McKain's Dilemma

by Williamson, Chet

  A half smile formed on her face. "I didn't know why you wanted to go out tonight. I thought maybe you'd . . . found out something."

  I felt suddenly cold, though the night was mild. "You mean you thought I had good news."

  "Yes."

  "No," I said. "Nothing special."

  "But there's been no sign of recurrence, has there?"

  "No." I smiled, but from the expression on Ev's face, she read it as a smirk.

  "You act like you want there to be one."

  "I'm just . . . tired of waiting. Sick of the expectation."

  She stood up and walked across the room. "Why do you want to die, Mac?"

  "I don't want to die, Ev."

  "Yes, I think you do. Sometimes I think you can't wait, that if you could, you'd goose those little cells into coming back stronger than ever." Her voice was tight and pinched, and she sounded as though she might begin to cry. When she turned around, tears were gleaming in her eyes like diamonds. "I thought that tonight, when you wanted to go out, that maybe something special had happened, that maybe this damned nightmare was over, and I could stop . . ."

  "Stop what?" I asked quietly.

  "Stop worrying, stop thinking about everything all the time, stop . . . just stop worrying."

  I hadn't wanted it to be like this. I had wanted the evening to be fun, relaxing, like old times, because the old times were going and would never come again, and because I was getting ready for something that would come much sooner than I expected.

  "Maybe you'd be better off," I said haltingly, "maybe we'd all be better off . . . if we weren't together anymore."

  "No," she said. "Don't say that. I won't leave you. Not now."

  "Because I'm dying?"

  She didn't deny it. She faced me and admitted it. "That's part of it."

  "I don't want you to feel guilty."

  "God damn it, I don't feel guilty!"

  "Then . . . not out of duty . . ."

  "I love you, Mac!" She crossed her arms tightly, as if holding something inside of her. "I love you, goddammit, I don't know why, it would be so much easier if I didn't, but I still do. I can't leave you when I love you."

  "Then maybe you should stop loving me." It was the hardest thing I ever had to say.

  "I can't." There was a deep sadness in her eyes. "I tried. I can't."

  "Ev. . ." I sat there, shaking my head. "Oh, Ev, just leave me, walk out, just take Carlie and walk out. Or I'll go, I'll get a room somewhere, and an office . . ."

  She started to cry then. She stood there holding herself, letting the sobs shake her shoulders, compressing her lips to a thin line, squeezing tears from her eyes, taking long and shuddering breaths when she had to. Everything in me wanted to stand up and hold her, but I didn't. "Don't you do that," she said raggedly. "You bastard, don't you dare do that to me now, not now. Don't you walk away from me now."

  "Ev, you've got to build a new life—"

  "I don't want to . . ."

  "You have to. For your own sake and Carlie's—"

  "Oh, shut up, shut up, for Christ's sake! Can't you just take something from me? Can't you just stop trying to be so fucking noble and macho and giving? I'm trying to give you something, I've been trying to give you something for over a year now, and you won't take it, and how the hell do you think that makes me feel? How, Mac?"

  "Ev, I . . . I don't want pity."

  "I don't want to give you pity, you idiot! I want to love you, and I want you to love me like you used to. You may die, and if you do, you do, and I'll cope with it. But what I want you to do now is stop dying every fucking day! When it's time, I'll deal with it, I will. But don't let me see you die every time I see your face. I can stand your death, Mac, God knows how, but I can stand it. What I can't stand is to see you die over and over and over again. And that's what I've had to do every day. And I can't anymore, I just can't."

  From the way she looked at me, I knew she had told me the truth. I knew that she loved me.

  "But I can't leave you," she whispered, her arms falling to her side. "I still can't do that."

  I got up and went over to her. "I'm sorry, Ev. I'm sorry for everything. I didn't want to be like this, to act like this. But I guess I'm not as good or as brave as I thought I was. I thought . . . you didn't love me because I hoped you didn't love me, because then it would be easier when I wasn't here."

  Not touching me, she looked up at my face. "And I tried the same thing. I guess I'm not as brave as I thought I was either." She looked away. "Or as good."

  I didn't say a thing. If she wanted to tell me, fine, but I hoped she wouldn't. It was like the cancer before I learned the results of the tests. I knew, all right, but I didn't want to be sure. "I'm sorry I've made it so hard for you."

  "Stop being sorry," she told me. "You couldn't help getting sick."

  "No. But there were a lot of things I could have helped."

  Her look softened. I had never seen her more vulnerable. "Will you take me to bed?" she said.

  I hadn't expected that, and it surprised me for a moment. But I knew that I could give her what she needed to have from me, and I knew that I needed her too. "Yes," I said, "I will. I do love you. Very much. No matter what."

  I started to move toward her then, to take her in my arms and kiss her. But suddenly there came two sounds in such rapid succession that the ear could scarcely separate them. The first was the crack of broken glass, the second a hard, dull sound I had never heard before, and I saw Ev wrenched away from me by an unseen hand, her left arm jerking like a marionette's. At the same time a spot of vibrant red appeared on her white blouse.

  I stood in shock until another bullet cracked through the front window and spat against the wall, shattering the glass over our family portrait. Then I dropped to the rug and rolled toward the floor lamp, grabbed the cord, and yanked it out of the wall so that the room went dark.

  Outside there was the growl of a car engine and the scream of tires pulling into the street. As the sound died away I could hear Ev sobbing in the blackness, and I crawled over to her, asking in a frenzied litany, "Ev, are you all right, are you all right, are you all right? . . ." My hands found her in the dark, unknowingly touched her shoulder where she had been shot, and she gave a stifled gasp of pain.

  Just as I withdrew my hand, the ceiling light came on, and I turned and saw Carlie in the doorway, blinking against the sudden glare. "I heard that noise," she said, and then saw the patch of red that had blossomed on her mother's shoulder, heard her mother's moans of agony. "Mommy!" she cried, but did not move, looking at me, looking at Ev, afraid to think about what had caused this strange event.

  "Lie down!" I barked. She trembled in indecision for a moment, then did what I asked. Ev continued to moan. There was a lot of blood now, and I knew I had to get an ambulance fast. I jumped up, ran to the light switch, and snapped it off, then crossed the room to the window and looked out.

  The car was gone. Across the street the Brandons were standing in their front doorway, their porch light on, looking up and down the road, then across at our house. "Turn on the light, Carlie," I said, then grabbed a soft cushion from the couch and ran back to Ev. "Carlie. Hold this against Mommy's shoulder. Don't be afraid to push hard, hard as you can . . ."

  "Daddy, I . . ."

  "Come on! Push on it . . . that's the girl . . . we've got to keep the blood in. You keep pushing, I'll call the hospital."

  She pushed and cried, cried and pushed. Ev had stopped moaning, and I thought she had gone into shock.

  I ran into the kitchen and called the 911 emergency number. They arrived in less than fifteen minutes, but it seemed far longer. From all the thoughts that crowded my brain, it seemed as if I had hours to think. So, between soothing Carlie, comforting Ev, and trying to stop the bleeding that had now slowed considerably, I thought about how much I loved them both and didn't want to lose them; I thought about Carlton Runnells; I thought about Michael Eshleman—especially about Michael Eshleman taking a
shot at Christopher Townes as he came out of his apartment building; and I thought about what I was going to do about this.

  But with all these concerns, I was struck most by the irony of the situation. For months the concern had been with my death, mine, and now here I was, holding my wife in my arms, praying that she hadn't lost too much blood, praying that she wouldn't die. I could feel a bitter, coppery taste in my mouth as I realized how unpredictable life and death were, realized that nothing was certain, nothing was sure, nothing could be depended on.

  Then I felt Carlie's hand touch my own as I knelt beside Ev, and the bitter taste faded, and I knew that there was still something that could be counted on, even though I had tried to throw it away.

  The ambulance arrived, and, a minute later, the police. I had my story ready. While the medics patched up Ev and got her on the stretcher, I told the two officers that we'd had a good bit of vandalism that spring, which was true, and which they already knew. There had been mailboxes smashed with baseball bats, tires punctured, lawns driven over—asshole things, no burglaries, rapes, or murders, just the usual kind of things that happen in spring in the suburbs when kids get too many beers in them. So it was not unreasonable to assume that a few of these rowdies might get their dutch courage up enough to do something truly moronic, like take a potshot through a citizen's window.

  Yes, Mr. McKain, but do you have any reason to think that anyone might be holding a grudge against you personally? Why no, not that I know of. But you are a private detective, aren't you? Well, I'm an investigator, yes, but I do mostly domestic cases, and . . . Couldn't an angry husband have it in for you or something? Gee, officer, I don't really think so, no one really comes to mind at all—oh, can we talk about this later? I really want to be with my wife now . . .

  And I did.

  I drove to Lancaster General with her in the ambulance, leaving Carlie with the Brandons, and a promise to be back as soon as I could. Ev and I didn't talk at all until we got to the hospital. She just looked at me with something strange in her eyes, something beyond shock, as if she knew that I was responsible for what had happened, and she feared me because of it. The technician beside me kept smiling and nodding, and telling us that everything looked good and that it all would be all right. I believed him as far as Ev's shoulder wound went. As for the other wounds, at least I could hope. I could do that much now.

  When we arrived at the hospital, I stayed with her and refused to leave even when the doctor insisted. Finally, after he threatened to have me removed, I went into the lobby, not very graciously. They were finished with her in a half-hour, and I learned to my relief that the wound was not serious, and that, although they wanted her to spend the night, she could go home the following afternoon.

  It was good news, but the last thing I wanted her to do was go home. Home was where Carlton Runnells knew I lived and Ev lived and Carlie lived, and I didn't want him to get another shot at either of them. All I could think about was what if the bastards had killed Ev, or killed Carlie? What if, in trying to shut me up, they had shut up one of my ladies? If they wanted to play their game with me, that was one thing—death was waiting for me anyway. But not for my family. No.

  I had to do something, but my options were limited. Going to the police was the obvious thing, but that still left me with the problem I'd had before: Why didn't you come to us sooner, Mr. McKain? Why did you keep this quiet for, what is it, almost a year? I didn't think my answers would satisfy them.

  I knew that the first thing I had to do was to get Ev and Carlie somewhere safe, so before I went back in to see her, I hit a phone booth, called Amtrak, and made a reservation for the two of them to go to Williamsport, where Ev's mother lived. Then I went up to the room they'd put Ev in. Her roommate looked comatose, with eyes closed and tubes up her nose, so I figured it was safe to talk.

  "Hi," I said. Good start. She didn't reply, so I went on. "Doctor says you're going to be all right. You can leave tomorrow."

  She nodded. "I know. He told me." She was still looking at me funny. Though she didn't make the invitation, I sat down.

  "I got you train tickets to your mom's. You and Carlie. I want you out of town for a while."

  "What have you been doing, Mac?" Her voice was sad.

  "Doing?"

  "All the secrets. The things you haven't told me. Is it a case? Is that it? Is that what"—she looked down at the bandage covering her shoulder—"this is all about?"

  "Yeah. I think somebody's trying to kill me."

  She looked very confused. "Why?"

  "It's a long story. It's something I got involved in too deep." I tried to smile at her, and made a pretty good job of it. "But I'm going to be out of it soon. I just need you out of town for a few days."

  "No, I'm not going until—"

  "I don't want you hurt—"

  "Not until you tell me what this is—"

  "Or Carlie hurt."

  "I'm not going, Mac."

  Her jaw was tight. Mine was tighter. "Yes you are. I'm going home now and pack for you. In the morning I'll bring Carlie here and pick you up and put you both on the train. I'll make all the arrangements with the schools, and you can come back in a few days, after I get this all straightened out." She began to talk, but I stopped her. "I'm not going to argue about this, Ev. I'll tell you everything later, but not now. You're going to do what I've told you."

  "The hell I am," she said in a low, hard voice. "It stops now, Mac. I want to know now. Not later. Now." I looked at her for a while, then stood up and looked around the curtain that divided the room in two. The other patient was sleeping deeply, if the snores could be trusted. I sat back down then and told her what she wanted to hear, what I had wanted to tell someone for a long time. And after I finished, after I told her about Runnells and Townes and the truths and lies I was juggling, I knew that she was the one I'd needed to tell it to all along, no one else.

  "What are you going to do?" she asked me when I finished.

  "I'm not . . . completely sure. Make sure you're safe, you and Carlie. You're what's most important. Then I've got to try and find out if it's definitely Runnells, and if he's still after me."

  "Who else could it be?"

  "No one." I sighed. "Maybe I'll try to talk to him, call him off."

  "You don't want to do that, do you?"

  "No. I don't."

  "What do you want, Mac?"

  I took her hand and looked into her eyes. "I want to see him pay for it. For what he did to Townes, and to his wife, and to you."

  "Don't forget about yourself. You're not unscathed."

  "I know."

  She licked her lips and squeezed my hand. "You do what you have to. I don't know what to tell you, what to say. If I can help . . ."

  "Talking was a help. Believe me."

  She drew me to her and I hugged her, being careful not to touch her shoulder. "I wish you would have talked to me before."

  "I wish I would have too." She felt warm and good, and her cheek was soft against mine. "I really do love you, Ev."

  "And I love you," she whispered in my ear. Then she looked at me. "No more talk of leaving, Mac."

  "No. I promise."

  "We'll go to my mother's," she said, "for as long as it takes for you to do what you have to. And when we come home, we'll be together. But whatever you do, be careful, Mac. Remember, you're not an outlaw. You're not a hired gun. Take care of yourself."

  "I've never shot anybody, Ev. I don't intend to start now."

  It was the only lie I told her.

  Chapter 14

  I called a cab to take me home, and arrived at the Brandons' to get Carlie sometime after midnight. They were all still awake, and Carlie's face was red from crying. I told her—and Ted and Judy Brandon, who hung on every word—that her mom would be all right, and that we could go home now. Ted and Judy were full of questions, but I told them that I didn't know any more than they did, and thanked them for watching Carlie.

  Back home, th
ere was still a policeman in the house. After he told me that all the measurements had been made and the clues assembled (that's how he phrased it, honest to God), he asked me if I wanted him to hang around. I declined the offer. I put Carlie to bed, then turned on all the outside lights around the house, intending to leave them on till morning. I was packing a suitcase for Ev when I heard my daughter calling me.

  "What is it, honey?" I asked from her doorway.

  "Why did that man shoot?"

  "I don't know, babe." I lied to her. I had to. There was no way she could have understood it all, and if she had, she would have been terrified. In retrospect, however, I suppose she would have been less scared if she had known there was a reason for it rather than thinking of it as a purely random act. Which was worse, to live in a world where people fired guns through windows for fun, or to live in a world with Carlton Runnells? I wasn't sure myself. It didn't matter. We have both kinds, and a lot worse.

  "Will it happen again?"

  "No. No, it won't."

  "Is that why Mommy and me are going to Grandma's?"

  "Sort of. I just want to make sure everything's all right. Now don't worry anymore about it. Mommy's fine, and nothing's going to happen tonight. You go to sleep, okay?"

  "Okay."

  And she did.

  In the morning I got her packed—clothes, books, Speak & Spell, a case of Legos—and we drove to the hospital. Ev and Carlie were very glad to see each other. I suspect that Carlie might not have believed me when I told her Ev was all right, and seeing the physical evidence of her mother's well-being made her day.

  Ev looked good if a bit pale. Her shoulder was wrapped in bandages, but she was wearing no sling. The bullet had taken her in the upper part of the shoulder, and had ricocheted off the clavicle without breaking it, which was about as lucky as you could get. She'd lost, the doctor claimed, very little blood, though if you'd asked me the night before, I would've sworn we'd soaked up a gallon's worth. Still, here she was smiling. A very lucky lady.

  While a nurse wheeled Ev to the door, I brought the car up the ramp to pick her up. All the time I was driving, I was looking for a tail, for my friends who'd left their lead calling card the night before. So far I hadn't spotted anything out of the ordinary, but then, Runnells and Eshleman couldn't have been expected to keep me under twenty-four-hour surveillance. I mean, they weren't professional like me.