Left for Alive

by Tom Hogan

  Josh took the books, wrote out a report, and sat down with the parole board. They refused the first attempt, since Clark was unwilling to take part in the hearing. The next hearing came as Josh was launching his work-release program in the logging camp, which gave the board an easy out.

  They had been sitting together in the early morning dark and silence for over an hour. Clark’s eyes were closed, his face tired and drawn. His hand rested easily over Donna’s, patting it occasionally. Donna sat beside him, her head now on his shoulder.

  “It hurts so deep,” she said.

  “I know.” His hand tightened on hers.

  She eased her hand from his and hugged herself. “I’m so afraid. Afraid that if I let myself really feel what has happened, I’ll lose what little there still is of me.”

  “It’s good, if that’s what it takes to bring you back. To yourself. To us. But in the meantime you’ll hurt so deep that it will feel like it’s burning through to your backbone.”

  “I don’t know if I can do it,” she said. Her eyes reached up to his and her voice softened. “I don’t know if I want to.”

  “It’s worth it,” he said. “They locked me up so quick I didn’t have the chance to kill myself. After that, I went on living only because I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of me dying behind bars. But in the end…” his arm went up around her shoulder and pulled her to him, “it’s worth it. I’ve seen a lot of forest since Katy died. And I worked a lot of wood and drunk a lot of beer. And I met Josh and the boys.” He swallowed. “And I met you and Pete and Harry.”

  She almost leapt at him, burying her face in his neck. A sharp, rattling sound filled the room, then a series of muffled sobs. Her tremors moved from her shoulders to the rest of her body, an uncontrollable shaking.

  The left side of Clark’s shirt was completely soaked by late morning. He waved off the visitors who came by. Throughout the afternoon Donna would cry, stop for a minute, her body sagging. Then it would stiffen with a new memory and she would start anew. Clark sat there, stroking her hair lightly, nothing more. As the camp started to darken, her breathing evened out and her eyes and throat took a rest.

  Clark waited until her sleep was deep. Then he lifted his arms and got to his feet. He eased Donna down so that she was lying down and placed a blanket over her. He walked carefully to the door, eased it opened and stepped into the waning afternoon. He walked to his cabin, fed Zeke, changed his shirt, then he went up to the L. He nodded to Carol and Lucky, who were starting dinner, fixed two plates of food, and headed back to Donna’s cabin.

  Coming back from his run the afternoon, the setting sun over his shoulder, Josh stopped by Donna’s cabin. He raised his hand to knock when he heard Donna’s voice, followed by a voice he’d never heard before. He frowned for a moment, but as he did so Zeke, who’d left the porch to relieve himself, trotted around the corner and took up his post. He accepted Josh’s hand under his chin and leaned into his leg. Josh kept his ear to the door for another moment. Then he looked down at Zeke and smiled.

  WHY

  CHAPTER 37

  Donna’s wrists lost their scabs and began to scar. Oblivious to its effect on others, she wore short-sleeve shirts, her arms sticking out of the sleeves at awkward, bony angles. Her face was thin-veined, her eyes sunken, almost blackened. Her mouth was tight, drawn, as if it had never known a smile. And while it was clear that she was trying to engage with others, some of her gestures and expressions reminded William of the autistic children he used to work with.

  Most nights she joined the others for dinner, sitting quietly and nodding at—but not participating in—the conversations. After dinner she normally lasted an hour or so in the L, reading or watching television with Lucky. Then she would untuck her legs, nod in general to the room, and head down to her cabin. Clark would wait fifteen to thirty minutes, then whistle up Zeke and head down to join her.

  Most nights she was already in bed when he came in, her back stiff against the headboard, sheets covering her rail-thin legs. Clark joined her on the bed, assuming the same position; Zeke jumped up on the bed and settled at their feet.

  If Donna wanted to talk, he listened and responded when and where appropriate. Still feeling his way into the world of speech, he was more comfortable with silence than words. He was still the quietest member—save Donna—at the dinner table, though he did welcome the opportunity to correct William and Lucky’s prison stories, something he said he’d been wanting to do for years.

  For the first few weeks their evenings followed a familiar, frustrating pattern. Clark would ask how the day’s writing had gone and get a shrug in response. Trying to force her away from yes/no answers, he would ask her what she had done that day, how far she had walked. When that line of conversation waned, he would, to Donna’s relief, fall silent and read the front section of the daily paper that Josh left at their door each evening. Occasionally, he would break the silence with a question about one of the stories. On a rare occasion, Donna took the lure, but when she did, she talked to Clark in her courtroom voice—lecturing, not conversing. But most times she just looked at him and shook her head, telling him she knew the game and wasn’t playing.

  Most nights there was no conversation. Clark just crawled into the bed, filling the space she left for him. He wrapped his arm around her and felt her head incline onto his ribs. And they would lie there, sometimes for hours, until he felt her head shift slightly and heard the heavy evenness of her breath.

  For the first two weeks he stayed the entire night, kept awake by the awkward position and his fear of disturbing her. Once Donna was up and in the shower, he whistled Zeke up and headed to his own cabin, where he caught a couple of hours’ sleep before joining Josh for the day’s work.

  The third week, desperate for sleep, he waited until after midnight, then eased Donna’s head offers his shoulder and headed for the door. But he made the mistake of turning off the lights as he left. Awakened by the shift, Donna began to scream Pete and Harry’s names over and over until Clark crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her head as it shook side to side with a startling violence. From then on, the light stayed on.

  After a week of this new routine, Donna asked Clark if he would mind leaving Zeke behind—that his weight against her leg reassured her, as did the sound of another breath in the room. Clark agreed, but he missed Zeke. And, as he explained to William, Zeke saw his job as protection rather than comfort. Donna needed something that needed her back.

  William and Alexis stood next to the cage and watched Clark examine the dogs. Crouched carefully among the little mustard colored piles and rivers of urine, he examined the three puppies, picking them up and inspecting first their eyes, then their mouths.

  The three pups were the result of Clark’s conversations with the Humane Society over the past two weeks. He had called down every other day inquiring after the dogs that had been brought in. It should be some form of retriever, he explained to Alexis. And it should be a female, to avoid territoriality with Zeke.

  “You think this is a good idea?” William asked from the back seat. “This feels a little too much too soon.”

  “She needs to take care of something other than herself. Doesn’t work out, Josh’ll take her in a heartbeat.”

  The pup was a golden version of Zeke. A heavy-faced Labrador, at ten weeks she already came up to the top of Clark’s boots as she jumped out of the jeep. Clark picked her up and nuzzled her before handing her over to Alexis. “Going to fetch Zeke. Need to introduce them on neutral grounds. The buildings are Zeke’s: he needs to invite her in.” He nodded towards the forest. “Take her down to that clearing in back of that stand of pines. I’ll bring Zeke down in a minute.”

  He walked up to Donna’s cabin, knocked twice and went in. Donna was sitting up in bed, a book across her lap. Zeke was curled up at her feet, his tail doing a snare beat at the sight of Clark.

 
He looked down at the book. It was her own, she’d been reading it for the past week. She was on page sixteen, the same page she’d been reading for the past three days.

  “How’s it going?” He rested a hand on her shoulder, scritching Zeke with his free hand. He squeezed her shoulder. “Feel like a walk?” She thought for moment, then shook her head. “Okay.” He looked at Zeke, then nodded at the door. Zeke scrambled to his feet. “Back in a little bit.”

  All of Moetown was down in the clearing, taking turns holding the pup. Clark rounded the corner ahead of Zeke, who was loitering behind, investigating the new smell. He pulled up short as he entered the clearing, his tail coming to a halt. His hair rising slightly, he moved purposefully over to where Alexis was holding the pup.

  Slowly extracting the pup from Alexis’s grasp, Clark put the pup down on the ground, her small tail whipping the air. He motioned for Zeke to sit, which he did. Then he let go of the pup. The pup stood there a moment, its tail gone quiet, its head cocked. Then it leapt. Her front paws grabbed and held Zeke’s ears for a moment. When Zeke shook his head, the pup fell back, landing heavily on her back and letting out a small cry.

  As Alexis moved forward, Clark held up a restraining hand. “She’s fine,” he said, nodding as the pup picked herself up. She gathered herself for a moment. Then she leapt at Zeke again.

  After twenty minutes, Clark brought the introductions to an end. “Let’s head back,” he said to Zeke, who disengaged himself from the pup and stood at Clark’s heel. The odd procession moved up the hill, Clark and Zeke walking evenly, the pup following frantically, at times bumping into them. Lagging behind was the rest of Moetown.

  As they neared Donna’s cabin, Clark picked up the pup and called back to Josh to take Zeke with him to the L. With the pup draped over his forearm, he stepped onto Donna’s porch. Without knocking, he opened the door partially, lowered the pup onto the porch, and gave it a light push.

  Later that afternoon, with happy hour well under way, the front door to the L opened. The puppy bounded into the room and surveyed its new surroundings. She spotted Zeke asleep in front of the fireplace and bounded over, wetting herself as she ran.

  Donna trailed the pup, blinking as she transitioned from the afternoon light. She nodded at William and Alexis, who looked up from their chess game and nodded back.

  The pup was prancing back and forth in front of Zeke, who, respecting the indoor surroundings, refused the bait. Frustrated, she looked around until she spotted Donna and headed over in a loose-eared trot. Donna stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, then dropped to a knee and gathered the pup into her arms, oblivious to the thin trail of urine swiping across the front of her shirt.

  She looked over at Clark, who was preparing the salad. “This your idea?” He nodded. “Subtle,” she said. “Real subtle.”

  “What’s her name?” Alexis asked.

  Donna kept her eyes on the squirming pup. “Mollie.”

  CHAPTER 38

  Riding with Alexis had become a semi-regular event for the Moetowners, with the exception of Josh. Sometimes it was at Alexis’s request—if she had a San Francisco airport pickup or a long haul and wanted company for the ride back; sometimes it was at the request of a bored Moetowner. Everyone was welcome to ride except Lucky, who kept winning bets from her customers, cutting into her tips.

  Owning her car—and having the only town car in the fleet—allowed her to negotiate her own contract with the taxi service. She kept her shifts to a manageable noon-to-five for days, eight to midnight evenings. Those days she didn’t have airport runs, she had a pre-set schedule of elderly clients for trips to the doctor or grocery store. For the store runs, she usually went inside with them and helped with the shopping, charging them only for the ride, not for her time.

  Tonight was going to be a short night: a pharmaceutical company was hosting two parties—one for its employees, one for top customers. Alexis was shepherding the execs and top sales guys between the two events.

  As she finished getting dressed, there was a knock on the door. Donna peeked her head in. “Got a rider for tonight?”

  Alexis welcomed night-time riders, both for the company and safety. Every cabbie she knew, back in Chicago and in San Tomas, had stories about guns placed against the back of their heads and demands for their money. Or abusive drunks who refused to pay. Alexis was no exception, having been held up twice in Chicago.

  Her only episode out in California thus far had happened early on, with a young man—barely drinking age—who had climbed into her car after closing time outside The Eight Ball.

  “He was slurring at the start and it got worse as he chatted me up during the twenty minutes it took to get him back to his apartment. When he got out and started to walk away without paying, I opened my door and called after him. He turned back and pinned me against the door.”

  “What did you do?” Donna asked.

  Alexis reached under her seat and brought out an ice pick. “I always have this at the ready at the end of a call. Just in case. So I brought it up and placed it under his chin.”

  “And…?”

  “And I wound up getting full fare. Plus a ten-dollar tip.”

  “Ice pick?”

  “Yeah. The cabbies in Chicago told me about them. From what I gather, they’re almost useless in a fight. You’ve got to hit the guy dead-on to do any damage. But they’re scary as hell. And in this business, that’s usually enough.”

  The shift passed quickly, with the executives shuttling between the two venues. Engrossed in the events of the night, they paid the women up front little attention. If any of the men recognized Donna, who wore a baseball cap pulled low, they gave no indication.

  At ten o’clock, they dropped their fares at the host hotel and retired to the back of the semicircular entry driveway where they could be seen but not obstruct incoming traffic. Alexis left Donna in the car and wandered into the hotel. She came out a few minutes later with two China coffee cups. “They didn’t have any Styrofoam in the banquet area,” she said, handing Donna her cup through the open window.

  The two women sat in the cab, sipping cautiously, blowing at the steam. “Still having trouble sleeping?” Alexis said, staring over the wheel at the windshield view of taxis and valets.

  Donna nodded “I almost want to ask Clark to come back. And he would, I know that. But that just puts off when I’ve got to be on my own. Molly’s been a big help but…”

  “Where’s Molly tonight?”

  “I left her in Clark’s cabin with him and Zeke. You should’ve seen her. She was like a little girl at her first sleepover.”

  They finished their coffee in silence. Alexis gathered the two empty cups and went back into the hotel. She came back a few minutes later with a fifty-dollar tip and the news that she wasn’t needed for the rest of the night.

  “Salesmen,” she said, pocketing the money. “You gotta love ‘em.” She put her foot up on the dash. “We were talking about your trouble sleeping.”

  Donna nodded. “Sometimes I wake up and they’re there. I can feel Pete’s dent in the bed, as if he just got up to go to the bathroom. The bed even feels warm. And I can almost hear Harry’s breathing.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sick of talking about myself. I know you weren’t prying, but…” She looked back at the hotel. “Let’s grab a drink in there before we head home. What do you say?”

  “Sure.” Alexis held up the fifty. “My treat.”

  The hotel bar was relatively quiet, with most of the noise filtering down from the meeting rooms, where the sales meeting was obviously still going strong. They grabbed a booth and settled in.

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this,” Donna began, “but I’ve been a bit… removed from things over the past couple of months.”

  Alexis smiled. “You hid it well.”

  “I feel like a bear
emerging from hibernation. Just blinking a lot and trying to get a feel for its surroundings.” She blinked a few times. “So what have I missed?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “The gossip. You can be sure I didn’t get any of that from Clark.”

  Alexis sipped her gin and tonic. “Well, William’s seeing someone. A former client.”

  “Has she been up to the camp?”

  “Not yet. Lucky’s involved with a rich young divorcee.”

  “Why am I not surprised? And was our Lucky the cause of the divorce?”

  “Not according to Lucky.”

  Donna took her eyes off Alexis and scanned the bar. “How about you?” she said quietly. “How are you doing these days?”

  “I’m settling in.”

  “You don’t sound that enthusiastic about that.”

  “It’s not that. I love it up there—such a different life from anything I’ve known or done in the past. But I don’t know if I want to get too comfortable.”

  “Because…”

  “Because…” Alexis looked cautiously at Donna, whose eyes were now back on her. “Because I want what you had with Pete. And unless I pick up Mr. Wonderful one night for an airport run, I don’t think that’s in the cards.”

  Donna sat back. “I know a little bit about what you’re going through. During the investigation into Rubin’s murder, Josh and I moved from being adversaries to allies, then to friends. And when I disappeared and had some distance from everything, I found that I had a bit of a crush on him.”

  “What did you do about it?”

  “Nothing. It was too soon after Rubin. And besides, I didn’t know if it was Josh the person or the mystery of him that I was drawn to.”

  Alexis laughed softly. “You’re right. He’s the Rosebud of men. I’m old and toothless on my deathbed and I whisper his name. Josh.” She drew the name out in a long, sinister whisper. “I’ll tell you what,” she said, her voice clear and sharp, “That sonofabitch better be worth it.”