Hideaway

by Hannah Alexander

  “Do you ever get over dyslexia?” he asked.

  “Maybe not completely. I still have problems with left and right coordination.”

  “You still have trouble? Old as you are?”

  “Watch it.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Usually I stay in control. When I’m stressed and in a hurry, letters come out funny, and my director complains all the time about my bad handwriting.”

  Blaze shook his head. “I can’t see myself being able to read enough to go to college. I can’t even see graduating high school, but I’ve got to get my driver’s license. Why are you wanting to do this for me? I’m not the only dyslexic in the world, you know.”

  “But you’re the only one in my world right now.”

  He was silent for a moment. “When do we get started on the real stuff?”

  “Come with me to the barn.”

  She had found a few carpentry tools last week, stacked in a box in the corner of the barn. This afternoon, while she waited for Blaze to arrive, she had spread the tools out on a makeshift table she had built of plywood atop two sawhorses.

  As she opened the barn’s great central doors and pulled them back to allow the sunlight in, she saw the look of mystification on Blaze’s face.

  “We’re going to build the alphabet,” she said.

  Blaze went immediately to the saw, hammer and nails on a rickety table. He strode over to a small stack of various sizes of wood and picked up a two-by-four. “How did you know I like to build things?”

  “Red mentioned it a couple of times. We’re going to go through the alphabet, one letter at a time, upper and lower case.”

  Blaze put down the two-by-four and picked up the saw.

  “We’ll start with the letter A. I’ll go get a pencil.” She started toward the house.

  “Cheyenne.”

  “Yes?” She turned back.

  Blaze watched her for a moment, looked away, cleared his throat. “Do you ever…I mean…what do you think about God?”

  “God?” Why was that subject always coming up lately?

  “Yeah. Do you believe in God?”

  She ambled back toward him. Since she’d railed at God that day on her roof, she’d realized that she did believe he existed, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to explore the subject. She still doubted the benevolence of this Deity, and her feelings toward Him were not exactly benevolent, either.

  “Do you?” she asked.

  “I believe because Dad did. This past year it’s been hard for me to even think about stuff like that, though, because I get so…mad.”

  “At God?”

  “Yeah. Not just God, though. It seems I get mad at everybody lately.”

  “I know that feeling, too.”

  “Dane told me the other day he was praying that I would learn to read.”

  “Do you think his prayer will be answered?”

  “Maybe. If it is, that means you’re part of God’s answer.”

  Some lines she’d learned in Sunday School years ago suddenly came into Cheyenne’s mind; “God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform.”

  Chapter Twenty

  After completing the interrogatories and returning them to Columbia, Cheyenne heard no more word about the lawsuit. She wasn’t naive enough to think the case was forgotten, but she liked to believe she had recovered from the shock of it. The nightmares were less frequent. If she could just remain in this place, in this little space of time, life would be good. She had plenty to keep her occupied here.

  While the buds of May bloomed into the lush green of June, Blaze proved to be a faithful student. As every day passed, Cheyenne felt the joy of watching him learn, and experienced, vicariously, the excitement of seeing a whole world of possibilities develop. When school ended for the summer, Blaze increased his time at Cheyenne’s.

  On the second Tuesday in June, he arrived later than usual, after a long weekend break. When he stepped on to the porch, the first thing Cheyenne noticed was that his black hair had been cut to within an inch of his scalp.

  She pushed open the screen door and stepped out. “Blaze! You cut your dreadlocks off?”

  There was no answering grin, no greeting. He didn’t even look at her, but turned and slumped onto the top step of the porch. “Cheyenne, I thought you said I was doing good.” There was accusation in his tone.

  “You are. You’re doing great. What does that have to do with your hair?” She sat down beside him and put a hand on his arm. He’d loved those dreadlocks.

  He drew away. “I thought I was doing everything right,” he said. “I even had Dane get a copy of my birth certificate, and I was studying the manual and I got all the hair cut off so I wouldn’t scare the people at the Motor Vehicle—”

  “You went to get your driver’s license?” Oh, no, Blaze. Too soon. Far too soon. “Why didn’t you tell me what you were planning?”

  “Same reason we don’t tell people what I’m doing here.”

  “But why keep it from me?”

  “Because you would have told me not to go yet.”

  “You’d better believe it.”

  His thick brows drew together. He looked down at his hands clasped between his knees. “Guess you would’ve been right. I would’ve passed the driving test fine, but I flunked the written before I could show them what I could do.”

  “Dane took you?”

  “He told me not to do it, but he took me when I asked.”

  “Why didn’t he tell me about it?”

  “I told him not to.”

  “You froze up?”

  “Okay, yeah, I froze up,” he muttered. “So rub it in. How much longer are you going to stick around Hideaway?”

  “I’m scheduled to go back to work in July.” The thought of returning to Columbia depressed her, but she couldn’t just hide out here forever. “I have the rest of this month.”

  Blaze groaned and closed his eyes. “That only gives us a couple more weeks.”

  “You have the rest of your life. You don’t need me in order to learn.”

  “Want to bet? Why didn’t I learn to read until you came along?”

  “Blaze, it isn’t as if I’m a lucky rabbit’s foot. You’ve broken through some kind of barrier, and you can do it yourself now. Let’s make the most of the time we have left. Did you bring your manual?”

  He shook his head. “There’s another reason I think I flunked.”

  “What’s that?”

  “My mother drove up to see me Sunday night, interrupted my study time.”

  “She did? Were you happy to see her?”

  He gave a soft snort. “Sure. You know, she has this special little tone in her voice when she asks me what my grades are in school.”

  “She drove all the way to the ranch to ask you about your grades?”

  “She wanted to apologize.”

  “For what?”

  “For sending me away.”

  Cheyenne studied his impassive expression. “Something tells me you didn’t forgive her.”

  “I told her I was happy here, and it was the best thing that could have happened to me. I want to stay here where I belong. Dane needs me on the ranch.”

  “Yes, but your own mother—”

  “Don’t even say it. Oh, hey, I brought you something.” He reached into the back pocket of his jeans. “Cecil called from the general store this morning, said a guy named Larry Strong wants you to call him.” He pulled a note from his pocket and handed it to her. “Dane wrote it all down.”

  She looked at the note in his hand, recognized Dane’s bold cursive. She didn’t want to read what it said.

  “Go ahead, it won’t bite. All it says is for you to call this Larry dude.”

  Apparently, the legal process was still in motion. Her idyllic interlude was coming to a close more swiftly than she had expected. That queasy feeling stole through her with familiar swiftness.

  “Dane said he’ll be over later with that paint you wanted fo
r the kitchen cabinets.” Blaze stood and strolled across the yard. “Want to tell me something? How come you’re trying to fix up this house when you aren’t going to live here? And why are you seeing Dane and Austin both, when you don’t act like you’re going to get close to either one of them—not that I think you should be friends with Austin, anyway.”

  “I’m painting the house for my own personal satisfaction, and because it belongs to a good friend who has allowed me to stay here for free.” It also helped her feel close to Susan. Cheyenne knew she didn’t have the creative flair her sister did, but after working with her on days off, she had picked up a basic feel for her own color preferences and combinations.

  “And Dane?” Blaze asked.

  “What about Dane?”

  “And Austin?”

  “He comes out here to check on Courage. Period.”

  “Might be period to you, but it probably isn’t to him.”

  “Let’s get to work. I’ll call Columbia while you’re practicing.” She stood up and headed for the barn.

  “Hold it,” Blaze said, catching up with her. “You didn’t say anything about Dane.”

  “There’s nothing to say. We’re friends who come from two completely different worlds.” She had enjoyed Dane’s company, and she was pretty sure he enjoyed hers. They had developed such a comfortable relationship in the past few weeks that there were times he could complete her sentences, and she his.

  “I guess your friends in Columbia miss you,” Blaze said, stepping ahead of her to open the barn door.

  Her friends in Columbia? Ardis had a husband and three grown kids. Jim and Louise kept busy with soccer practice and church activities and work. It was the same with her friends from outside the hospital. They might miss her, but she knew there was no empty spot in their lives because she was gone.

  “I guess they do,” she said. “Let’s get to work.”

  On Wednesday morning at ten o’clock, barely twenty-four hours after calling Larry Strong, Cheyenne found herself once more in Columbia.

  As soon as she walked into the conference room with Larry, she saw bald-headed Ed Burdock sitting at the end of the long, mahogany table, with papers spread around him in neat stacks.

  He stood as she entered, shook her hand, and smiled while conveying a sense of gravity. She felt immediately on edge.

  “We’re continuing with the discovery process,” Larry told her as she sat in the chair he held out for her. “Mr. Warden’s attorneys are pushing for a deposition date.”

  “First,” Ed said, “has anyone claiming to be a representative of the hospital, or of my law firm, contacted you in any way?”

  “No.”

  “Good. If anyone does so in the future, I want you to call Larry or me before you talk to them. You have the card with my number on it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Second, do you wish to obtain legal defense of your own choosing, at your own expense?”

  Cheyenne couldn’t conceal her surprise. “Why would I want to do that?”

  The two men exchanged a quick glance.

  “What’s going on?” Cheyenne asked.

  “You need to keep in mind that I’ve been retained by the hospital to represent you,” Ed said. “If the hospital decides the most expedient avenue of action is a settlement, then we will attempt to settle. If you disagree, you might want your own attorney on board at that time, but I must warn you that you would then assume the risk.”

  “Meaning I won’t be covered,” she said.

  “Yes, I’m sorry.”

  “So if they do convince the jury on a multimillion-dollar decision, I pay it myself.”

  “Remember a majority of cases are settled before trial, due to the exorbitant cost.”

  “I understand that, but I’m not guilty of malpractice. I don’t want to settle.”

  “We’ll continue to prepare,” Ed assured her. “But you do need to keep in mind that it’s a knee-jerk reaction for a jury to decide for the plaintiff if there’s been loss of life.”

  “But won’t they see—”

  “Mr. Warden’s attorneys will make sure there are no physicians, and no family members of physicians, on the jury. They’ll play hard on the jury’s sympathy. There are hundreds of ways to make you look bad—what you say will only account for about twenty percent of the final decision.”

  “So you’re saying the truth doesn’t mean diddly-squat?” She detested this whole process.

  “It always depends on the insight of the jury, of course,” Ed said, “but this is a gamble for both sides.”

  “I’m sorry, Cheyenne,” Larry added, “but the first priority of the hospital will be to keep costs down as much as possible so we can stay open and keep treating patients. With the health-care crisis we have on our hands, that’s getting harder and harder to do.”

  Cheyenne closed her eyes and sat back for a moment. “But with this case there’s an extenuating circumstance,” she said quietly. “Susan was my sister. If the jury is going to decide with their emotions, then my relationship with the patient should carry some weight.”

  “We’ve already made sure the plaintiff’s attorneys are aware of that,” Ed said.

  “So let’s get started on preparation.” Larry opened a notebook. “We believe Mr. Warden and his attorneys will focus on the fact that you failed to warn Susan about the danger of driving under the influence of the drug, so we’ll focus on that today. However, you need to reacquaint yourself with every aspect of the case, every word spoken, every procedure undertaken.”

  Cheyenne placed her arms on the table and leaned forward. “I’ve had nightmares about that day ever since it happened. I’ve gone over and over every little thing in my mind.”

  “Do it again,” Ed said.

  This was going to be a long meeting.

  Cheyenne was still smarting when she drove away from the hospital. Larry and Ed had both assured her this happened to the best physicians in the city, and if she continued working in the ER, sooner or later she could probably count on another lawsuit or two during her career.

  Depressing.

  She took Providence south to Nifong in the extreme southwest section of Columbia. For the first time since Susan’s death, Cheyenne approached the exclusive subdivision where Susan and Kirk had moved three years ago. She turned onto Red Cedar Circle and cruised past the huge, three-car garage, two story brick house where Susan once lived.

  Cheyenne had spent a lot of hours in that house when she’d helped Susan choose flooring and wallpaper, select fixtures. Susan had taught her a few new methods of texture painting, which she had found, to her relief, could be easily painted over when she became a little too enthusiastic with the brush.

  Susan’s spirited personality was reflected within the walls of that house, and Cheyenne longed to stroll through it again, remembering.

  When Susan had completed her work in the house, she’d used it as a showroom to display her talents. She had received so many new clients from the neighborhood and her church community that she had remained busy without advertising until the day of her death.

  Cheyenne parked half a block from the house, and walked to the front door. She steeled herself and rang the doorbell. It was after Susan and Kirk moved here that Cheyenne noticed a growing tension in their relationship, and an increased hostility from Kirk.

  It was also here that she and Susan began compiling a family album with pictures of their childhood.

  When the door opened, Cheyenne braced herself. Kirk’s tall form and broad shoulders shadowed the entryway. The squared features of his handsome face froze in momentary surprise, and then his gray eyes hardened.

  “Hello, Kirk.”

  “What are you doing here?” His voice held all the venom she remembered from the funeral.

  “I came to pick up the family album Susan and I were working on before she died.” Cheyenne didn’t ask to be invited in.

  “You don’t have any right to be here.” He ste
pped back and started to close the door.

  With a rush of frustration, she took a step forward and shoved it back. “I didn’t come here to violate any legal rules, I came here to collect property that belongs to my family. All I want is the album. It has a red cover—”

  “There isn’t any album here.”

  “But I left it here the last time Susan and I worked on it. She was going to buy some extra pages and have some old photos—”

  “Honey, who is it?” came a feminine voice from somewhere in the house.

  Cheyenne caught her breath and blinked up at Kirk.

  “My attorneys are going to hear about this,” he said as he shoved the door shut.

  Cheyenne stood on the bricked front porch, lips parted in astonishment, staring at the wood grain of the front door for a long moment. It wasn’t until a car breezed past on the street that she turned and walked away.

  The jerk was suing her for pain and suffering and loss of income, and he already had another woman? How long had she been in the picture? It sure didn’t take the poor, grieving widower long to overcome his disappointment.

  She got into the car and slammed the door, imagining Kirk’s head in the way, and then ashamed of herself for the feeling of satisfaction it gave her. As she turned the key in the ignition, she recalled where Susan had said she would be working that afternoon. Three houses to the west.

  Two minutes later Cheyenne found herself ringing another doorbell at another elegant home down the block. A frumpy-looking man in a business suit answered, smiling pleasantly.

  “Yes, can I help you?”

  “Hello, my name is Cheyenne Allison. I’m Susan Warden’s sister. I believe she was doing some interior design here.”

  As she spoke, the man’s smile gradually faded.

  “The day she died, she mentioned to me that she would be working here,” Cheyenne continued. “Is it possible…could I speak to the person who would have been here that day?”

  He was shaking his head before she finished. “I’m sorry, my wife isn’t home right now.” Nothing more. No explanation about why he had suddenly shut down when he discovered who she was. A friend of Kirk’s, perhaps?