She stood motionless, staring into space, still breathing heavily. “All right, shall we take that tour now?” he said, and walked into the dining room.
Glancing back, he saw she hadn’t moved and watched as she slowly buttoned her blouse, raked her fingers through her hair and gave herself a little shake. As she approached, he let her see him look her over from head to toe, his gaze lingering here and there. “You know, Emily,” he said, keeping his voice low, “you are bringing out a side of me I didn’t know existed.”
Her step faltered and he moved quickly to wrap her in his arms. “Hey,” he said. “I didn’t mean—”
She smiled then, put two fingers against his lips and said, “Yes you did.” After a pause she added quietly, “I was very excited.”
“I was aware of that,” he said, his voice husky. “I can’t stop thinking about what you said – we’re just getting started.”
This time it was Emily who suddenly stepped away. She seemed to take a moment to collect herself and then gestured at the walls. “So,” she said. “What color is this supposed to be?”
Joe cleared his throat and tried to forget his growing erection. “That would be primer, wiseass.”
“Oh. Well that’s good news.” She came back to his side and looked around the room. “You know, I actually don’t know much at all about this kind of thing, except I don’t think you’re supposed to paint everything white anymore. Too clinical, I guess. You should ask them down at the hardware, get them to tell you what sells the best.”
“Walk around with me anyway, okay? I want to show you.” He paused, then added, “If you don’t mind, of course.”
She tilted her head, a funny smile on her face. “You’re having a little trouble, aren’t you? I don’t think you know how to handle feeling proud of yourself.”
Startled, he thought of several different responses – all of them bullshit, he realized. He wanted to stare down at the floor and shuffle his feet. Any minute now he’d start blushing. “Aw, shut up,” he said.
“My, my, my,” she said. “Aren’t we mature? Well, lead on, handyguy, I’m really do want to see it.”
As they wandered from room to room, Joe tried to get used to the completely foreign concept of pride – something he certainly must have felt at some point in his life, he thought. He just couldn’t remember when. He was also struggling a bit with the bizarre notion that someone cared enough about him to try and understand how his mind worked. How very odd.
In general, she approved of the choices he’d made so far and agreed with his plan to gut the master bath and start over. He led her into another bedroom and pointed out the wall where he’d tried out a few paint colors. “This room was always sort of dreary – mom sewed in here, but it was mostly storage and junk. I thought I should try to brighten it up.”
“Still using it for junk, I see,” said Emily. She picked her way around a ladder and across the tarps on the floor to a spot over by the window. “I hope it goes without saying that the uh, schoolbus yellow would be a mistake.”
Joe decided not to tell her he’d thought it was kind of nice and sparky. “The lighter yellow’s nice, I think, but you’re right – it’s too dark in here,” she said.
She reached over and yanked the cord on the ancient Venetian blinds that covered the window but the light level in the room stayed about the same. “Oh, I see,” she said. “It’s all the trees. Pretty view, though.”
Joe walked to the doorway to flip on the overhead fixture. “Okay,” she said, staring at the paint swatches. “I think the middle one is…” She took a step back, ran into the ladder, and turned to steady it as it began to sway.
With mounting horror, Joe watched the events of the next seven seconds unfold in slow motion. Emily righted the ladder, smiled at him, said “whew,” then caught her foot in a fold in the tarp, tripped, and lost her balance. Automatically reaching out, she grasped the ladder again. It teetered, crashed to the floor and Emily fell backwards, waving her arms. He was only halfway across the room when her head hit the edge of the windowsill with a dull, sickening thud – but he knew he would see forever each detail as her eyes closed and all the color drained from her face.
Chapter Five – December 26
Evening
That horrible ringing had to be stopped. Emily groped for the snooze button and felt only empty air where the nightstand should be. With enormous effort she opened her eyes, but couldn’t see much in the darkened room. A hand smoothed her hair and she heard a voice, then Emily saw an indistinct figure move towards a lighted doorway and disappear. She stared into the gloom and saw a television set mounted high on the wall across from her. She wondered, but not with much interest, where she was. She closed her eyes again.
Sometime later, she woke again to see her mother standing beside her bed. What was her mother doing here? Had she come to Boston for a surprise visit? The ringing sound continued – the smoke alarm again? Emily couldn’t understand why her mom didn’t do something about it, whatever it was.
Her mom was saying something. “I can’t hear you, mom,” Emily said. “Turn off the alarm.” She couldn’t seem to focus her eyes; she decided it was easier to keep them shut.
Someone patted her hand. That feels nice, she thought. Another voice spoke from the other side of the bed. “Emily. Emily, can you hear me? I want you to open your eyes, please.”
Emily obeyed and saw a stranger with a tiny flashlight in her hand. A very bright light shone into each of her eyes and then was gone. The woman turned to write something down and said, “Can you tell me what day it is, Emily?”
“Christmas Eve,” she answered after a while.
“Can you tell me which day of the week it is?”
Emily didn’t answer and the woman wrote something else down, then glanced up at some kind of machine beside the bed. Emily felt very, very tired.
The next time she awoke, the room was slightly brighter and Emily could see a little better. The ringing continued, but not as loudly. She turned her head on the pillow and a horrible pain flashed behind her eyes. Her mother sat beside the bed, knitting by the light of a small lamp on some kind of cabinet. “Mom,” Emily said. The sound of her own voice, dry and raspy, was unfamiliar.
Her mom got up, dropping the knitting into the chair behind her, and took her hand. “What happened, Mom?”
“You’ve had a bad hit on the head and you have a concussion. But don’t worry – you’re going to be just fine, I promise.”
“Can I have a drink of water?” Her throat felt as though she’d swallowed sand.
Her mother picked up a cup with a straw from the cabinet. “They said you can try a little bit. Wait and see if it makes you nauseous.”
Emily sipped. It helped her throat, but her stomach did feel queasy. She handed the cup back. “Am I in the hospital?”
“Yes, honey, do you remember the emergency room? You were awake then.”
It was too much trouble to try, Emily thought, and Mass General was an excellent hospital. They would take care of her. “I think I’ll go back to sleep, okay Mom?”
“Of course, dear. It’s fine to sleep now, best thing you can do.”
With no further curiosity at all, Emily went back to sleep.
Chapter Six – December 27
Now sunlight was shining around the edges of the blinds at the window. Hadn’t she just opened some blinds somewhere? She turned her head. “Abby? You’re here, too?”
Her sister put down a magazine and stood next to her. “Finally. You gave us kind of a scare, you know. How do you feel?”
That was a hard question and Emily had some trouble thinking of the right words. “Terrible,” she said, lifting a hand to her forehead. “My head feels terrible. Was I in a car crash?”
“You fell, over at Joe’s house. Can you remember?”
“No.” Emily didn’t really care what had happened anyway. “Where’s Mom?”
“Home sleeping. She was here all night. You can prob
ably go home this afternoon and you’ll see her then, okay?”
“Okay,” Emily said, content with the answer, even though she hadn’t quite followed all that complicated information.
“Do you think you can eat some breakfast? They just brought it in and said you should try a little bit, at least. I think they want to make sure you’re not going to start throwing up again.”
Again, way too much information. Abby pressed a button; the bed hummed and Emily was raised to a sitting position. “Oh, how nice,” she said, and Abby gave her a funny look.
After a few bites of scrambled egg, Emily was full and chewing made her head hurt. Abby lowered the bed a little bit and Emily settled into a pleasant state, half asleep, half awake. Someone came in, asked her to stand and walk across the room and back, then asked her a few questions. Some she could answer – she was quite proud of naming the president right off the bat; others were a little tougher – mental arithmetic seemed impossible. An enormous young man came in, helped her into a wheelchair and took her downstairs to “check one more time to make sure you’re not bleeding inside that pretty little head of yours,” as he cheerfully put it. Emily thought that sounded worrisome, then forgot about it.
During a lunch of very dry chicken breast and rice, there was some kind of commotion just outside the door. Something about the chicken was nagging at Emily – she had the feeling she’d forgotten something important and it took her a little time to tune into the conversation out in the hall. She heard her sister’s voice. “No, no, my mother definitely told me you were to come out to the house tomorrow. My sister’s not supposed to do anything stressful at all and this is just a simple misunderstanding, anyway.”
“I understand, ma’am, but it’s still important I speak with her as soon as possible,” said a male voice Emily didn’t recognize.
“But she doesn’t remember anything yet.”
“You never know, sometimes the right question will bring something back. It will only take a few minutes.”
“Well, at least wait until our father gets here. He’s due any minute.”
“How old is your sister, ma’am? Her intake form says late twenties.”
“That’s correct. She’s twenty-nine.”
“Then frankly, ma’am, I don’t need anyone’s permission to speak with her except the doctor’s. As I said, this will only take a few minutes.”
A middle-aged man in a suit walked in with a weary expression on his face; Abby trailed behind him, looking both worried and angry. The man asked to sit down and Emily nodded her head, then immediately wished she hadn’t – it hurt too much. He got out a small spiral notebook and looked at her.
“Well, young lady, I understand you’ve had quite a conk on the noggin,” he said and smiled at her.
What was going on – who was this guy? “I’m Detective Slocum,” he said. Emily was confused – had she asked that question aloud?
“Emily, may I call you Emily?” He went on without waiting for an answer. “Emily, I wonder if you can tell me anything at all about last night. Do you remember what happened?”
Emily was beginning to feel uneasy; she looked helplessly over to Abby. Her sister came closer and took her hand. “Em, this is a policeman. He wants to know if you remember falling down, even though he already knows you don’t.” Emily saw Abby give the man one of her dirtiest looks.
After a deep sigh, the man tried again. “Well, how about this…do you have any idea where the young fellow who brought you in to the emergency room might have gone?”
Abby looked up. “You can’t find Joe?”
“No. The Hope Falls department sent a car over to the house several times last night and this morning, but no luck.”
“That’s odd,” said Abby and Emily thought she sounded worried. “I don’t know where else he would have gone.” She brightened. “Unless he came back here. Are you sure he’s not in the hospital somewhere?”
“Not that we know of…unless, of course, he’s avoiding us.”
“I think that’s enough for now.” Emily heard her father’s strong voice and was flooded with relief. Dad would straighten all this out. “May I speak with you a moment, Detective? Out in the hall would be best, I believe.”
With another deep sigh of resignation, the man got up, slipping his notebook into a pocket. Emily stared at a spot of something on his tie while he told her he hoped to see her again tomorrow or the next day. “How nice, I’m looking forward to it,” she replied politely, and looked up to see a puzzled expression on his face.
Abby gave a short little laugh and Emily looked at her, confused again. Had she said the wrong thing? “Detective?” her father prompted from the doorway, and the man walked away looking thoughtful – as though he suspected someone was pulling his leg, but couldn’t be sure.
“Good one, sis,” Abby said quietly, then walked around the bed and began to swing the table with the lunch tray out of the way.
“Wait,” Emily said.
“Oh, sorry, I thought you were finished.”
“I am, I just…” She stared at the plate, trying to remember what she’d been thinking earlier, but it was gone. Looking up to her sister, she said, “Can I have a beer?”
Abby’s eyebrows went up and her mouth opened. “Uh, maybe when you get home. I’ll ask them.”
She sat down on the edge of the bed. “Here’s the funny thing, Em. You’re not supposed to try hard to concentrate, or think too much. You have to let your brain rest, just the way you would if you sprained your ankle or something. So…are you worrying a lot, trying to figure out what happened?”
Emily told the truth. “There’s something about the chicken. I can’t stop thinking about that chicken. That’s all. Hey – are you laughing at me?”
“Yes,” Abby said. After a moment she added, “That was nice. You sounded like yourself for a minute there. When you asked about laughing at you, I mean.”
Happy to see her sister smiling, Emily said, “I think I’ll go back to sleep now.”
As she pressed the control to lower the bed, Abby said, “That’s a good idea. The doctor’s coming in a little while to check you out of here, we hope. You can rest ‘til then.”
“Okay, see you later, alligator,” Emily said drowsily and her sister laughed again.
*
Joe was riding in one hell of a fancy big rig, listening to the driver just closely enough to recognize the pauses where he needed to interject “That so?” or “No kidding.”
He’d lucked out almost as soon as he’d hit the highway on-ramp; he’d only had his thumb out five minutes when the semi rumbled up to the stoplight. The window slid down and the driver called over the noise of the idling engine, “You a political guy?”
“Not at all,” Joe yelled.
“I’m pushing south from Sacramento. Where you headed?”
“Away from here.”
“Hop on in.”
After Joe paid the expected compliments to the rig, the driver, Phil, launched into a half hour monologue on the perils and pitfalls of independent trucking. They curved around Sacramento, and after stopping to fill an enormous thermos with coffee somewhere south of the city, the guy began a detailed rundown on his three ex-wives.
Eventually, he wound down and glanced over at Joe. “Care to tell your story?”
Joe stared through the windshield for a minute, then said, “Hurt someone I love,” and left it at that.
They drove on for a good five minutes before Phil said, “You waitin’ for me to tell you running away never solved anything?”
Mildly surprised, Joe said, “Guess I was.”
“Well, you’ll wait a long time. Solves all kinds of problems, if you ask me. S’why I do this job.” After a pause he added, “What kind of work you do, when you do it?”
About five different wise-ass answers popped into Joe’s head – he thought of answering “symphony conductor,” but he kind of liked Phil. “Jack of all trades, I guess, whatever I can get.”
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“Finish high school?”
“Sure.”
“Might want to look into this, driving I mean. If your record’s clean, that is. You struck me right away as the kind of guy who doesn’t like to settle in one spot very long.”
As they sailed on, through the quiet starlit emptiness of the Central Valley, Joe tried not to think about that comment. It was past midnight and traffic was very light; the big green signs for Stockton and Modesto flashed by. Phil rambled on, about the towns he liked and didn’t like, the highways he loved or avoided, the movies he enjoyed, the movies he hated. “Those Batman pictures, for example,” he said. “Can’t make heads or tails of ‘em. Captain America, that’s the kind of hero for me. Not so much of that moody stuff. There’s a woman I see up near Seattle, she likes those outer space movies – can’t make much of those, either. But I go if I’m in town when they’re playing, keeps her happy.”
At the mention of Captain America, a horrible, sharp sense of loss swept through Joe and for one terrifying second or two he couldn’t breathe. He gasped, gulping air, and Phil glanced over. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he answered. And then he began to talk, almost involuntarily, as if he couldn’t hold the memory back. “Girl I know called me that on Christmas, Captain America I mean. We were standing by the tree and she was smiling at me, teasing me. Her name was, is, Emily.” Joe could see every detail, the merry glint in her eyes, the texture of her skin, the blue of her sweater, the glow of light from the tree that shone on her face.
Silence greeted that little recital. After a minute or two, Phil said, “How’d you hurt her? Screw another woman?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that.” Joe thought a minute. “I didn’t take care of her.”
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