by Mary Logue
Claire walked into the room, and Bridget waved her fingers at her. Claire looked so impressive in her uniform. Trustworthy, like a Boy Scout.
“Hi, big sis,” Bridget said to Claire as she leaned in close.
“You pretty out of it?” Claire asked.
“Now, that’s all relative.”
“What day is today?”
Bridget thought hard. She knew the information was someplace in her brain and retrievable, it just seemed hard to find the right path to wander down and find it. Which didn’t mean she couldn’t answer the question. “My day off.”
“Quite a day you’ve had.”
“Is it still the same day?”
Claire looked at her watch. “Fifteen minutes to midnight.”
Claire pulled up a chair and sat down, resting her arms on the crisp white sheets of Bridget’s bed. “What happened?”
A big man walked in behind Claire, and Bridget felt afraid. She didn’t want him in the room. She would make him go away. Having decided this, she simply closed her eyes, and he disappeared.
“Hey, Bridget, it’s just Bruce. You remember him, don’t you?”
Bridget shook her head no and kept her eyes closed. He looked hulking and dangerous to her. She didn’t know him. She wanted him to go away.
Bruce said, “I saw you at Steve’s funeral.”
Claire whispered to Bruce, “I think she needs peace and quiet. She’s still recovering. Let me talk to her for a minute. Then I’ll be ready to go.”
Bruce left the room, and Bridget opened her eyes when she heard the door close. “I don’t like him.” Claire took her hand, and Bridget thought of their mother. When they were sick, she would come and sit next to them and hold their hands. She wondered where their mother was now, if there really was a heaven. Would Mom have been waiting for her by the white tunnel if she had died?
“Well, he worked hard to find you. He’s probably why I’m here right now. You don’t need to like him. What happened to you? Who shot you?”
Bridget’s eyes wandered up to Claire’s face. She wrinkled her brow and then let her fece relax. “I don’t remember. It’s so fer away. The shock and the drugs are making me woozy.”
Claire’s hand gripped Bridget’s harder. “You really don’t remember anything about this guy?”
“Not much.”
“Why did you get in the truck with him?”
Bridget thought back to how it had all started, the feeling she had about the safety of the small town. “I think I thought I was going to where you were.”
“Do you remember anything about the man? Was it just one guy?”
“I think it was only one, but I really can’t picture him. He’s a blur.”
“What did he want?”
Bridget picked at the sheet and then said, “I think he had seen me before.”
“Where?”
“I’m not sure, but he knew who I was.” She wasn’t sure what she should tell Claire. “He liked me.”
Claire’s face grew large as she leaned in toward Bridget. Bridget felt the urge to push her away. “Bridget, did he rape you?”
“No, he didn’t get that fer. They checked here at the hospital.”
“Would you recognize him again?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about him anymore. Does Chuck know where I am?”
“I’ve tried your house a couple times. He’s not home.”
“Probably at his brother’s. He’ll be home soon.” Bridget rubbed her stomach. She remembered something else she had to tell her sister. She pointed at her belly and announced, “Claire, I’m pregnant.”
Claire moved away and sat on the edge of the bed. “Yes, so I’ve heard. How do you feel about that?”
“I think I want it. Will you help me?”
“Absolutely.” Claire patted her leg, and Bridget felt safe again. “First we have to get rid of this guy.”
“I‘M GOING TO call him King Tut,” Meg announced as she placed the small bird in his new home.
Rich felt a laugh bubble up in him, but he coughed it down. “King Tut? That’s a pretty important name.”
“Hey, he’s a pheasant The royalty used to keep these birds in China. He should have an aristocratic name.”
“King Tut it is.” Rich had found a packing box, cut the sides down, and lined the bottom of the box with sawdust and pebbles. A bowl of water would keep the little bird through the night. He’d bring feed in the morning. Meg had agreed to go to bed only if the bird could sleep in her room. She was falling asleep, so he said that would be fine. She had brushed her teeth and washed her face, and changed into pajamas with dancing girls in hula dresses on them. She was stretched out on the bed, looking over the edge at the bird.
“Why did that other bird peck him?”
“It’s hard to say. Maybe the other bird felt like he was in a tight spot and took it out on Tut.”
Meg thought about that for a moment. “Maybe Tut grabbed the biggest piece of corn and the other bird wanted it.”
“Possibly.”
“What if Tut would have died?”
“He would have gone to bird heaven. But I got there in time.”
“Did the other bird know it might be killing him?”
“I’m not sure what goes on in their bird brains.”
Meg laughed at that. “Bird brain. I get it.”
Rich looked down at her smiling face. Her small teeth looked like pearls in her mouth. Her bangs were swept back off her face, and her hair spread out on the blanket like a dark halo. There were bits of her mother written on her face, but she was coming into her own as a person.
“Well, I think his royalness, King Tut, needs to catch a little shut-eye.” Rich reached down and stroked the pheasant It would be interesting to see what a pet pheasant would be like, how personable it would get.
Meg scrambled under the covers. “Will he sleep all right without his brothers and sisters? Will he be lonely?”
“Not with you here.”
Meg tilted her head back into the pillow. “Could you stay for a while and watch and make sure that he falls asleep?”
“Sure. I could do that.” He turned off the light in the bedroom and sank down into an easy chair in the corner of the room. He thought of saying something about sleeping tight and not letting the bedbugs bite, but he decided that Meg was worrying about more than bedbugs tonight.
AND NOW HE was bringing Claire home. They had sent off a squad of cops to find the pickup’s tracks near the field where Bridget was found. Everything had worked out this time. Her sister, although injured, was safe, her daughter found, and a thin sliver of moon shone on the lake as they drove alongside it. Bruce thought of the really happy ending this could have, where he swooped her up in his arms and she welcomed him. Claire had been very quiet since they left the hospital. Bruce wondered, as always, what she was thinking, where she went sometimes when she was sitting next to him in the car but seemed to disappear.
“What are you going to do next? Do you consider Bridget’s kidnapping your case?”
Claire’s voice broke as she turned to him. “Of course I do. I couldn’t give it away if I wanted to.”
“Bullshit. The Pierce County police looked pretty comfortable sitting in the lobby, guarding Bridget.”
“That’s exactly it. No room for comfortable in this case.”
“My guess is that the guy who took her is not from Pepin County, so you’re going to need a liaison with the Cities.”
“Am I? Who’s going to know if I go look around?”
“Claire, this isn’t about looking around. This is about catching the bastard. Now, stop playing coy with me. We don’t need to talk tonight I know you want to see Meg. But I want to hear from you tomorrow. And we need to plan this out.”
Claire hesitated. Bruce didn’t like her hesitation. What was she up to? “Fine. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Did Bridget have anything interesting to say about this guy?”
> “Not really. She was pretty out of it. I’ll try to pull more out of her when I see her tomorrow.”
Bruce pulled into her driveway. Lights were on all over the downstairs. “Do you want me to walk you in?”
“No need. I’m sure Stuart is still here. His truck is in the driveway.” She turned and touched his shoulder. “I’ll blink the lights at you.”
He laughed. “Great. Then I’ll know you’re safe.” He reached out and slid his hand around her neck. “Claire—”
She turned toward him and let him pull her in closer. “Thanks, Bruce. You’re my best pal.” When he kissed her, she didn’t resist, but she wasn’t really there. He let go of her before she could pull away.
THE FIRST THING Claire did once she was in the door was call Chuck again. She had tried a couple times from the road and from the hospital, but he hadn’t been home. Finally he answered the phone. She told him briefly and minimally what had happened to Bridget.
Chuck hadn’t even missed her. His voice splintered as he tried to explain why he hadn’t been worried. “I just thought she was with you. She left me a note saying she was going to visit you. Here she’s been kidnapped, and I didn’t know anything. What should I do?”
Claire told him to go to River Falls. She told him where the hospital was. She told him how Bridget would be. But she didn’t tell him that Bridget was pregnant. That she left to her sister.
Stuart had cleaned her kitchen. He was drinking a cup of coffee and doing the crossword puzzle in an old paper. The sink had been scoured, all the dishes put away. The kitchen was cleaner than she had ever seen it since she had moved in. Was she such a bad housecleaner, or was Stuart the best?
“Thanks for straightening up.”
“Had to do something with myself. Amazing what a little soap and water will do for the dust that collects on your shelves.” Although Stuart’s voice was lively, Claire knew he must be beat. After all, he got up at four-thirty to bake.
“You cleaned my cupboards too?”
“It’s been a long night.”
Claire nodded toward the stairs. “How does she seem, Meg?”
“Fine. A little frantic. I actually think she’s rather proud of herself. But I don’t know if she let herself think about what might have happened to her. I certainly wasn’t going to point it out to her. I figure that’s your job, Mom.”
“Let me go take a peek at her. I assume she’s sleeping?”
“Haven’t seen her in an hour. I assume so.”
Claire climbed the stairs quietly. She didn’t need to wake her darling daughter up, just cast eyes on her. She peeked into the room and realized that there were a couple other creatures sleeping in it.
Next to Meg’s bed was the baby pheasant. Claire peered into the box, and the bird ruffled its feather, its head tucked under its wing. Meg’s head was facing the bird, and she had a hand draped off the bed, falling into the box. Claire could see Meg’s face clearly in the light of the hallway. She seemed perfect, without a wrinkle, a scratch, a worry. After she was done visually inspecting her daughter, she turned to the last sleeping creature in the room—Rich.
He was slumped into the small easy chair, his feet stretched out in front of him, his chin on his chest, his hands on the arms of the chair. He looked younger, without concern. Claire stared at him. When again would she get the chance to examine him so unself-consiously? He was a striking man, dark hair, thick eyebrows, high cheekbones, not pretty but nearly handsome. She didn’t blame Meg for wanting him to stay with her a little longer.
Claire felt the desire to touch him rise up in her. Since her husband died, she had not felt such a longing, and it surprised her.
24
Chuck didn’t like hospitals. His mother had stayed in one for six weeks before she died. He had been twelve, just old enough to visit her. So he had to go and see her every day with his father. She had changed from the woman he loved and thought was beautiful into a skinny, breathing machine whose lips puffed in and out as she tried desperately to stay in the same world he was in. She had loved him, and she had left him.
He stopped just inside the doorway of the main entrance. He swore there was a distinctive smell that hospitals had; blindfolded, he would know when he entered one. He didn’t want to see Bridget in here. He should have asked Claire to go with him. He was a brave man, a football hero, but walking into a hospital was almost more than he could do.
He leaned over and took some deep breaths. What was the matter with him? Some husband he was—out fixing cars while some hoodlum grabbed his wife and nearly killed her. The thought of Bridget dead almost floored him. A soft voice right above him asked if he was all right When he managed to stand, a young nurse guided him to a chair.
“What’s the matter?” she asked him. She looked about sixteen years old, her hair pulled back in a tight bun, round red cheeks and a big smile.
“My wife is here.”
The nurse smiled. “First baby?”
Chuck sat up straight. “No, I wish. She was shot.”
Her cheeks deflated, and she looked as if she’d been smacked. “Lord, that’s awful. Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Gunshot wounds would put her on three west. Do you see the elevators?” she pointed.
“Yes.” Chuck stood up.
“Go up to three and then turn left.”
He walked into the elevator and then looked down at his empty hands. He hadn’t brought Bridget anything. No flowers, no candy. But it was three in the morning, and she wasn’t just convalescing. He would do better next visit. Maybe, if he stayed with her tonight, she could leave in the morning. Claire did say she was not in that bad shape. But still—bullet holes.
The nurse at the station on the floor told him it was past visiting hours.
He stood in front of her and explained, “But this is an unusual circumstance. My wife was shot.”
She looked him up and down, obviously checking him out.
“And I didn’t do it,” Chuck told her. “I wasn’t even there. We live in Wabasha. I was working on a ‘78 Chevy.”
“I didn’t think you did it.” She nodded down a hallway. “See the cop. Check with him.”
Chuck had to show ID to a policeman stationed at her door. Claire had called ahead and said he was coming and that he should be let in to see his wife. The cop looked like he was about sixty years old. His arms folded over his chest, he stepped aside for Chuck to enter the room. “I’ll be right here,” the cop told him in a deep, labored voice.
When he walked into the room, Chuck winced. Bridget was asleep, and the light was turned to the wall so he could only see her face in shadow. She looked different, as if some energy had drained out of her. He checked to see if blood was seeping from the wound on her arm, but the dressing was a clean, snowy white.
He didn’t think he should wake her. God knows what she had been through. He stood by her bed and breathed in and out as she did. This thread of breath connected them. Suddenly, she turned, curled up, and gave out a small yelp. When she saw who it was, she loosened up and whispered, “Oh, Chuck.”
He was afraid to touch her, but leaned in close so she didn’t have to strain herself to talk. “Oh, sweetie, are you okay?”
“I think so. The drugs are pretty good.” She spoke as if the words were falling out of her mouth.
“Do you hurt?”
“I do, but it’s like it’s far away. Very distant.”
“Good, we’ll keep it that way.”
Bridget roused herself. “No, I can’t for much longer.”
“Why?”
“Because. I have to tell you something. I’m sorry. I should have told you before.” Bridget gripped the edge of the sheet and looked as though she was going to spit something out of her mouth.
On the drive down, Chuck had tried to prepare himself for this. He was truly afraid of what had happened to her, didn’t know if he could handle it if the kidnapper had molested her in any way. When he t
hought of that man touching Bridget, he felt as if the top of his head would blow off. “What?” he asked.