all the way, shivering.
George entered the room, having ducked in just as the hail started. I looked at him desperately. He said quietly, "We can't safely evacuate her now."
He took my elbow and we went to the little vestibule where the patients couldn't hear us. Not that they could've with the hail anyway.
"But she's—I think she's dying," I said, forcing myself to that word, my guts shredding. "This hail won't last. I'll carry her out on my own back if I have—"
"Listen to me. Alger says snow's coming. She probably wouldn't survive the carry, no matter how we did it. We've been talking. Daniel's on his way out."
"What!"
"Daniel's hiking out for help. He'll drive to the washout and swim the river. He'll be all right. By now Harkett's got more help in town. The military, whatnot. Rescuers ought to be here before the night's out."
"He's out there now, in this hail?" Which was slackening as I spoke, thank God.
"Come on. He knows how to handle himself in the wilderness, you know that."
"Why'd he go alone? I could've gone with him. Or you or Alger."
"Gina and Petey need you. We need Alger's medical skills. And you need me."
I looked at him and instead of making a wisecrack, I said nothing.
It was true.
I returned to Gina's side.
She was in distress, pain, and despair, and I couldn't imagine it; no, I'd never suffered as she had, never suffered as she was doing now.
She'd been lying here knowing that the love of her life was dead. She'd had time to absorb that, think about it, yet her condition was not permitting her the normal luxuries of tears, pacing, grabbing fistfuls of your hair, and flinging yourself around the room with it—the normal comforts of grieving. Screaming it out, pounding it out.
I stroked her hair. She sighed under my hand.
Without Gina, what would I do?
Who would I talk to about Gramma Gladys and the rest of the family, who would I yell at for stealing my clothes and my last dab of good perfume, who would consume popcorn and wine for dinner with me during Petey's daddy weekends? Who would let me do her coiling vortex of hair in crazy styles for the hell of it, who would listen to my endless agonizings about love and marriage, who would cook breakfast eggs with cheese and onion that were so good even Petey would eat them?
Who would I root for, no matter what?
Who would root for me, no matter what?
I patted her face not very gently. The coolness of my hand opened her eyes.
"Hey!" I said, picking up the cup of water. "Drink a little more, please. I hold it, you drink it. It's important, Gina; you've got to decide now. You've got to decide to stay with me."
Slowly, she said, "I'm not gonna leave you."
She moistened her lips with her tongue, and I tipped some more water into her mouth. She sputtered but swallowed most of it.
"There you go, hon."
Blinking slowly, she drank the whole cup.
Speaking to myself as well as her, I said, "The best fuck you to a fucked-up world is to thrive in it."
She watched me steadily, her eyes brighter, I thought. She seemed to remember something. Something she wanted to do?
"Think revenge, honey," I told her. "I'm gonna help you fight, you hear? We're not done."
Her lips moved, and I caught the single word, "Revenge." Whatever it takes.
I didn't want to leave Gina, but Alger came in with more water and patted my shoulder in a guy way, thump-thump. "Good job. I'll be here now."
Chapter 29 – Petey Cracks It
There wasn't much food left in camp; George had made Daniel take the last of the bread and peanut butter, so as darkness fell I cooked up all the remaining canned stuff Petey had found: chicken, kidney beans, and tomatoes. They were coming to a simmer in the biggest pot. Petey stirred. I scrounged through the food boxes. The cabin wasn't at all drafty, so I kept the window and door chocked open while we cooked with the last of Daniel's stove fuel.
George was out with my hatchet, scavenging what dry wood he could find for the fire pit. The hail had changed to rain.
"Your hatchet?" George had asked when I offered it to him.
"Yes, my fucking hatchet."
Kenner was more or less tending the warming fire.
Petey was in and out; everybody was scurrying around doing
things; I couldn't seem to keep track of anybody.
I kept uneasily glancing out the dirty window of Kitchen Cabin. After a few minutes I saw Alger hurrying out of Badger Cabin, fumbling with his belt. He took off for the privy.
I fiddled with the stove for a minute. I looked out the window again. From the other direction Kenner appeared, with his bright-blue jacket and slung-up arm. He stepped stealthily to Badger Cabin, looked around, then went in.
I realized the whole goddamned thing right then.
"I'll be right back," I told Petey.
I raced through the rain, which was turning to sleet.
Kenner was standing, his jacket streaming water, in the little anteroom, his forehead pressed against the wall as if gathering himself for a difficult task. Or as if silently mourning something.
Or both.
He remained motionless as I stepped in, then looked up as I shut the door.
"Hey Kenner," I said real friendly-like, "whatcha doing?"
He smiled. "Oh, nothing. I just wanted to visit with Gina for a minute."
"Visit with her?" I took up a position in the doorway to the bunk room.
"Sure, what's the matter?"
"I don't think that's a good idea."
He feigned surprise, which I read like a book: the too-wide eyes, the lifted brows, the drawn-up posture, the finger curled in a huh? gesture.
You can't act innocent, I'd learned long ago. You've got to either be innocent or believe yourself so innocent that your mannerisms pass the fiercest scrutiny.
I stared at him coldly, my jaw clenching.
Indignantly, he said, "I've got a right to talk to her."
"You've got shit. Get out."
He smiled faintly.
Then he leaped at me.
Odd how ready I was.
I sidestepped and tried to seize his broken arm but missed. He shoved me, and as my head snapped backward into the wall, I felt his hand on my throat. Because he was fighting with only one arm, I was able to bring my hands up. I raked his face with my fingernails, searching for his eyes. I scuffled for leverage.
I guess he wasn't ready for that much resistance. Hadn't he seen me in action against Dendra? He recoiled slightly, and I considered for a nanosecond whether I wanted to do the groin grab-and-twist or try for his splinted arm again. I decided on the arm, and succeeded in seizing it. I moved with it, rotating my whole body, taking him with me. I yanked on the arm as if it were a scarecrow arm that I expected to rip clean off.
His scream practically punctured my eardrums.
He sank to his knees. I released his wrist as George burst in, Alger right behind him.
Kenner retched with pain, clutching his arm.
"She attacked me!" he howled, blood welling in the furrows I'd dug in his cheeks. "For no reason!"
The guys looked at me.
I commented, "Alger, you might have to straighten that arm again."
If George hadn't been George, I really think he would have laughed.
As it was, he cleared his throat and said, "Kenner, tell us what's on your mind."
We had all spilled, more or less, into the bunk room, where Gina and Joey lay. Joey, for all the commotion, had kept pretty quiet. Gina was out of it again.
Kenner, gasping, still on his knees, pointed at me. "Get her out of here. Aren't you guys gonna do something about this?"
I actually didn't think I'd hurt him that bad; after all, his arm was braced by the splints, which I'd forgotten, or I would have gone for the groin. I never knew a guy to scream so loudly: way better than I could ever do, even in the ideal conditions of an audition. There was a slasher-flick director or two I could introduce him to. A guy who can specialty-scream like that could do well for himself in Hollywood. Mind you, we're talking journeyman acting here, nothing big, but a living.
He cradled his injured arm and gave me a baleful look. She hit me first.
George folded his arms and waited.
"Get her out of here!" Kenner insisted. Nobody reacted.
Kenner changed tactics. "You wanna have it out?" He scrambled to his feet and tore down the canvas divider between Gina and Joey Preston.
He pointed to Joey with a quivering, Dickensian finger. "Here's the guy we need to have it out with!"
"Yeah?" said George.
Joey lay there tensely, his eyes wide, his good leg twitching under Daniel's maroon sleeping bag as if it wanted to take off on its own and hop out the door.
Suddenly I was sorry I'd hurt Kenner, because now I doubted my suspicions of him vis-à-vis Gina. I, too, was suspicious of Joey, had been from the get-go. I mean, really, who in God's name would believe his story about just bumping into Lance in the middle of nowhere, trying to prevent him from falling into the deepest and most dangerous river gorge for miles around, but—oops!
I mean, come on.
"Come on!" Kenner said. "Alger, you know what his motive was! Revenge! We were all at summer camp right here, and Lance played some stupid pranks on Joey that he never forgot, isn't that right, Joey?"
Joey said, "Kenner, why are you doing this?"
Kenner went on, "Lance humiliated him, over and over he humiliated him, isn't that right, Joey, ya big baby? Alger, you were here!"
"I know about that," acknowledged Alger in his calm, low voice.
Kenner went on, shaking his finger at Joey Preston like an infuriated headmaster, "You were a warped little kid even back then! Lance and Gina happened to come through town after all these years, and you saw your opportunity! You followed them, you spied on them, and you waited for a chance at Lance alone! You stayed patient for days, didn't you, you son of a bitch. Then you got him. One little shove, at just the right place over that river. But he almost took you with him, didn't he? Just by the grace of a blind, stupid God you got saved by these people!"
"Fascinating accusations," said George, "but—"
"OK, I know it's just an 'accusation.'" One-handed air quotes accompanied by sarcastic chimp lips in case we missed it. "But it's true! Look at him lying there like who, me?" Kenner was getting more and more amped. "I bet there's evidence somewhere! You people found this guy clinging to a rock, right?"
"Right," I said.
"Well, did you search him?"
I stood there remembering. "Daniel said he looked in his wallet for ID. The wallet's over there. I actually don't know whether Daniel thoroughly—" I broke off, looking at Joey's cut-up jeans, still lying in a clump next to the wall, dark with dried blood.
Kenner's voice flattened contemptuously. "Well, don't you think it might be a good idea to look? Maybe you could start there, you know?"
George went to the jeans and nudged them with the toe of his shoe, as if prodding for mice.
"Go ahead!" urged Kenner.
George looked at Alger and me, then to Joey. Joey shrugged inscrutably.
George picked up the jeans, which Daniel had scissored up the side seams. Gull-wing-stitched Levi pockets.
He pulled out a pale-blue book of matches with a mustachioed chef on the cover, fifty-three cents in change, a wadded cash register receipt. "Four dollars and ninety-five cents, breakfast burrito." He fingered the receipt.
The last thing he extracted from the wrecked pants was an unusual-looking pocket watch. It seemed elegant and yet rugged at the same time, on a short fob of navy-blue cord, I guess nylon cord.
George peered at it carefully.
"That's Lance's watch!" Kenner yelped. With the blood from his scratches running down his face, he appeared to be crying blood, which I found a little unnerving.
Joey looked stunned.
George held the watchback to the light. "Engraved with a large S, flanked by smaller L, E. Lance Ellis de Sauvenard."
I knew it all along.
"You bastard!" Kenner was beside himself.
Yep, that was the catch, see? If Joey had simply come upon Lance and tried to help him, how did Lance's watch come into Joey's possession? He robbed him, that's how. He mugged th
e guy in the woods, coming upon him by either chance or design, knocked him out with a rock, then threw him over the precipice. Or maybe there'd been a struggle. Maybe Lance was unconscious and came to at the last instant when Joey was heaving him over the cliff and grabbed onto his killer, damn near taking him with him.
The facts gave the lie to Joey Preston's confused expression. George turned to me. "How much cash was in Joey's wallet?"
"I don't know. Daniel checked it for ID when Joey was unconscious; he didn't say anything about money in it."
"Well," said Joey, as George picked up the billfold from a wooden box that was serving as Joey's bedside table, "check it out. Ought to be about eleven dollars in it. Broke my last twenty a week ago when—"
"One hundred," counted George, "two hundred—"
Joey made a sound as if he'd just lost his footing on a glacier.
"—three hundred—"
"Bastard!" shouted Kenner.
"Be quiet," said Alger. My nerves were shot too, with all this yelling.
"—and eleven," finished George.
Kenner's eyes were stark wild. "You killed my brother! That's proof!"
Joey stared at him, practically hyperventilating in utter terror. "You know that's not true," he panted. "Where'd that money come from?"
In that dim storm-lashed cabin, the bunch of us were like some diorama of the human condition, one wounded man lying on his beggar's pallet, immobile, shrinking from his accuser, helpless to flee, the other standing over him like a berserk prophet with that bony paper-white finger and bloody face, and the rest of us the witnesses, the chorus.
All the guys had hunter-gatherer stubble, and the testosterone was so thick in the air that I thought I'd start growing a beard any minute.
Kenner lurched at Joey, but George had already interposed himself between them.
"I'll kill you!" Kenner was intent on Joey's throat.
George fended him off, and Alger grabbed him carefully from behind so as not to hurt his mangled arm further. "Easy, friend," muttered Alger. Kenner struggled in his grasp. "Easy."
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