The surgeon writes a script for Billy’s PT while Billy tries again to open his hand.
“It’s numb.” His voice breaks.
“That should get better.”
He tries to make a fist, can barely curl his fingers. Gets his voice under control.
“How much range of motion is possible?”
“We’ll see.”
“That’s the best you can do?”
“For now. I’ll see you again in a month —”
“When can I go home?” Billy asks.
“I’ll send the burn specialist up to see you.”
He writes another note.
“You right-handed?”
“Yes.”
“You should make the adjustment to writing left-handed quite quickly.”
“What about drawing?”
“You draw?”
“Since I was a kid.”
“A lot of it depends on motivation. I’d say you’ll do well.”
“But you don’t really know.”
“It’s a hunch.”
“What about flying?”
The surgeon gives him a blank look.
“I’m a pilot. That’s not in your chart?”
“We’ll reassess after some physical therapy.”
“You’re stalling.”
“I don’t have a crystal ball. And patients have surprised me plenty of times.”
Billy walks to the lounge, shaky and weak. Stands by the window. Rests his forehead against the cold glass, feels sleet ticking against the pane.
There are times he thinks he’d be better dead than to live like this, as though something else had been taken from him in the crash, in those days lying near death, some part of himself he isn’t sure he can live without, faith or hope or just plain dumb animal determination. He looks around him, it all seems so simple to everyone else, this business of living, one foot in front of the other.
Maybe when he can get outside where the air blows stronger than memory and guilt, maybe then it will all come right, fall back into place, the hollowness will ease or fill. Seems to be no sense asking God about it, as if he ever would.
Against his better judgment, Asa Alsop pulls into the high school parking lot late Wednesday afternoon, looking for Rob Chandler’s car. Finds it tucked near the maintenance shed, carefully backed into a spot. Asa pulls the truck up behind the shed to wait. A tire iron rests on the seat beside him.
The wind blasts out of freezing Canada, a mean snow squalling in circles, winter still hanging on.
Chandler crosses the parking lot alone. Just as well, Asa thinks, though he’d like to put the fear of God into Chandler and his friends, too.
He gets out of the pickup.
Chandler hears the truck door slam, looks over his shoulder, fumbles, drops his keys. Asa walks slowly toward him as he scrambles in the slush for his keys.
“Stand up.”
Chandler backs up to his car, eyes frantic.
“You know anything about the whereabouts of my daughter?”
“No, sir.”
“You lie about as easy as you breathe, don’t you? Why were you bothering Nell Flynn?”
“Just wanted to offer her a ride home.”
“That’s another lie, isn’t it?”
“I wanted to talk to her.”
“About my daughter?”
“I don’t know anything about your daughter.”
“How is that possible when that girl thought she loved you?”
Chandler’s eyes shift.
“Never had an enemy,” Asa continues. “No reason to be afraid of anyone. Until you show up. And she disappears.”
“I had nothing to do with that.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“Believe what you like.”
“You don’t belong on our side of the lake, do you?”
“It’s a free country.”
“You stay away from Nell Flynn.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m not a violent man,” Asa says, revealing the tire iron in his hand.
“My father’s a lawyer.”
“Hiding behind your father, now.”
“He’ll press charges.”
Asa grabs Chandler by the throat, nearly lifts him off his feet.
“You stay away from Nell Flynn or I will mess up your face so bad your own mother won’t recognize you.”
“You’ll be sorry you ever spoke to me, old man.”
Asa releases his hold on the boy, clenching the tire iron in his fist, thinks how good it would feel to wreck that sonofabitch car.
“You’ve been warned.”
Billy is dressed and waiting when Nell arrives at the hospital, his clothes too big, belt needing extra notches. She gives back his hunting jacket reluctantly and stuffs his few belongings into a duffel.
He accepts a wheelchair for the first and last time in his life.
They are quiet on the drive to Geneva as the light thickens into dusk. The closeness to home washes over him, too intense; everything is too intense, threatening to drown him. Dazzled to be out of the hospital, in motion, the next phase, whatever it is, beginning.
He asks Nell to shut the car off before turning down the drive. He reaches across his body to roll down the window with his left hand. The pines lining the road shade from blue to black, soft yellow light falls from the kitchen windows; still he doesn’t want to go inside.
“I can smell the white pines, I think . . . ” He shuts his eyes and imagines the dark, billowing like a sheet, covering the lake and filling the valley.
They hear the late train’s long whistle as it climbs the grade out of town. He hasn’t heard a train whistle in a long time.
“I thought I’d get out of the Army, hitchhike across the country, figure out what’s next. I never thought I’d be moving back home.”
“It won’t be that bad.”
“Right.”
“They’ve mellowed.”
“Sure they have.” He smiles at her. “You got pretty,” he touches her face.
“Did not.”
“I know a little something about good-looking girls.”
“I bet you do.”
“I should be living in some dumpy apartment, raising Cain and working hard.”
“I could help you find a place.”
“As soon as I get my feet on the ground.” He pulls several pills from his pocket, swallows them dry. “Where’s Megan?”
“The police searched the high school on Monday.”
“You know something.”
She lets the accusation hang in the air.
“Nell?”
“I don’t.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Why isn’t Megan here, now, waiting on the porch for him, sensing the car nearby, those small hands reaching for him, that fierceness she has, that knowing look: yeah, yeah, set your duffel down, say hello to your parents, and then come to me, find me, just us, Billy, just us.
He isn’t sure he can walk back into this house, this life, without her.
They’d written back and forth, full of plans and ideas. Talked about ag school for Megan. She was drawn to big animals, cows and horses; maybe she’d become a vet. Though what she really wanted was to raise them and work them.
Billy knew Esme expected him to come to Cornell, get his degree, work in the ornithology lab. But he’d realized he could never survive there, his time outdoors limited to research, his job—or what he imagined his job would be—in the classroom, like Esme. Leave that to his brother Brendan, a born teacher. Billy wanted as much physical freedom and time outdoors as he could get. He wanted
to get his commercial license, fly for one of the big airlines for a few years while Megan was in college. He’d save up for a down payment on his own plane, or find a partner, Harlow maybe, go into business for himself, flying hunters, skiers, fishermen in and out of remote areas. He’d get to know the swath of woods, rivers, lakes that stretch north through the Adirondacks into Canada. In the slow seasons he’d work with Megan on their own place or they’d help Asa breathe some life back into the family farm.
This lake, this land is in their blood.
Billy looks at Nell for a long moment, thinks of the oceans that separated them for almost two years, how much he doesn’t know, can’t know. How much they’ve all changed.
“Why can’t they find her?” he asks.
“The longer she’s gone, the less likely she’ll be found.”
“Don’t tell me that.”
“It’s just the truth.”
“I don’t know how to live with that.”
“Neither do I.”
Nell dreads going up to the farm at night alone but she promised Mr. Alsop she’d feed the animals. He’d phoned from the police station, said he’d been called in for questioning.
The mute darkness envelops her, the grief-struck strangeness of this place without Megan. Her throat aches, eyes too, head. Hurts enough to change her breathing.
The barn smells of hay and oats and manure, grease and old leather, as it always does, but the crows in the yard appear larger than usual, more numerous, threatening.
She turns on all the barn lights, none of which are very bright, feeds the chickens, brings the goats into the barn to be fed and watered. Both ponies put their noses in her palm, looking for treats, then nip at her when she disappoints them and walks on. They’ll have to wait their turn.
There’s one goat—Mike—a devil, who will never come in with the others, no matter how much grain you rattle in the pail. She chases him out behind the barn, cursing as she slips on melting snow and ice. She suddenly smells blood, hears whimpering.
Dash, the Alsops’ border collie, is on her side next to the manure pile, shaking, skin and bones. Nell picks her up as gently as she can, carries her into the barn, and puts her down on fresh straw. Mike follows behind, nudging her with his nose. She herds him into his pen and brings water to the dog, covering her with one of the horse blankets, and then runs into the house to call her father.
“Slow down, I can’t understand you,” Jack says on the phone.
“The Alsops’ dog has shown up, hurt. I need you to pick me up and drive us to the vet’s.”
“Where’s Asa?”
“I’ll tell you when you get here. Hurry, Dad.”
“What about Evan?”
“He’s not here. He must be at his mom’s place.”
She returns to the barn, feeds the ponies, and then sits with Dash. When she hears her father’s truck she carries the dog out to meet him.
“Put her on the seat. You can kneel on the floor.”
Nell closes up the barn. No lock on the door, of course, nor was the house locked. She isn’t sure if that’s trusting or foolish. Either way, tonight it scares her.
Dash has a broken pelvis. Will Haney, the vet, figures the dog got hit by a car. Lucky she hadn’t broken a leg or her spine. How she’d survived five weeks of winter weather, avoided predators, found water, and got herself home is a mystery. They can’t set the bone, but will try to keep her quiet enough to let it heal.
“Where’s Asa?” Haney asks.
“He’s at the police station talking to Detective Johnson,” Nell says.
“Any news about Megan?”
“Rumors,” Nell says. “We’ll stop by the station and let Asa know Dash found her way home.”
“He always said that dog was so smart she could run the farm.”
When they pull up to the police station, Jack tells Nell to wait in the truck. She ignores him.
The sergeant on desk duty directs them to the interview room where Asa paces the perimeter. He’s surprised to see them and then embarrassed. His lined, weather-beaten face is crumpled and weary. His big hands, capable with tools, machinery, animals, seem lost here, without purpose or purchase.
“Is everything all right?” he asks. “Is it Megan?”
“I found Dash out behind the barn. Hurt, but alive. She’s at the vet’s now.”
Asa sits, as if struck by a blow.
“Mr. Alsop?” Nell says. “She’s gonna be okay.”
“I told myself they were together. And that Dash would find a way to bring Megan home.” His voice breaks when he says his daughter’s name.
“What happened, Asa?” Jack asks. “Why are you here?”
“Rob Chandler has accused me of harassing him. They’re holding me while his father decides whether he’s going to press charges.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had a few words with him. Lost my temper.”
“Did you hit him?” Jack asks.
“Wanted to.”
“I bet.”
“He’d been threatening Nell. Thought I’d straighten him out.”
Jack turns to Nell. “Rob Chandler threatened you?”
“Not in so many words.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to worry you.”
“What does that mean, he threatened you?” Jack asks.
“He thinks it’s my fault the police are questioning him.”
“Why would he think that?”
“I knew what he was like with her. He knows something, Dad. Maybe everything. Otherwise why would he be trying to scare me?”
“I said if he came near you again I’d rearrange his face for him,” Asa says.
“Have you called your lawyer?” Jack asks.
“He said they can’t hold me or charge me based on a conversation.”
Detective Johnson appears at the door.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Alsop.” Then, taking in Nell and Jack: “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“She found her way home, did she?” Asa stands, reaches out to Nell, cups the back of her head in his palm.
“That’s a lucky dog,” Jack says.
“I bet she’s got stories to tell.”
When Nell gets home from school the next day, Billy is dressed and sitting at the kitchen table.
“Can you drive me to the Y?” he asks. “They want me to start physical therapy in the pool.”
“Already?”
“Maybe this is just an evaluation. C’mon. I’m gonna be late.”
“Do you have your bathing suit?”
“Yeah, but it’s too big. Can you find some safety pins? I don’t want to flash the therapist.”
“Not on the first day, at least.”
Billy walks slowly to the back door. She tries to resist the impulse to help him, but can’t stop herself. He jerks his gym bag away from her, nearly loses his balance, swears.
She should know better, she tells herself as she slides into the car.
Billy puts his bag in the backseat, slams the door. It pops open.
“What the hell!”
“The handle’s busted. You have to press down . . . ”
He wrenches the lever into place, climbs into the front seat, and struggles to close the door with his left hand. The radio blares when Nell starts the car. Peggy Lee singing “Is That All There Is?”
Billy snaps it off. “I don’t know how Mom can listen to that crap.”
They ride in silence, Nell tongue-tied by the wall of Billy’s anger.
She drops him at the Y, promising to pick him up in an hour, then drives past Harlow’s and down to the lake. Everything is white, the melting snow, the mist rising off the water, the lowering sky white with rain.
There are harlequin ducks near the shore. And a lone ring-necked duck, a bit early to be migrating. She rolls down the window. It almost smells like spring.
She opens All Quiet on the Western Front, but can’t concentrate. Picks up her calculus homework. The problems swim in front of her eyes. Mr. Alsop called that morning to let them know Rob Chandler’s father had not pressed charges.
She thinks of being found alone and taken away, up into the woods or down into the gullies and shale-bedded streams, tied up and left to rot. The cold closing in. Megan’s hazel eyes, green in certain lights. So confident, so fierce, who would dare . . . ?
She rolls up the window as the rain begins again in earnest.
Billy’s physical therapist invites him into a cluttered office and introduces himself: Kyle Walsh. He has a copy of Billy’s evaluation from the hospital.
“What are your goals?” he asks, without preamble.
“In life?”
“Physically. What do you want to be able to do?”
“All the things I used to be able to do.”
“Let’s get specific. I find that working toward clear-cut goals is helpful.”
“Complete use of my hand.”
Kyle looks at the chart. “You’re a pilot?”
“Army. Helicopters.”
“Do you want to fly as a civilian?”
“Dream job. Since I was a kid.”
“What else?”
“I used to draw.”
“Have you tried writing or drawing left-handed?”
“No.”
“Some people can make the switch. It’s challenging but possible.”
“Do you know something I don’t?” Billy asks.
“It’s a long haul with this kind of injury.”
“How long?”
“We’ll work hard. I can be relentless. Some days you’re gonna wish I’d never been born. What else do you want to be able to do?”
“Drive. Paddle a boat. Swim. Fish. Work on a car. Hell, have a car. Hold a girl.”
“Okay. Let’s get started. I’ll meet you in the pool.”
In the locker room Billy realizes there’s no way to safety-pin his trunks with one hand. Idiot. Should have asked Nell. Now he’ll have to ask . . . what did he say his name was?
A Catalog of Birds Page 7
