by Don McQuinn
Van was unmoved. "I don't like a crook hanging around Lila. She's too trusting. You saw how she believed everything that drifter in the Airstream said. He was stalking her and she didn't even notice."
Spite goaded Edward to make a joke of Van's concern. “Come on, Van; he was in town a couple of days, hardly enough time to qualify as a stalker.”
“Try to stay on subject, all right? Lila's friendly with a man who doesn't exist, a guy pulling money out of this community. How do we know the old fraud's not planning to empty that account and split for Mexico? Yeah, I'm against her crazy project, but more than that, I have to protect her. And the community, too."
Pouring another glass a wine in case what he was about to say ended the conversation, Edward disagreed. “Richards is a popular man. Expose him - assuming your detective knows his butt from a baseball - and no one's going to thank you. Least of all, Lila Milam. Let it go."
A peculiar smile flashed across Van’s features. Edward started at the cruelty in it. That was impossible, though - just mischief caused by wavering firelight - because now that he looked more closely, all he saw was concern. Inwardly sighing, Edward resigned himself to the sad fact that Van was genuinely enamored of the Milam woman.
Van leaned forward, earnest. “I won’t have him hurt her. I’ll only use any information I get to protect her from herself, just as I always have.”
“She doesn’t seem like someone who wants a lot of protecting."
“You have a point. If it takes a crash to bottom her out, though, someone has to have the responsibility to set it up. I’d call it ‘tough love,’ only I don’t want you taking that the wrong way. Messed up people never really know what’s best for them. That's all I've got to say. ”
Edward took the pile-driver hint and got to his feet. The fire didn’t seem large enough to have warmed the room so, but the place was practically tropical. Stuffy enough to make one a bit unsteady, actually. He drained the last drops of wine to ward off possible dehydration and headed for the door. “Right you are. Time for bed.”
Outside, he inhaled deeply, appreciating the crisp mountain air after that stupefying room. Navigating his car down the long driveway - he hadn’t noticed how close the trees were on the way in - he laughed aloud at the idea of Pastor Richards as a man of mystery. Old fool could barely plot a sermon, and he had a whole week for that chore.
All in all, a pleasant evening. Spicy snooping and spooking. Humor, too - Van’s “tough love.” Such touching consideration. Probably believed it himself - people who thought they were in love thought plenty of strange things. Maybe he'd teach Ms Milam some manners. Uppity ditz broad.
Physical attraction was all it was. Plain for anyone to see. Confused characters. Confused goals. Not for good old "Eyes On The Prize" Edward Lawton.
In the end, it all came down to return on investment. The rest didn't matter.
Chapter 15
The dream ended in a searing, stinking vision of flames. As always. Consciousness came reluctantly, the mind fighting itself. Part of it demanded reality, knowing that the dream world was the home of all his demons. However, the mind knew the demons of the conscious world were lesser horrors. Even so, they lurked behind every thought, waiting to break through.
Crow welcomed the vague recall of his own breaking-free shout and the pall of cold sweat because those things told him he was a live person in a real world again.
Garza practically flew into the room. His question was a demand. “What is it?”
“Nothing. I’m okay.” Crow resisted the urge to touch the bandage. It felt like a patch to hold hell inside.
A soft dawn from the window sought out Garza's cheekbones, the square chin, the deep-set eyes. As Crow watched, a hum of fresh nausea twisted the nurse's features into a thing of smoke and incantations. To Crow's surprise, the fantasy soothed him. The nausea faded.
The real Garza said, “One of those dreams, wasn't it?"
“Everybody dreams.”
“Don't try that with me. Talk to me. It helps. I know.”
Crow's resolve wavered. He focused on Garza's eyes. Did he explode out of his dreams with fear boiling in his bowels? Was his waking shout also challenge, terror, and prayer?
Does he wake up sick with relief that he's one of ones who made it? Does shame make him feel slimy, too?
Is he afraid he's broken inside? Has he ever thought about breaking everything else?
Garza was safe to talk to. A little.
Sweat oozed past Crow’s bandage and trickled down his cheek. Garza moved closer. Dim light made him appear to drift. “You talk in your sleep. You know that?”
Stomach clamping tight, Crow said, “No way. I don’t even snore.”
Teeth shining white in a huge grin, Garza said, “Man, you are so full of it. I check on most patients to be sure they’re sleeping well. I check on you to make sure you’re not breaking out.”
Composure was slipping away from Crow. Garza wasn't playing fair. Their tight fraternity knew shared lies were as necessary to them as truths to the uninitiated. Garza was pushing past that tacit agreement. Crow demanded, “What’d I say? You listened to me and never told me? What kind of...?”
Garza interrupted. “You think I haven't seen all this before? The yelling? The sweats, the withdrawal? The whole mess? I'd never, ever tell anyone what I hear, man. So relax. I'm not the only person wants to help you. There's the lady you dream about, too."
Crow's torso jerked, tense, aggressive, Garza hesitated. He set his jaw and continued. "You got to listen to me. I know you have other dreams - quieter. Sometimes you say a name: Patricia. Everything else is babble, so don't worry about that. But you don’t yell her name.”
Crow's eyes seemed to sink into his skull. A voice as distant as eternity said, "You listened to me. Patricia. I'll kill you."
Garza raised his hands. "I know you mean that. I know you're wondering if you should try right now or wait until you're sure you're strong enough. I'm betting you won't do it, because deep down you know I just want to help. I never actually listened, man. I wasn't poking around. You said her name, I heard it; that's it. I only said about her because I believe that's a lady who'd help, too, if you'd let her." Garza leaned forward into Crow's hostility, "We don't want to lose you. We don't want to see you lose yourself. You got to come back. I mean it, man."
Crow's stare held to Garza for so long he eventually had to turn away. Immediately, he looked back, his sincerity as clear as his concern.
Ironically, it was the thought of that sincerity that steadied Crow. He said, "Patricia's my wife. She... She passed way. Never mention her. Never."
Garza's features went into a confusion of apology and stubbornness. "I'm really sorry, man. I didn't know. But I got to tell you - and you can hate me for it all you want - but the way you say her name - she's there, working for you. I'm just a dumb Mexican, a back-slid Catholic and all that, but I know God's hand when I see it. Your wife wants you to have a good life."
Something twisted inside Crow. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again he didn't know if he'd slept or, if he had, for how long. Garza sat in the room's only chair, watching. Crow said, "I thought you worked here. Don't you have something to do?"
Garza grinned. "You think making sure you get well ain't work?"
Crow sighed. "You? Making sure of anything about me? You'll see cerveza frio in hell first. You called yourself a dumb Mexican. You're more than that; you're a dumb Mexican squid. Go away."
"Moving, First Sergeant." Garza rose, took the two steps to the doorway and turned. He said, "Nice to see you coming back. You're welcome. And just so you know. What you did at the fire? That took guts."
Crow sneered, “Is that supposed to make me feel good about myself? "
Shrugging, Garza told him, “Feel any damn' way you want. All I'm saying is, you did a good thing. All the other stuff? You handle it pretty good.”
“I handle it perfect. When's your boss turning me loose?
“He won't be in for a couple hours yet. You know - he checks in after breakfast. He figures chow mellows out some of the cranky patients. Pretty smart.”
“I asked about being discharged. Don't give me crap about the doctor's schedule. I’m leaving. Get that straight.”
Garza was defensive. “Doctor Newton tells you; you don’t tell him. Kind of like a First Sergeant.”
Crow's felt his earlier tension returning. “I’m leaving today. There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“Talk to the doctor. I just work here.” He hesitated, frowning, then added, "Soon as you're gone, I have to change this room. I've got to put a picture on that wall and bring in three folding chairs. We've got new ones - light blue. Doctor Newton wants the rooms brighter.”
Crow nodded shortly, and Garza persisted. “I mean, it's a little clinic. Why get fancy? You think that's all this place needs? Dinky blue folding chairs and a picture? Like that's more attractive?"
Crow looked at his watch. Garza was gone by the time he raised his gaze.
When Doctor Newton arrived, Crow was washed, shaved, well-fed, and fully dressed. The doctor stopped in the doorway. “Who told you to get dressed?”
“I’m going back to my trailer and my dog.”
Doctor Newton frowned. “That’s a bad idea. A concussion like yours...”
Crow wouldn’t let him finish. “I’m leaving.”
“No headaches? No nausea?” The doctor advanced into the room. A worried Garza came right behind him.
Crow said, “Breakfast made a couple of tricky moves, but it's hanging in there this morning.”
Consulting his clipboard, Doctor Newton said, "Last night's dinner wasn't as cooperative, I see. You've been refusing pain meds, too." His look at Crow was shrewd. "You're not proving anything, you know."
"I don't like taking medicine. I won't take it if I don't need it. Are you releasing me or not?"
Garza edged forward, earning a disapproving glare from the doctor. Garza ignored it. He told Crow, “When I was in earlier, I said Doctor Newton wanted this room brightened up, remember?"
Doctor Newton said, "What?" and Crow practically growled. "You said something, yeah."
"Good. Help me out here. I've got other rooms, and I can't be sure about this one. Did I say what color chairs or how many?’
“We didn’t talk about chairs, man. I don’t care what you do to the room.”
Garza stepped closer to Crow. “I mentioned a painting, too; where’d we say it went?”
Intense cold flowed outward from the pit of Crow’s stomach.
They tricked me. They want me to think there's something wrong in my head. I talked to Garza about dreams. Patricia.
But there was something else. When I'm gone. What?
Calmly, Crow said, “You may have mentioned it. I wasn’t paying attention.”
Doctor Newton’s speculative glance flicked between Garza and Crow. Garza went on, “I’m sure we talked about it. Remember...?”
"You’re trying to confuse me. I’m checking out. You can't stop me.”
Doctor Newton said, “I’ve arranged an ambulance to move you to Forks. We'll get you on a helicopter to Seattle. You need more detailed examination, Mr. Crow. You’re having a short-term memory problem. It's definitely cause for concern.”
“There's no problem. We're done.”
I know I can't remember. If I'm sane enough to know that, I must be okay. People forget things; that doesn't mean their head's broken.
How can you know something's true but not really remember it?
No shivering. Don’t let them see that.
“I can’t make you stay,” Doctor Newton said. “I warn you that leaving against medical advice puts you at serious risk. What if someone’s injured because of some misjudgment on your part? Your legal standing is zero.”
Crow brushed past them and into the hall. Almost shouting back into the room, he said. “You think we're all lunatics. You're saying if I'm in some fender-bender they're going to say I'm crazy and lock me up. You're supposed to be a doctor. You're supposed to heal people, not try to scare them.” He stopped to take a breath and pointed at Garza. “You ratted me out. Thanks. I thought maybe I could trust you.”
Face flaming, Garza started a retort. His mouth clamped shut. Just as Crow turned away again, Garza said, "Listen to me, dude. Here's the way this works. Don't do anything stupid and the concussion'll heal. But I think you're messing with PTSD. That don't go away, man. You don't kick it by yourself."
Crow sneered, kept going. Outside, a local guy in a pickup stopped to ask if he needed a lift. It was pure good luck and it convinced Crow he was right all along.
* * * * *
Sophia straightened up from the flower bed, trowel in hand, to watch the taxi approach. As it stopped, she pushed back the camouflaged jungle hat. Her eyes widened at the sight of a bandaged Crow unfolding from the back seat. When he turned and saw her she said, "They said you'd be flying to Seattle, now the weather's cleared. I'm glad you're better, Mr. Crow; we've been worried about you."
Crow waved off her concern with one hand and paid the driver with the other. Pocketing his change, he walked to meet her at the short white fence. He said, "Thanks for thinking of me, Mrs. Miles; sorry to cause you problems." He nodded in the direction of his parked trailer.
She smiled. "Call me Sophia. After what you did... You're family."
"Then you'll have to start calling me Crow. How're Amber and Jason?"
"Fine." Her eyes danced. "What you really want to know is how's Major, right?"
Crow grinned. "Showed that clearly, did it?"
"Like glass." She turned and called, "Amber? Come see who's here." Facing Crow again, she went on, "Do you mind waiting a second? I know she'd love to show you how she's fixed up a place for Major. She's taking good care of him."
"I don't mind at all. And I hope you all know how much I appreciate you looking out for him."
She sniffed. "Let's not get started on appreciation." Amber stepped out on the porch, saw Crow, and exploded in the beaming joy only children know. She raced down the steps at him. If he hadn't caught her and swung her up in the air her momentum probably would have bowled him over.
As it was, he nearly collapsed.
Smiling fixedly, hoping it wasn't a grimace, he lowered her. She clung to his side, telling him, "Major's getting better, he really is. He wouldn't eat at first, but Mommy and me sat with him and held out food in a spoon and he took some and then we gave him some milk and the doctor said..."
Sophia put a quieting hand on her daughter's head. "Why don't you go tell Major Crow's here? We shouldn't surprise him too much, should we?"
Amber nodded hard, then, to Crow, "The doctor said he shouldn't get excited. We made him a bed in the kitchen. He sleeps a lot. Daddy says he likes it there 'cause of all the food smells. I think he's just trying to get better. What...?
Sophia cut her off. "Now, sweetheart. Mr. Crow doesn't want to stand here waiting, okay?"
"Oh." Amber ran off.
Crow said, "I thought we dropped the Mister."
She gave him a look. "Not her. Not for a good many more years. But that's not why I sent her off. You're not really well, are you?"
"I'm fine. The kid surprised me, that's all."
"Then why are you bracing against my fence? You're pale as a ghost. I'm going to call Dr. Newton while you visit with Major."
Crow shook his head and cursed his weakness. Then Sophia's worried face blurred. Bright sunshine dimmed in his eyes but, perversely, he was suddenly oppressively hot. He bent his knees so he could plant both hands on the white pickets. He said, "I just... Some time alone," and slid to the ground.
Chapter 16
Martha looked up from the cash register and smiled at the dark man coming in the door. He had the air of someone on an errand, rather than someone ready to eat. And it was mid-afternoon, too early even for the early-to-dinner, early-to-bed bunch.
Garza reached her befo
re she made any progress figuring him out. He said, "My name's Hector Garza, ma'am. A friend of mine was in here a few days ago. At least I think he was. I'm looking for folks who know him."
Martha was apologetic. "We see a lot of people. If you have a picture...?
He fumbled at a shirt pocket. "For sure. And a receipt from here." He put them on the counter like credentials.
Martha stared down at Crow's bandaged head, his eyes closed, rugged features slack and pale in a hospital bed. She gasped. "What happened? "
"Concussion, ma'am. He's doing fine; don't worry. Full recovery's going to take time, though. I couldn't find any family, you know? I was hoping maybe someone here?"
He moved to retrieve the picture, not nearly quick enough. Martha snatched it. One finger lightly touched the bandage. "Poor Crow. Family? No, no one. Or if he does, I don't think he'll tell you. Just him and that big old ugly dog." A small smile touched her features. "What's your connection with him? Where is he? What happened? "
Garza described the accident. When he identified himself as a nurse, Martha nodded. "I figured, just listening to you - doctor or a nurse." She studied the picture again. All her years showed in her gaze. "I can't help you. Poor Crow. You're sure he'll get well?"
"In due time. That's the trouble. He can't stay with us and he won't go to the hospital in Seattle. He shouldn't be alone. I was hoping..."
Martha clapped, stopped him. "He's retired military. There's a VA hospital in Seattle. He can stay there. But the dog... I never thought to ask. Is Major all right? Please don't tell me Crow lost that dog. I don't know if the man could take that."
Garza said, "Major's getting better, too. He was hurt pretty badly." He explained about Crow's self-release from the clinic and the aftermath. He ended with a helpless gesture. "He could kill himself, ma'am. I got him to promise he'll stay at the Miles' until he's stronger, but I know he's going to take off in a couple days, no matter what."