“Your husband should be out of surgery in about an hour,” the nurse said, and gave her a practiced confident smile. “They’re closing up now. He’s stable and came through the procedures very well.
“When can I see him?”
“You’ll be able to see him once he’s settled in the O.R.”
“What about his leg?”
“Dr. Halston – your husband’s orthopedic surgeon – will speak with you when he gets out. Don’t worry, Mrs. Gunner. Your husband was in good hands. He had the best surgeons in their fields.”
“Yeah, Gun’s the best in his field too, and look what happened to him,” Don mumbled under his breath, but Shelby had no problem hearing and neither did the nurse. She glared at him in disapproval.
Shelby tugged at Don’s coat sleeve and inched him away from the desk before he got himself into deeper trouble. “Donny, could you go find me some coffee,” she said, not because she really wanted any but just to keep him busy and out of her hair. She’d prefer to talk to the doctors alone for the first time.
“Sure, Shel. Want anything else? A donut? Candy bar?” He started backing away, clearly happy to have a job to perform. Waiting wasn’t his strong suit.
She smiled. “No thanks. Just coffee. Oh, and maybe something to read.”
“I’ll have to go down to the cafeteria.” He pointed across the crowded room. “The machine over there isn’t working. I tried it earlier.”
“Actually, there’s a Caribou right across the street. Maybe you could try that,” she suggested, with an innocent lift of her brows.
“Even better.”
When he was out of sight, she breathed a sigh of relief. The man drained her energy like a faulty cell phone charger. He meant well, but as her grumpy Uncle Toby used to say, the streets of hell are paved by well-meaning people, and nobody needs streets in hell.
“Mrs. Gunner?”
She turned around and met the gentle gaze of a dark-haired man wearing scrubs. He held out his hand. “I’m Dr. Halston. Your husband’s orthopedic surgeon. Dr. Stevens is still finishing up.”
“How is he?” she asked, releasing his hand.
“He’s doing great under the circumstances. The femur was broken and splintered by the trajectory of the bullet. I had to insert a rod and nail to hold it in place. Dr. Stevens removed the bullet and repaired the damage to the muscle and ligament. Your husband was very lucky, Mrs. Gunner. The bullet’s path was a hair away from rupturing his femoral artery.”
She released the breath she’d been holding and nodded. “So he’ll be as good as new,” she said, a hopeful statement more than a question.
The doctor tugged absently at the surgical mask still hanging loose around his neck and cleared his throat. “Your husband has months of rehabilitation ahead of him. Surgical fixation of the femoral shaft fracture is only the beginning. Without hard work and physical therapy, there can be many problems down the road.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Lack of range of motion, knee and hip pain, quadriceps femoris muscle weakness, trochanteric bursitis, decreased function in respect to gait and walking endurance…”
She lifted a hand, palm out for him to stop. “I get that, but after all the rehabilitation, he will be back to normal, won’t he?”
“His prognosis is good. He’s young and in good shape physically. But there’s no guarantee. When it comes to something as severe as a broken femur, plus add in the soft tissue injury trauma he sustained, we could be talking a year’s worth of physical therapy and rehabilitation, possibly longer. I suggest getting him into a program as soon as possible. Immediate weight bearing with early strengthening activities will result in quicker functionality and decreased disability.”
“Decreased disability? You mean he could be disabled from the police force?”
“Let’s not worry about that right now, Mrs. Gunner,” he said, putting a hand lightly on her shoulder. “You need to focus on your husband’s immediate recovery. If you go in there stressed about the future, he’ll spot it right away. You and your husband need to take one day at a time. Okay?”
Shelby bit her bottom lip and nodded. “I understand. It’s just that being a detective is like…” she paused searching for words, “flying to my husband.”
“Well, let’s get him up and walking again first.” He returned her smile, then stifled a yawn with the palm of his hand. “I’m sorry. I’ve been up all night. Luckily, I hadn’t yet left the hospital when your husband was brought into ER.”
“Thank you for staying, Doctor. They assured me Blake was in the best of hands.”
“It’s not every day I get a gunshot patient. Makes things interesting,” he said cheerfully as though Blake getting shot had been the highlight of his day. “I expect I’ll see you tomorrow when I come by to check up on my patient. I’m going to head home now for a few hours of sleep.”
By the time Donny arrived with her coffee and a Hollywood gossip magazine under his arm, she’d already talked with the other surgeon and was waiting for the okay to visit Blake in recovery.
“You won’t believe how much they wanted for a stupid magazine in that gift shop downstairs,” he griped. “You’d think they walked all the way to China for ‘em. I ended up buying this one at a drug store four blocks away.” He held it out like a prize catch at the fishing opener.
“Thanks, Donny. That’s sweet of you.” She took the magazine and cup of coffee he offered. Even with the cardboard heat protector around the paper cup, it was still hot to the touch. She blew lightly through the plastic lid opening before taking a tentative sip. “By the way, I spoke with one of the surgeons. Blake is heading into recovery now, so we should be able to see him soon.”
“That’s great!” A quick flash of worry creased his brow. “I was starting to wonder if…” He shook his head. “No worries, right? Gun’ll be up and back on the job in no time.”
Shelby didn’t have the heart to refute him, and she was a little concerned that he’d go in to see Blake and drop the information like a bad news bomb. So she didn’t say anything at all.
Chapter Three
One year later
Shelby heard the garage door go up and the sound of Blake’s Bronco pulling in. She’d been waiting over two hours for some word from her husband, until she realized he’d left his cell phone on the bathroom vanity. There would be no celebratory text.
She turned back to the sink full of dishes and lukewarm water that had long since lost its sudsiness, and waited for Blake to come through the door. One glimpse of his face and she would know whether his meeting with the Chief of Police had been what he’d hoped for.
The door opened, and she heard his cane tap the floor as he stepped up over the threshold. Some days he relied heavily on the cane, especially when he was tired. He’d wanted to leave it home today, but she’d insisted he take it in the truck with him, just in case.
She forced a bright smile and turned to greet him. “Hey, babe! How’d it go?”
He looked exhausted. After going cold turkey from his pain meds a couple months back, he hadn’t been sleeping as well. Lines had taken up residence around his mouth and eyes. She bit her bottom lip and waited as he pulled a chair out from the dinner table and sat heavily, stretching his leg straight in front of him. He dropped the cane on the tabletop and sighed. “The Chief patted me on the back, metaphorically, told me I’d always have a job there if I wanted to put my skills behind a desk, but knowing that I wouldn’t, he wished me all the best.”
Shelby moved to his side and knelt down to massage his leg where the muscles always knotted after a stressful day. “Maybe you should give it a try,” she suggested tentatively, not for the first time. “At least you’d be involved in law enforcement and…”
He shook his head before she could finish the thought. “That’s not law enforcement. That’s a glorified receptionist. I’d be a fifth wheel even then. The other cops don’t want me around as a reminder how a stray bullet can end their career.” Sarcasm ting
ed his words more than usual. “I might as well have been shot dead. It’d be easier for everyone. They could’ve given me a medal posthumously, drank a toast to their fallen comrade, and promised to make my death count for something.”
“Don’t ever say that!” She clasped his hands and made him look her in the eye. “I couldn’t bear to lose you, Blake. You’ll find something you love to do again. You’re getting stronger every day. I have faith that…”
“Faith isn’t going to make my leg what it was before the shooting, Shel. If it could, you would have cured me by now.” He cupped her face with his hands, a sad smile turning up the corner of his mouth. “I’ve been working as hard as I can for the past year. You know that, because you’ve been there every faltering step of the way. This is as good as it’s ever going to get. I’ve come to terms with it. So should you.”
“But…”
He placed a finger over her lips. “No buts. We need to make some decisions.”
“About what?”
“Our future.”
Shelby felt her heart speed up. She’d heard of cops getting divorced after a shooting. The stress of living with the fear of it happening again, or unable to cope with… What was Blake suggesting?
He gave a short laugh. “Would you stop being so melodramatic? I can see your wheels spinning. You’ve obviously got a very depressing monologue going on in that head of yours.”
“You’re scaring me. Why do we need to decide our future right this minute?” She crossed her arms. “I won’t give you a divorce, so you might as well not even ask.”
He slowly stood up to face her, a twinkle in his eyes. “You do know this is a no contest divorce state, right?”
She refused to answer, just pressed her lips tight and blew an angry breath through her nostrils.
He chuckled again and put a finger under her chin. “The future is nothing to be scared about, Shel. I only want to discuss an idea I’ve had for a while. Since my reinstatement as a detective is no longer an option, I want to show you something.” He slid a folded sheet of paper from the inside breast pocket of his leather bomber jacket and opened it up.
“Real estate? You want to buy property in Michigan? Whatever for?” she asked, before she recognized the name of his hometown. “Port Scuttlebutt? Really?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t been back for years, but it’s a great place to raise a family and…”
“Family? Are you pregnant?”
“Not yet, but I’m working on it.”
“Really?” Shelby moved close and slid her arms around him, lifting her face to his. “Show me.”
“This isn’t the show me state. It’s the land of ten thousand lakes.”
“Yeah? Well I’m going to push you into one if you don’t make love to me right now.”
<<>>
“You’re kidding me,” Don said, scratching at a whiskered cheek. Blake had already dropped the bomb about his resignation from the police department and now was sharing their tentative plans to move out of the city. Don leaned back in his chair, his glance sliding from Blake to Shelby and back again. “You’re gonna move out to the northern tip of freaking nowhere just because the chief didn’t put you back on full duty yet? Give it time, partner. It’s gonna happen.”
“It’s not going to happen. Ever,” Blake said, with a shake of his head. He lifted his mug and took a long swallow of beer before continuing in a lighter tone of voice. “So instead of sitting at a desk for the rest of my career, Shel and I have been thinking about making some changes. This isn’t set in stone. We haven’t made an offer or anything. We’re just driving out there over the weekend to check things out.”
Shelby had known this would be hard on both men. They’d been partners for over six years. A bond like that was sometimes stronger than marriage. Saying goodbye to his partner was probably the hardest thing Blake had ever done. Feeling slightly guilty about that, she offered Don the plate of brownies she’d baked to help soften the blow.
He shook his head, barely acknowledging the proffered dessert, and dropped the front legs of the kitchen chair down on the tile floor with a thump. He poked the real estate ad with his index finger, sliding it back across the table toward Blake. “That is totally crazy! What the heck do you know about hospitality services?”
“Trust me,” Shelby said with a wry twist of her lips, “he knows nothing about hospitality. But I played a maid in the stage production of The Remains of the Day a few years back, so…”
Apparently her attempt to lighten the mood was not working. Don sat there, elbows on the table, glaring at Blake like a five-year-old in a staring contest. The big man, usually so good-natured and goofy, sure could turn on a dime. No wonder Blake said his partner made bad guys sweat bullets in the interrogation room.
Blake blew out a breath. “Look, I wish things were different. You’re like a brother to me – a weirdo brother that you keep locked up in a psych ward – but a brother. I hate the thought of never working with you again. Although, to be truthful, I won’t miss our stakeouts. Your car smells like stale pepperoni and sour milk.”
“Hey! That cuts to the core,” Don said, relenting his position as a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Least I won’t have to hear any more of your interminable bragging.”
“Bragging? All my stories are completely true. Ask Shelby.”
“Don’t look at me.” She threw up her hands in defense. “I’ve heard the wife cannot be made to testify against her husband in a court of law.”
“This ain’t no court,” they stated in unison and did a high-five across the table like two musketeers, “but we’re the long arm of the law!” It was obviously an old joke, and they laughed heartily.
With all these new plans in motion, Shelby felt both excited and nauseous. Sort of like the opening night of a new play or the first day of school. Her father taught her to always be prepared, practice makes perfect, and never waste a good bottle of liquor by pouring it down the drain. Well, that last one was more about anger than teaching a lesson. But it was the last time she’d tried to stop him from drinking by managing his supply. So really he’d taught her that you couldn’t make someone want what’s good for them. You can only hope and pray they want it for themselves.
She knew Blake was ready for change, had finally come to terms with his less than perfect mobility, but leaving the cop side of him behind was something he might never be able to do. It was who he was and had always been. She was pretty sure he’d been born a cop. She hoped and prayed he found a way to reconcile his old self with his new life without turning into a shell of a man like her father had.
Don lifted his beer. “To the best partner I’ve ever been assigned to. Hopefully next time, they’ll let me do the choosing. Good luck out there in the big woods. I hear the bears are as thick as thieves.” He grinned at his own joke and clinked his mug against Blake’s.
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Blake said. “It’s a cop paradise. Hunting. Fishing. Boating. Camping. Perfect little spot for a relaxing vacation, right? And I’ll be there 24/7.”
“Sounds great. I might have to stop by some weekend and drop a line in the lake. I used to fish back when I was a boy.”
“For you, partner, I’ll keep the bug light on. You’ll always be welcome.”
What was in theory had suddenly taken on flesh and bone. Shelby listened to the bantering back and forth and wondered if living in a tiny town in the Upper Peninsula would be less depressing than her childhood years living in the iron range of Minnesota with her father–once a top-tier literature professor–doomed to teach grammar to pimply-faced high school students more interested in rapper slang than Shakespeare’s sonnets.
“What do you say, babe?” Blake asked, snapping his fingers to get her attention.
“Hmm?” She swept the memories back into the dark corners of her mind and turned a practiced smile on the men. “Sorry. I blanked out for a minute there. Are you still talking about fishing? Because sitting
in a boat for hours on end, not talking, waiting for a scaly creature to be hungry enough to eat a slimy worm, does not sound like fun to me.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Actually, we’d moved on to what’s for dinner? You want to go out or call for pizza?”
“Yup, you better make the most of civilization while you still can,” Don teased. “From what I gather, they’ve never even heard of fast food or delivery up there. It’s old school all the way. If you can’t gut it, skin it, or scale it, you don’t eat it.”
“Donny, I do believe you have the heart of a poet.”
“Thanks. That’s high praise coming from a girl who quotes dead literature all day.”
She ignored the jibe and stood up to clear the plate of brownies and empty mugs from the table. There was no use getting into an argument about the importance of Shakespeare in the literacy of the modern world. Don wouldn’t get it anyway. Her father would have quoted from Shakespeare’s Troilus and Cressida for such an occasion, ‘The common curse of mankind – folly and ignorance,’ but she had no interest in belittling him. He did that often enough himself. Unlike her father, embittered by life’s disappointments, she believed that knowledge should be used to bring people together, not bring them down to their baser selves. “You two decide. Either is fine with me.”
Blake reached out to touch her arm as she passed. “You okay?” he asked. His eyes narrowed with concern. He always seemed to know when she was slipping into a funk. Sometimes even before she did. Pollyanna she was not.
“Of course.” She moved into the kitchen and set the mugs on the counter. Her father’s words the day she graduated from high school rang in her head. Only he would think a line from Macbeth appropriate to send a young girl off into the world. ‘Yet do I fear thy nature. It is too full of the milk of human kindness.’ Her father was not a cruel man, he just played a cruel man from time to time as though to show her that life was not all about being compared to a summer’s day. Something she often longed for. But since Blake’s shooting, she’d been quite cognizant of the harsher side of life.
Roadkill (Double Barrel Mysteries Book 1) Page 3