Different Paths

by Judy Clemens

  “Thanks for calling and letting me know.”

  “No problem. I figured you’d want to come back, just in case…”

  We let that thought go, and I turned to leave.

  “Nick?” Lucy asked. “How is he?”

  I looked back. “He’s fine.” An image of his face, furrowed with concern as I stuffed dirty clothes into my duffel bag, rose before me. Our afternoon delight had obviously been postponed. Not for too long, I hoped, but we didn’t have a date set yet for our next visit. It was his turn to come up to PA, and it was hard finding a time when his doctors and family were willing to let him travel so far away.

  “I’ll give him a call when I get back to let him know how Carla’s doing.”

  Lucy nodded, already on to the next cow.

  Grand View Hospital was busy, but I had no trouble finding Carla’s room. I’d been afraid they wouldn’t let me in, not being actual family, but the nurse was friendly and helpful, glancing at my tattoo only briefly before telling me Carla’s room number.

  The door eased open with a quiet whoosh, and I caught a glimpse of Carla before she knew I’d arrived. I swallowed a gasp and stared at my friend’s face, already black and blue. Her arm was wrapped in gauze, and her nose had swelled to twice its normal size. I took a deep breath and entered.

  “Stella!” Her eyes lit up and a smile spread across her puffy face.

  I made my way toward her, stopping suddenly at the sight of another person in the room. A man.

  He stood quickly, his eyes flicking toward me. Tall and thin, his brown eyes bored into mine as his hands grasped a magazine rolled into a tight cylinder.

  Carla waved an arm, strapped with tape and an IV, toward him. “Stella, this is Bryan. Bryan, Stella. Stella’s known me for…well, forever, I guess. At least all the time that matters.”

  “Hello.” He rolled the magazine even tighter, and twisted it in his hands before shifting it to his left hand and holding out his right.

  I nodded, studying his blue cotton shirt and combed-back hair as I shook his hand. Pointy cowboy boots poked out from under his jeans, and a shiny NASCAR belt buckle adorned his waist. Super. I hoped he didn’t want to talk about Dale Earnhardt, Jr., or any of those other guys, because I knew nothing about them. Didn’t have any interest in them, either, as far as that went.

  “Um…” He let go of my hand and cleared his throat. “I guess I’ll go to the cafeteria. Get something to eat. If that’s okay.” He looked anxiously at Carla.

  “Of course that’s okay. Take your time. I’ve got some catching up to do with Stella, here.”

  “Okay. Great. I’ll be back. If you’re sure.” He stepped toward the door, hesitated, and held the magazine out to Carla.

  She smiled. “You take it. Read it while you’re eating.”

  A smile flickered on his face, and he ducked his head briefly before exiting through the whooshing door.

  “Who,” I asked, “was that?”

  Her smile grew. “Bryan. I told you.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “My new boyfriend.”

  “New boyfriend.”

  “Why do you sound so skeptical? Think I can’t get one?”

  “Stop it. It’s just I hadn’t heard about him.”

  She tried to sit up straighter and winced. I reached out, but she waved me away. “Push that green button.”

  I jabbed it with my thumb, and the head of the bed rose, putting her at a better angle for talking. “I told you he’s new. I haven’t had a chance to tell you.”

  “You met him where? The OK Corral?”

  “Ha, ha. Very funny.”

  “Well, the cowboy boots, the belt buckle…”

  “Yeah, yeah, make fun. I just so happened to meet him country line dancing.”

  I stared at her. “What?”

  “I assume you’ve heard of it? The Boot Scootin’ Boogie? The Tennessee Twister?”

  “Of course I’ve heard of it. I just didn’t know you—”

  “Could do it? I might be a little rounder than you, but that doesn’t mean I’m incapable of some fancy footwork.”

  “I know that. I didn’t mean—”

  “Bryan asked me to dance about, oh, three weeks ago, at the VFW in Souderton. We hit it off, and he’s been hanging around ever since. He’s been fantastic today after…well, since I got mugged.”

  I stepped closer. “Speaking of that…”

  “Yeah, it’s something, huh? You like my new face?”

  “It’ll be back to normal in no time.”

  “I guess.”

  I studied the IV in her arm. “So why are you still here? In the ICU?”

  She waggled her eyebrows. “Subdural hematoma.”

  “Which means…”

  “I’ve got a skull fracture. A vessel in my head tore, and they want to make sure the tear isn’t expanding, bleeding all over the place in there.”

  “They didn’t do surgery?”

  “Don’t need to for this, apparently, unless it gets worse. It’s basically a concussion. I had an awful headache—but I’m on drugs now, so I’m okay—and they did a CT scan. Now they keep me here and watch me. I’m hooked up to monitors they’re keeping an eye on.” She pointed out the various wires attached to her body.

  “For how long?”

  “Till they’re sure the tear is healing.”

  I grimaced.

  “Yeah, I know, it sounds awful. But you know the worst part?”

  “What?”

  “I’m not allowed to eat anything.”

  I laughed. For Carla this was the hardest doctor’s order possible. “Should I sneak you in some ice cream?”

  She groaned. “Don’t tease me.”

  I pulled a chair to the side of the bed and sat. “So tell me what happened.”

  “You haven’t heard?”

  “Just the basics, from Lucy. She sends her greetings, by the way, and her prayers.”

  “Good ol’ Lucy. Couldn’t have anybody better praying.”

  “Anyway, you don’t know who it was?”

  She laid her head back and looked at the ceiling. “Just that it was a guy. At least, I’m pretty sure. He wasn’t real small or anything, and it wasn’t a wimpy shove. But the clothes looked like a guy.”

  “And he came up from behind and stole your truck.”

  A shadow crossed her face. “My poor baby.”

  “No sign of it yet, that you’ve heard?”

  She tilted her head toward me. “Detective Willard was here about an hour ago. Took my fingerprints in case they find my truck and need to eliminate me from the evidence. They haven’t found it. I’m not real hopeful they will.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Carla’s truck was her life. Or her job, anyway. The Ford F250 was outfitted with a Port-a-Vet, which held all the tools of her trade. Many of the instruments belonged to her, personally, and not to the practice.

  “You didn’t see the guy’s face?”

  “You mean as I was caught in the door and slammed down onto the blacktop?”

  I winced. “Well, when you put it that way…”

  She lifted a hand. “The tiny glimpse I had was after the door was shut. I didn’t see much of anything. If I saw any details, I forgot them. A ball cap is about it. And I don’t even know what team. I sure hope he wasn’t a Phillies fan, or I’ll lose all my trust in human nature.”

  “Willard able to give you any hope?”

  “Not really. They have nothing to go on. At least not yet. By the time my truck got into the system as a stolen vehicle the guy was long gone.”

  Her eyelids suddenly drooped, closing for a long moment before opening again.

  I pushed the chair back and stood up. “I’ll let you get some rest. I just wanted to come by and make sure you were okay.”

  “It’s these darn nurses.” Her voice was quiet, and a bit slurred. “They won’t let me sleep.” />
  “That concussion.”

  “Yeah, I know. And heaven forbid you let those vitals go without checking for more than two minutes.” She closed her eyes again, and seemed to sink further into the pillow.

  I reached out, then let my hand fall back to my side. “I’ll be back.”

  But she was already out.

  Chapter Three

  The woman at the nurses’ station smiled. “May I help you?”

  “Carla Beaumont fell asleep. Is that okay?”

  “Sure. We’ll let her go for a little while before waking her up.”

  “All right. Thanks.”

  I found the elevator at the end of the hall and pushed the down arrow. When the light went off and the doors opened, Carla’s new boyfriend stepped off. His eyes widened. “You left her alone?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  He jerked a look down the hallway, like I’d deserted my friend while she gasped her last breaths.

  “She’s fine,” I said. “The nurses are keeping an eye on her.”

  He fidgeted with the still tightly-rolled magazine. “Yeah. I know.”

  A light caught on his belt buckle and I held up a hand to keep from getting blinded. “You met Carla dancing?”

  He nodded, a corner of his mouth tilting up. “Doing the Boogie. She was…it suited her.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “She’s been great,” Bryan continued. “With this whole car-jacking thing. Pretty brave. It hasn’t gotten her down at all.”

  “Yes.” I stared at the untamed adoration evident on his face. “She’s an amazing woman.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I know.” He glanced down the hallway, toward the circle of rooms. “I guess I’ll get back to her, in case she needs me.”

  “She’s asleep.”

  Alarm lit his eyes. “Asleep?”

  “The nurses know.”

  “Oh. Well, all right. But I still need to get back. Just in case.”

  And he was gone, without a backward glance.

  ***

  “So what, exactly, don’t you like about him?” Nick’s voice was clear, as if he were right in the room with me, rather than two hundred miles away.

  “I don’t know. He’s just…weird.”

  “Weird. Sure. That explains it.”

  “Maybe it’s the cowboy thing.”

  “What cowboy thing?”

  “Pointy boots, hugeass belt buckle. I’m sure the five-gallon hat was in his car. Or hanging on some horse he tied to a post.”

  Nick laughed. “Well you know, you’ve got the biker thing.”

  I leaned back on the kitchen chair and rested my head against the wall, looking at the clock. It was late, and I was tired. “I know, I know. Forgive me for being mean.”

  “Nah. I think you’re just ticked you didn’t know about him earlier.”

  I considered it. “That could be. But it was like he was afraid of me when I walked into the room.”

  “Like I said. Biker thing.”

  “Whatever.”

  “So how’s Carla doing?” Something rustled on his end of the phone.

  “She seemed pretty upbeat, actually. Didn’t act like she’d just been mugged.”

  Something clanked, and I heard Nick breathing.

  “Although if you’d seen her face you’d think she’d been for a few too many rounds in the ring.”

  A door slammed.

  “Nick, what are you doing?”

  “The dishes. If that’s okay with you.”

  “Of course, you numbskull. But how come your sisters and mom aren’t there taking care of you?”

  He laughed again. “’Cause I didn’t tell them you went home. I want an evening—and a night’s sleep—without them hovering.”

  “Don’t blame you.” I considered asking him how he was feeling, but decided against it. If there was something to tell, he’d tell it.

  Things went quiet on his end, like he’d stopped moving. “I have to say, though, that I wish you hadn’t had to leave.”

  “Me, too, especially since Carla’s going to be fine.” I thought back to the moments before Lucy’s phone call that afternoon. “I at least wish Lucy could’ve waited a few more minutes to call.”

  “Only a few more?”

  “Well,” I said, “in a few more minutes I don’t think you would’ve been answering the phone.”

  Chapter Four

  I went directly to bed after hanging up with Nick and slept through to my five AM alarm. A glass of orange juice and a chocolate chunk granola bar later, I headed out to the barn. Queenie met me in the parlor, and I rubbed her as she stretched. “That’s a good girl. That’s a good one.” She groaned happily and sniffed my face, her wet nose giving me chills.

  A lot of the cows were already in the barn, enjoying the coolness of their stalls, and it didn’t take Queenie and me long to herd the rest of them in. Skittish and wide-eyed, they sprinted madly to their places, as if they hadn’t done it a zillion times before. Silly girls.

  I turned the radio on to the Temple University station, where a soothing orchestral piece began to work its magic on the few crazies. Soon the herd was completely settled in, like the frenzied rush to the stalls had never happened.

  I’d gotten the cows clipped in and was distributing grain when I heard footsteps. I didn’t look up. “Mornin’, Zach.”

  He grunted. Fifteen-year-olds usually don’t like to get up at five-o’clock to milk cows, but Zach Granger was an exception. He thrived on the rural atmosphere, and from day one of his summer break he’d been a constant presence on my farm.

  But that didn’t mean he was talkative in the wee hours of the morning.

  A lot of Zach’s time was spent working for me, but a good portion of his days was also spent with Barnabas, his 4-H calf. Just the summer before Zach had lost a calf, Gus, to the hands of a saboteur, and I wasn’t sure he’d be ready for a new one this year. But he’d surprised us all with his resilience, as young people often do, and had taken on Barnabas with energy and care. If, perhaps, a little less all-out love and enthusiasm. Afraid of getting hurt again, I was sure.

  I continued with feeding while Zach began the milking process, washing off the cows’ udders and slipping on the milkers. He and I had a routine, and very rarely did we need to discuss anything about getting the job done.

  I loved the barn. The cows. The feel of the warm, leathery udders under my fingers. My farm had been my home for almost thirty years, ever since I was born. Both of my parents had died there—my dad in a tractor accident, my mother from breast cancer—as well as my guardian and farmhand, Howie. I’d seen several generations of dogs, and more than that of the farm cats. The house had been through renovations, I’d lost a barn and built another, and the battle to keep the operation solvent had become an all-out war. The bills, the emergencies, the developers knocking on the door…

  The music ended—Brahms, apparently—and the college-age announcer came on with snippets of news. The words didn’t register until I heard Carla’s name.

  “Carla Beaumont, a veterinarian in Bucks County, was assaulted yesterday when her truck was stolen in the parking lot of the Roy-El diner in Sellersville. The truck is a white Ford F250, license plate DZ8453. If you have any information about the truck or the car-jacking itself, please call the police.” He rattled off a phone number and was on to the next subject.

  “You went to see her last night, right?” Zach asked from down the row.

  “Carla? Yeah, I stopped in yesterday. You know much about what happened?”

  “Nope.”

  I explained what I knew. He worked while I talked, and when I finished his response was, “Huh.”

  I went back to work.

  I’d known Carla, and been friends with her, longer than I’d even been acquainted with most people. From the time she graduated from veterinary school and interned at her present practice, she was the one I’d call. Well, first
Howie called her, and then I did. Almost sixteen years it was now. Other than the Grangers and some of my biker pals, I hadn’t known anyone—or had a relationship with them, at least—anywhere near that long. She was part of my life. Part of my home. And the thought that I could’ve lost her the day before made my hands shake as I applied the milkers, and as I wrung soapy water out of my cleaning towel.

  Almost an hour later, as Zach and I worked in compatible silence, the shrilling phone scared me out of my thoughts. I trotted to the office to answer.

  “Stella?” It was Ma Granger, Zach’s grandma and the matriarch of the large Granger clan.

  I glanced at the clock. Six-twenty-five. “Awful early for you to be calling, isn’t it, Ma?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Now, I’m having a supper tonight and I’d like you here since you came home from Virginia early. Will that work?”

  No reason to look at the calendar. “Sure.”

  “Good. Come at five.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  And she hung up before I could ask how she knew I was home, or if I should bring anything. Not that she’d want anything from my kitchen.

  I grabbed a piece of scrap paper and scribbled a note for Lucy, telling her I was taken care of for supper. When Lucy married my friend Lenny Spruce during the past spring, she and Tess had moved out of my house and into Lenny’s Perkasie townhome. That meant my in-house cook was gone and I had to fend for myself.

  But I really didn’t have to very often.

  Most days Lucy brought me some of what they’d had the night before, what they’d be having that night, or else the entire family of three would just eat supper at my house. I certainly wasn’t complaining. As I had told Nick’s family, I’m a terrible cook. If I were really left to my own devices I probably wouldn’t eat much more than cereal, PB&Js, and apples.

  Not a great diet to be sure, even if full of fiber and protein.

  I went out to the parlor and pinned the note to a message board Lucy and I had taken to using since she’d moved out. After a few experiences of forgotten messages and miscommunication, we figured something needed to happen. The bulletin board was our solution. It had worked so far.

  Queenie raced out of the parlor, barking, and I looked toward the drive to see a tanker truck pulling up to our milkhouse. I stepped outside in time to see Doug, the driver, jump down from his cab and snip off the cable tie that secured the tanker’s hose door as he traveled from farm to farm. He disappeared into the milkhouse, pulling the hose with him, and I walked over to pick up the plastic tie and stick it in my pocket.