by Brad Munson
The bizarre storm rumbled and hissed outside the hospital room’s picture window. Lisa’s eyes flickered to the glass, then back to Ken. “I thought you said it never rains here.”
He would have sworn he heard something almost accusatory in her tone. “It doesn’t,” he said. “Usually. This whole thing seems to be some bizarre mountain-shadow effect. That’s…”
He could see the flatness in her eyes. She didn’t care. It didn’t matter. The word died in his mouth.
This isn’t what we should be talking about, he told himself. He knew they should be talking about important things: Rose's recovery, Ken's dead brother, his problems with the contract, or Lisa's own money troubles. But he couldn’t get any of it out. He didn’t even know where to start.
“Hey there,” a new voice said from the doorway. They all turned towards it with palpable relief. Things had suddenly become very complicated. “Hey….”
He was far too young; in his late twenties, blond and handsome in a weary, unconscious way, with a very short haircut and an open, unguarded smile. He looked more like a frat boy than an ER physician. He took Lisa’s free hand in his own.
“I’m Geoff Chamberlain,” he said. “We’ve met before, but you were unconscious at the time.”
“How many women have you swept off your feet with that line?” Lisa asked.
The doctor grinned. “Maybe I do need some fresh material,” he said. “Anyway, I don’t want you to worry. We did every test we could think of, and you passed ‘em all. Looks like you’ve got a mild concussion, a dandy little contusion right above your hairline, and a badly strained right wrist.” He looked up from his notes. “Let me guess, the Mommy Sweep?” He threw his right arm out to the side and kept it there, as if holding back an invisible attacker.
“Guilty,” Lisa said, smiling at him. Rose had to admit it: he was cute.
“It defies all the laws of physics, you know,” he said. “But I don’t blame you one bit.” He glanced at Rose who was standing to one side, arms folded, looking him up and down very skeptically. “I mean, look who you were trying to protect.”
Ken gave him a killing look. “She’s sixteen,” he said.
Rose wanted to die.
Dr. Chamberlain held up a hand as he went back to his notes. “Just being understanding,” he said, grinning again. “Part of the bedside manner.” He looked back at Lisa, a little more seriously this time. “Head injuries can be tricky, Ms. Mackie…”
Rose could see her starting to correct him, to say “Corman,” … but she let it go. And what is that all about? she asked herself.
“… and since we’ve got the space, like we usually do, I’d like to keep you here overnight for observation. Insurance will cover it. I already checked.”
Lisa frowned. “Really, Doctor, I’d like to get out of here.”
“I’m sure you would,” Dr. Chamberlain said gently. “So would I. I’m off duty in about half an hour, and under normal circumstances, I’d be happy to take you all out for a drin…” he looked at the pretty sixteen-year-old again, then at her glowering father. “…for dinner. At Denny’s. The one with the kids menus.” Then, back to Lisa: “But seriously: let’s not mess with it. You got a pretty mean bump, and there’s no reason not to get a good night’s sleep right here. We’ll release you in the morning, and then none of us have to worry.”
Lisa looked at Ken and Rose. They both nodded severely. “Okay,” she relented. “One night.”
There was a knock at the door and they all looked up to see an impressive-looking blond man in a crisp khaki uniform. He was standinginside the doorframe with his peaked hat in his hand. Bo Cameron was standing a respectful distance behind him with the oddest expression on his face: he looked wary, almost afraid.
“Ma’am?” the crew cut blond cop said, his voice a pleasant and carefully modulated bass. “I’m Sheriff Donald Peck. I was wondering if I could speak to you for a moment?”
“Only for a second, Sheriff, okay?” Dr. Chamberlain said. “She needs the rest.”
Peck shot the doctor a hard look, a look that Lisa read as Who the hell do you think YOU are, boy. It was hidden by a smile in an instant. “Of course,” the Sheriff said. “Only a minute or two.”
He stood at the end of the bed and asked her a series of questions about the crash. How fast had she been going? How bad was the rain? What made her turn like that? Lisa described what had happened, Ken and Rose filled in with their own observations, and Peck took it all in without comment or a change in his serious, thoughtful expression. He didn’t take notes; he obviously didn’t need to.
He was particularly interested in the red ATV and the person driving it. “So,” he said, talking to them all now, “no look at the face. Just a black helmet, black leather jacket… nothing else? No second person riding behind? No large bundles or boxes attached?”
They looked at each other and agreed, no, nothing like that, and only one person.
“I wish like hell I could give you more,” Ken said.
Peck smiled tightly. “Not a problem,” he said. “I have a couple of ideas already. It’s not that big a town, after all.” He put on his hat and shook hands all around. “I’ll be getting back to you soon as I can,” he said.
Thunder rumbled outside. It made the picture window’s glass buzz like an angry bee.
“Sheriff, what’s going on?” Ken asked. “I mean, this is a normal hit and run, isn’t it? What’s with the police protection?”
Peck smiled again, thinner than ever. “It’s nothing like that, Mr. Mackie. Things are a little tense around here right now. You know about the missing girls?”
Ken nodded. “Sure, I’ve heard.”
“Another one today. So anything out of the ordinary, we’re looking at pretty hard. And believe it or not, speeding ATVs running people off the road, that’s out of the ordinary.”
“Got it.”
“The officer,” he shot another look at Bo, who almost flinched, “will be going with me now. Plenty of other things to do with the storm and all.” He looked closely at Ken as he shook his hand. “Your daughter staying with you at the house up on West Ridge?”
Ken glanced at his daughter who made an unhappy face. He nodded. “Yes, she’ll be with me. And her Mom will be here at the clinic overnight.”
“Good. Good all around.” He made his goodbyes, gave the doctor one last don’t you screw with me, asshole look, and stepped out. When he left, a pretty young nurse came in with a cup of pills for Lisa. She swallowed them without objection.
“Lovely fellow,” Ken said. “Can’t imagine how I’ve avoided him for a whole year.”
“Cream of the Gestapo,” the doctor muttered. He checked his watch. “Oops, look at that, I have to get out of here.”
“Big date?”
He shrugged. “Worse. Birthday party. Mine.”
“Congratulations,” Lisa said.
“Please. It’s my thirtieth, and I begged my roomies to leave it alone. No such luck.” He leaned forward as if telling a secret. “I hear there’s going to be a girl jumping out of a cake and everything.”
“Unsanitary, maybe,” Lisa said, “but fun.”
He frowned. “We’ll see. Anyway, I’ll check with you in the morning, Ms. Mackie.”
“Lisa,” she said.
“Lisa.” He shook hands with Ken. “Are you okay with this?” he asked.
Ken nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate everything.”
“All part of the service.” He put his hand out to Rose, who accepted it with grown-up, serious grace. He smiled at her. “If that back really starts to bother you, let me know, okay?”
Rose gaped.
He grinned. “See you tomorrow,” he said. He shot one last line over his shoulder as he left: “And let the lady get some sleep soon, okay?”
They stayed with Lisa for another twenty minutes, but there was less and less that needed to be said, and the new round of medications were starting to affect her. Ken put a hand on his da
ughter’s shoulder. “I think I’ll take her to dinner,” he told Lisa, “then go up to the house.”
“Stop at the mall for something to wear, too,” Lisa said sleepily. Rose started to groan. “Oh, come on, now. All your clothes were in the car; I’m sure they’re ruined.”
Ken nodded. “Will do. And if you need anything…”
“I have a phone right here,” she said, nodding at her bedside table. “I’m sure it will be fine.”
“Yes, but if you need any –”
“Kenny,” she said, a hint of the old edginess creeping back into her voice. “I’ve been taking care of myself for quite a while now. Don’t get carried away.”
He looked away. “Got it,” he said. Then, with a false heartiness; “Okay, Rosie, let’s go.”
Five minutes later, she was alone. Ten minutes later, she was drifting into sleep.
Four
The careful truce between Ken and his daughter that had held firm in Lisa’s hospital room began to fray the moment they hit the elevator. As Rose and Ken stood side-by-side, staring at the inside of the sliding door, Ken had a nearly irresistible urge to reach out and take his daughter’s hand, but something stopped him.
“She looks pretty good,” he said, not looking at her.
“Oh, yeah,” Rose agreed. “Nearly perfect for somebody who’s been slammed headfirst into a stone wall.”
Ken scowled. “I mean it could have been a whole lot worse, Rosie. She–”
“I know what you meant,” she said. “And please don’t call me that. Please.”
The elevator doors opened on a damp concrete cavern filled with dimly lit cars. Water was dripping from the overhead pipes, and cascading down the upslope to the street like the spillway off an aqueduct. It had only been raining for a few hours, and the water had already overwhelmed Dos Hermanos’ rudimentary drainage system.
“Do you at least remember where you left the car?” she asked.
“God, Rose¸” he said quietly, “will you give it a rest?” She was right, of course. At that particular moment, Ken had no idea where he had parked the Range Rover. He let his hand steal into his pocket, where his fingertips found the rubber-and-plastic key ring. Thank God I remember where I put that, he thought, and pinched it with a vicious cut of his thumbnail. There was a sudden blip of a horn and a flash of lights off to their right. “There,” he said. “That way.”
Rose snorted. “Saved by the car alarm,” she said. “Again.”
He power-walked to the Range Rover with Rose close behind. A moment later they were inside and on their way.
* * *
The rain, gray and violent as ever, slapped at the windshield the instant they emerged from the parking garage. A moment later when he turned north, Ken’s phone sang at his waist. He glanced at the screen: it was Maggie. He used the no-hands connection in the car, pointedly ignoring Rose's roll of the eyes.
“Hey there,” he said. “We’re just leaving the Clinic.”
“We?” came the mellow, amused voice.
“Rose and me,” he said, and glanced over at his daughter. She was staring at him with a mixture of disgust and dismay. He chose to ignore it. “Lisa’s staying overnight for observation.”
“Is that necessary?” Rose asked.
“Understood,” Maggie said. “Alberto’s Towing and Repo Center left with the remains of the BMW ten minutes ago. They managed to salvage Rose’ purse from the front seat, but that’s about all.”
Ken passed the information along to Rose, half-shouting to be heard above the rattle of the rainfall on the Range Rover’s roof.
“Oh, bitchin’,” Rose said with false shallowness. “As long as I have my ATM card and my lip gloss, I am good to go!”
Ken ignored her. “We’re going to do some shopping.” he said into the phone. “Then we’ll get something to eat. We’ll be home later on.”
“Home,” Rose echoed, sounding vaguely revolted by the concept. “My god.”
Ken shut the phone and put it away.
“You’re sick,” Rose said.
“What are you talking about?”
“You. You and that…it’s sick, Daddy.”
He set his jaw. “Okay,” he said. “Fine.” He was not going to get into it.
“And I don’t want to go to the mall,” Rose said.
“So you don’t plan on changing your clothes for the next couple of days? Why the hell not?”
“You have a washing machine, don’t you? Shit, you’ve probably got a live-in maid. So get Consuelo or whomever to do my dainties and I’ll be fine.”
“Her name is Lupe, she’s a housekeeper who comes once a week and she doesn’t do laundry.” His jaw ached from being clenched so tightly.
“Fine! Fucking fine! But don’t make it such a fucking big deal, will you? I only need one other pair of fucking blue jeans and a fucking T-shirt that I can wear when I’m washing this pair of fucking blue jeans. It’s not like we’re going anywhere or anything.”
“Well, shit, Rosie, I thought this was the fucking perfect time to buy you a fucking prom dress.”
“Oh, that’s funny, Daddy. That is so fucking– LOOK OUT!”
Ken jerked to stop at the intersection. He had already seen the man in the black pea coat crossing the street against the light, but her screech made him slam on the brakes anyway.
The man didn’t even look up. He clamped a hand onto his shapeless black hat, hunched deeper into the rising wind, and made for the far curb.
Ken stayed motionless in the intersection long after he was gone.
“You know,” he said, “Driving in this shit would be a whole lot easier if you weren’t alternating between insulting me and screaming in my fucking ear.”
“You were going to hit him!”
“I was not!”
“How was I supposed to know that? I’m not the one who’s driving!”
“Right! You aren’t! So leave it to me and stop screaming in my fucking ear!!”
Rose stared out the window. Ken didn’t continue the conversation, either. He let it go, distantly surprised at how shrill and unsteady his own voice sounded, and how white his knuckles were against the black webbing of the steering wheel.
This is going to be a very long weekend, he told himself. Very fucking long.
* * *
The trip to the Dos Hermanos Emporium, the one and only shopping mall in town, was short and unpleasant, and the storm grew steadily worse. They parked near the entrance and dashed inside. Rose wouldn’t even let Ken go into the department store to shop; he was forced to wander on the outskirts, staring into the windows of the random, gaudy shops until she reappeared with a flat plastic bag filled with a very few items of clothing. She looked red-faced and upset.
“Are you okay?” he said.
“Don’t ask,” she snapped. “Let’s just go.”
They went. Less than half an hour after they emerged from the hospital’s underground parking, they were crawling across town towards the business district and a decent meal.
Ken tapped on the Range Rover’s brakes at an intersection that should have been buzzing with activity, as buzzy as any intersection in DH ever got. But it was strangely deserted, even though the car’s clock read 4:28.
Rose didn’t speak. She hadn’t said ten words since they’d left the Emporium.
Ken took a deep breath and watched a trash can roll across the intersection, pushed by the wind-driven rain. A moment later a wave of economy-sized plastic bags, each a foot square, swarmed past them like a flock of transparent bats, whipping and twisting through the storm.
Somebody lost a year’s supply of ZipLocs, he told himself, while I’m sitting here losing my mind.
He cleared his throat. “Sorry about yelling before,” he said quietly, barely audible above the chatter of the rain on the metal roof. “Guess I’m still a little stressed out.”
She didn’t say anything at first. Then: “Me, too.”
“Okay. So. Let’s—”
>
“Let’s eat, okay? Nothing else. I … I can’t …” Her voice started to crumble.
“I got it. Off we go.” Ken pointed the Rover towards the downtown district and did battle with the storm.
* * *
On any normal day in Dos Hermanos, it would have been an easy five-minute walk from the Clinic to the only decent restaurant in town. Today it required a fifteen-minute drive through blinding rain. The only good part for Ken was finding a parking space directly in front of the entrance to O’Meara’s.
Ken and Rose lurched to a halt inside the doors, shedding rain and almost giggling. It took a moment for Rose to take the place in.
Ken barely recognized the slate-gray landscape. To one side, the Conference Center rose up like an outcropping of waterlogged granite; he could barely read the illuminated letters in its ten-foot sign, reminding passersby of tonight’s town meeting about the missing girls. Behind it, the water tower rose on three massive metal legs, looking more ominous than ever with rain clouds hanging inches above its domed roof. Across from the brick staircase of the Center, the long sheet-glass storefront of O’Meara’s looked incongruously warm and inviting. And right in front of it was the rarest phenomenon of all: an open parking space.
This time they made it from car to doorway without getting thoroughly soaked, and Ken was glad to see that the storm had not yet penetrated his favorite place to eat.
O’Meara’s was a long, narrow room filled with round tables along the floor-to-ceiling windows and leatherette booths along the back wall. It sported fresh flowers at each station, real cloth tablecloths, and pretty young waitresses all in their twenties. It was a favorite of local businessmen and politicians; it even had a back room used for the weekly meetings of the Chamber of Commerce. Ken used it for the face-to-face meetings he had to have with VeriSil, whenever he could pry them out of their corporate headquarters at the south end of the Valle.
Tony O’Meara was the owner. He was a square-jawed, square-shouldered man in his forties with tightly curled hair and a superficial resemblance to Cajun cook Emeril Lagasse – a resemblance he liked to cultivate, as if it gave the establishment some subliminal sense of style. He came over to greet Ken as he swept raindrops from his shoulders, and Rose shook herself like a poodle one more time.