St Martin Family 03 - Shatter

by Gina Watson

  Groggy, he said, “Mommy?” He coughed, then vomited.

  To bring down his fever, she gave him Tylenol, but she suspected that wouldn’t help since he vomited again soon after. She wiped him down with cool rags and tried to get him to drink some juice or water, but he wouldn’t swallow it. She didn’t have any Popsicles or Jell-O, nothing cool and tempting. After forty minutes, his fever was up a bit, not down. She called 911, but they told her the roads were flooded and didn’t know when or if they could get to her, but would try. If the ambulance was unable to reach her then her parents surely couldn’t as they lived even farther out.

  She tapped Michael’s face with the palm of her hand. “Baby, wake up.”

  When his fevered eyes opened and focused on her, she decided it was time for plan B. She bundled the two of them into plastic ponchos, then donned rain boots and put Michael in plastic garden crocs, thinking he would stay moderately dry.

  She figured Cash’s truck would fare better than her Camry, so she moved the car seat from the car to the truck. As she loaded Michael into the truck, she looked down the driveway. The water was well over the curb and encroaching into her yard, but she knew the yard was on a subtle incline. The water didn’t seem so deep that she wouldn’t be able to drive through it. Not with the truck.

  Wanting to see where she was going when she pulled into the street, she turned the truck around in her driveway, using the cement pad put there for just such a purpose. The truck was larger and heavier than her car, and she drove into the soaked yard, but the tires bit into the ground and she got turned around without getting stuck. When she pulled onto the street, hands shaking and praying under her breath, she delicately pressed the gas pedal and slowly made her way down the flooded avenue. When a car turned onto the street, she moved to the side to give the lower car the higher ground; water was already up to the hood of the car. To avoid a parked car on her side, she applied the brake and almost instantly the truck died. “No!” She tried to restart it, but it made an awful sound. She jumped out of the truck and gasped when the water hit her mid-thigh. She started toward the car, hoping to beg a ride, but the driver was already climbing out through the window, cursing and telling her his car was dead as well. She guessed it would be floating down the street in another few minutes.

  Jessie pushed her way to the other side of the truck, slipping more than once, but she held tight to the truck and didn’t fall. Her left ankle took the brunt of her precariously balanced weight when she slipped a fourth time, but by then she was at the passenger door. She opened the door and looked down at Michael, who looked up with fevered and trusting eyes. Dare she try to carry him to a nearby house? Remembering how easily she’d slipped while holding on to the truck, she knew she’d be foolish to try with Michael in her arms. Even protected by the truck, the flow of the rushing water was pushing at her now. If she lost her balance carrying Michael…

  Rain pelted her face as she turned to scan what usually was a quiet neighborhood street, aware that only a miracle could help them.

  9

  Cash and Logan had been driving for over ten hours now. The storm had dumped upwards of twenty inches of rain already, and Logan was worried sick about Jessie. He’d called everyone he could think of, hoping someone could check on her, but the circuits were down due to the storm. Cash said more than once that she was probably fine, probably somewhere safe and dry, as any sane woman would be in such a storm, but he also offered to stay with Logan as he searched. Logan hoped they’d be able to hole up at Jessie’s, get dry, get something to eat, and laugh off the worry. But if she and Michael weren’t there, he didn’t know where he’d search next. The restaurant? He didn’t know where her parents lived. Shit! He pounded the steering wheel. He didn’t know whether he was foolish to borrow trouble or wise to plan ahead.

  He did know that if anything were to happen to her because of the way he’d acted, he wouldn’t be able to live. Unlike his parents and her dead husband, they had been granted precious minutes to be together. He’d thought about what Cash had said—life was for the living. He intended to live the rest of his with Jessie if she’d have him.

  When Logan finally made it to Whiskey Cove, what usually took ten hours had taken fourteen due to the massive amounts of flooding rain. As he pushed through one intersection blocked by stranded cars, Cash undid his seat belt.

  “They need help.” He pointed to a handful of guys trying to push two car loads of people out of the rising current. “You go on, and I’ll catch up with you later. Give me a second, and I’ll grab that rope out of the back.” Cash merely nodded and then he was out the door.

  He thumped on the side of the truck when he’d snatched up the rope, and Logan watched him wade into what was now a river. It wasn’t particularly deep, but it was fast moving. He contemplated jumping out to help, but without turning around, Cash waved him on.

  He honked, not certain if Cash could hear him, and drove, feeling like he was moving through sludge. Once he knew Jessie was safe, he could help wherever he was needed.

  He pushed toward Jessie’s house, forced to take the long way since most of the underpasses were flooded. He cursed every detour and the still storming sky.

  His head was pounding, his eyes blurry, by the time he pulled into her neighborhood. The main street was covered in water and it only got deeper as he pressed forward. By the time he’d made a third turn and was less than a block from Jessie’s, debris driven along by the water was bumping against the truck. As soon as he turned onto her street, he saw Cash’s truck, unmoving in the street, the passenger door open. He parked on high ground in someone’s driveway and jumped out. That’s when he saw Jessie pull Michael from Cash’s truck. He thought he heard her yell his name, and he waded as fast as possible through the water to get to her.

  With Michael in her arms, she was crying and struggling to paddle through the water. Another man stood at her side, trying to support and guide her. Logan simply pulled Michael from her arms.

  “Go,” he yelled, pointing with his chin. He followed them, feverishly praying no one would fall. They kept walking, heading uphill and out of the deepest part of the flow. That’s when Logan recognized Michael’s unresponsiveness and the heat coming from his little body. He bent to place his cheek near Michael’s nose to ensure the child was breathing. When he reached his truck he laid him on the bench seat and pulled a towel from beneath it.

  After closing the door to keep out the rain, Logan reached for Michael’s forehead. He was burning with fever, and Logan immediately peeled the wet clothes from his body. When he was naked, he wrapped him in the blanket and placed him in Jessie’s lap. He turned to thank Jessie’s Good Samaritan, to offer him a ride, but the man was already heading toward one of the houses, where an older woman stood in swirling waters. Logan cranked the engine and drove toward the brewery. It was only a few miles away and once he pulled away from the flooded neighborhood, he gained speed. When he turned into the brewery, Jessie’s worried voice filled his ears.

  “What are we doing here? I need you to take me to the hospital.” Her voice was scratchy and low, her confusion clear. “Michael is sick.”

  His heart broke at the fear riding her. He pulled right up to the front door, then turned to Jessie. He stared into her anxious eyes, hoping she’d be able to read his confidence. “There isn’t time. The underpasses are flooded.” He didn’t ask her permission, just lifted Michael into his arms and hurried him into the empty bar.

  Jessie ran after him and pulled his arm, “No! I have to get to a hospital; he needs a doctor!”

  “Jessie, I’m a licensed pediatrician. I have everything he needs.”

  He gestured with a head nod for her to open his office door. Once inside, he laid Michael on the couch. He opened a metal cabinet and handed medical supplies to Jessie.

  She watched with wide eyes and parted mouth as he handed her saline pouches, tubing, needles, syringes, and other paraphernalia. Her movements were controlled and stoic. He aske
d her about Michael’s symptoms as he worked, trying to gain information and settle Jessie at the same time. He’d noticed her limping and with her son in this condition, she might very well be in a state of shock, in need of attention herself. But he needed to tend to Michael first.

  With Jessie at his side, Logan knelt in front of the couch. He took Michael’s temperature first, not surprised at the reading of 104.2, but not as alarmed as Jessie obviously was. He was more worried about Michael’s lethargy. He lifted Michael’s hand and inserted a small gauge IV needle and cannula into a vein. Then he attached a line from the IV to the port in Michael’s hand. He concocted a make-do IV pole out of a coat hanger and gave it to Jessie to hold. Then he intravenously administered a fever reducer and a saline solution.

  As the medication flowed into Michael’s system, Logan checked his vital signs. He listened to his heart with a stethoscope, then used it to check his breathing. He took his blood pressure and then moved on to his reflexes. Everything was within normal limits. He turned to Jessie, took the IV pole from her and hung it on a nail in the wall behind the couch. Then he cradled her face in his palms.

  “You’re doing great, Jessie. And so is Michael.” He passed his thumb across her lower lip. “You’re doing great, baby.”

  She turned her attention back to Michael, stroking the hair away from his face, but she held on to Logan with her other hand.

  After about ten minutes, he again took Michael’s temperature. “One oh two point nine—it’s dropping fast. He’s responding. Outside of any congestion in the lungs, bronchioles, or nasal passages, my diagnosis is flu.”

  Ten minutes after that, Michael opened his eyes and stared up at his mother and then at Logan, his eyes going wide. “Logan!” Michael reached his needle-pierced hand up to Logan’s face.

  Logan smiled, but gently lowered his hand down to his stomach. “Easy, buddy.” He patted his hand. “I want you to sleep right now, okay?”

  Michael smiled. “Okay. Will you still be here when I wake up?”

  Logan’s throat felt tight. “I’ll be here.”

  Logan crossed to his desk and tried the phone. The line was dead, and he wondered if they would lose power too. Yet even if they did, they would be fine riding out the storm at the bar. They had food and medicine, and the property was much more high ground than low.

  When Jessie limped to sit in one of the chairs across from his desk, he put the telephone receiver back on the cradle and walked around to her. He squatted and placed his hand on her ankle, palpating her leg, ankle, and foot.

  “Logan?”

  He looked up from the floor and into Jessie’s pained gaze. “Yeah?”

  “Thank you. You saved Michael’s life.”

  He nodded and continued to check her over. He was ashamed and embarrassed about how he’d treated her. “Your ankle is just a little extended.” He walked to the closet and pulled out an instant cold pack.

  “Logan, did you hear me? You saved Michael.”

  He broke the internal pocket on the cold pack and placed it on her ankle. She inhaled through clenched teeth when the frozen packet made contact with her skin.

  He reverently rested his hand on her knee as he bowed his head. “Jessie, I’m sorry about what happened in Florida. So very sorry. I was an ass. Can you forgive me?”

  She placed her hands on his face and lifted his head. “I’m falling in love with you. And I want you to give Michael and me a chance. When I left St. Augustine, I actually wasn’t planning on speaking to you again, but I’ve realized something these last few moments.” She tilted her head at him and leaned forward to sweetly kiss his lips. “I want to fight for you. I intend to fight for you. I just need to know if you trust me enough to be real with me.”

  Recognizing the power of the fight in her, he knew he could trust her with his life. She would stop at nothing to protect the ones she loved, and she’d said she might love him. He didn’t deserve her, but he selfishly would take her. “Yes, I trust you.”

  Jessie smiled. “Really?”

  He nodded. “In fact, I’m not falling in love with you, I already have.”

  He scooped her from the chair so he could sit beneath her and positioned her on his waiting lap. Then he turned the chair so they could both keep an eye on Michael. He wrapped his arms around her, pressed his cheek to hers, and held her close. And that quickly, after days of being off kilter and without an anchor, his center was restored and he could breathe easily again.

  “Why don’t you start with telling me about how you became a brewmaster and not a doctor?”

  He smiled against her neck. His practical lady was always straight and to the point. “I’d sort of promised my father I’d be a doctor, just like him.”

  She pulled back to frown at him, her brow furrowed with confusion. “I didn’t know Mr. St. Martin was a doctor. I thought he was a builder.”

  Logan had never shared this story with anyone. He’d put a lid on it, effectively pushing the contents deep down inside. He didn’t know how it would sound or how she would react. Hell, he wasn’t sure how he would react or if he could even get through the telling of it. He swallowed back the knot in his throat. “Clifton St. Martin adopted me when my parents died. My father before him had been Dave Champagne. I was ten years old when I found my parents dead in our home.”

  Jessie’s breath hitched, and her fingers squeezed his arm.

  He lowered his eyes as he recalled the scene.

  “The school bus had dropped me at the corner. There were only two houses on the street, the O’Neil’s and ours. It was about a quarter mile walk from the bus drop to my home, and I saw a car pulling away from the curb next to the house. As it approached I could see the windows were very dark, so dark I couldn’t make out anything but the outside. It was a black 1984 Chevy Impala and the wheels were custom and it had four doors. The car slowed as it passed, and I knew enough to keep my eyes forward and walk with purpose. Something hadn’t felt right. The car waited at the corner, and I suspected they were watching me. Since it had pulled from the curb in front of my house, I decided it best not to go home, so I walked to the O’Neil’s. From my peripheral vision, I saw the car drive off.”

  He closed his eyes and was right back in that place. “I turned back and walked up the driveway to my home. Mom had been keeping the door unlocked for me so I could get in and when I reached my hand out to the door handle, I noticed grease marks on the plunger mechanism. But I grabbed it anyway and pushed it down with my thumb. The door opened, and I walked in cautiously. The house was quiet—too quiet. I called out for my mom, then my dad, but no one answered, and I searched the entire downstairs floor before making my way upstairs. On the staircase I noticed more grease stains on the railing and my fingers and I wiped them away on my shirt.”

  Logan shuddered at the memory. Jessie sat up in his lap and held him tight, her arms around his neck, caressing him, encouraging him.

  “I thought I should check their room, but I didn’t want to.” He shook his head. “I didn’t want to know. It was like I had a sixth sense or something, and I knew deep down something sinister lay behind their bedroom door.” His eyes found her clear blue ones. “I checked every other room before theirs. I opened the door to my room and walked around, looking into the closets and under the bed. I still had on my Saved By the Bell backpack, and I pulled the strings to tighten it to my body. For some reason I took comfort in that.”

  “Logan…” Tears ran from Jessie’s eyes. She wiped them away as he watched.

  “When I reached their room I saw more of what I’d mistaken for grease on the door handle, and I twisted the knob and pushed the door open.”

  Logan gasped for breath as he recalled the scent, as clear now as it had been that frightful day all those years ago.

  “A waft of air hit me, carrying the scent of iron.” Needing her strength, he stared into Jessie’s soul. “Turns out blood does have a scent, especially if there’s a lot of it. I stepped into the entryway of th
eir large bedroom and then advanced slowly into the room, my mind screaming all the way. Something caught my peripheral vision and my head involuntarily turned and my eyes beheld the gruesome sight that will haunt me for the rest of my life.”

  He shuddered, and Jessie quivered in response.

  “My parents hadn’t just been murdered, they’d been mutilated.” His breath had gone ragged. “There were lacerations on their bodies, and cuts of all sizes, actual places that were sliced open and”—his voice hitched and he released it on a choke—“parts of their bodies had been removed.”

  His body tensed, and he sensed his eyes glaze over as he was catapulted back in time into that scared, helpless ten-year-old boy. His body began to tremble, back in that room, back with that smell. He was alone and frightened. He was trapped just as he had been that fateful day—rendered immobile by pain and the barbaric cruelty of murderous thugs. His body was no longer under his command. Sheer terror had wrapped its claws around his neck, choking him and cloaking him in agony.

  Jessie came up on her knees in the chair, straddling his thighs. She took his cheeks in her hands and softly kissed his face. She whispered, “I’m here, Logan. I’m here.” She held and rocked his upper body tenderly. “Come back to me.” She took his bottom lip into her mouth and sucked. He was aware of her unclasping the clip holding her hair back and pulling the thick curtain over her shoulders. Logan’s head instinctively burrowed into her neck, and a waterfall of liquid copper surrounded him, drenching him in apples and cinnamon, protecting him from the terrors attacking his mind. He was safe, safe with Jessie. She was here. And real. And holding him so tightly that nothing could tear him from her arms.