Do No Harm

by Christina McDonald

  He listened to Josh’s chest for a minute, then spoke softly to me. “We’ll continue monitoring him closely for infections and fluid imbalances, and we’ll do daily echocardiograms to monitor ejection fraction and ventricular wall mobility. I don’t want to promise he’s out of the woods yet, but I think we can feel positive now.”

  Jodie entered with my coffee just then and handed me a cinnamon roll.

  “Thanks.” I didn’t know how to tell her I didn’t eat sugar, so I took the coffee and the oil-splattered bag. “I’m going to run home,” I said. “I need to have a shower and get changed. Can you watch Josh? Moira should be here soon.”

  “Of course.”

  “Dr. Palmer…” I wanted to say more, to ask more, but I didn’t have the words, and anyway, I’d learned that sometimes strategic inaction is better than action. “Thanks.”

  I left quickly, dropping the cinnamon roll in a trash can outside the front of the hospital.

  A bitter, coppery taste filled my mouth as I thought about the poker chip in my pocket. Sorrow and also fear, because I knew this wasn’t over yet.

  * * *

  THE HOUSE was still and quiet. Oppressively so. I’d barely been back since Nate died. Moira had been the one to come back, bring us clothes, feed Charlie.

  Everything was where I’d left it: clothes still unfolded, toys scattered across the floor, a half-filled cup of coffee Nate had left on the dining room table, a pile of mail on the coffee table. Charlie came loping over to me. I bent to hug him, and he dragged a tongue across my cheek.

  I shook dog food into his bowl and topped up his water as he crunched the kibble. On the dining room table I noticed an unopened bill. I slit the envelope open. It was from the hospital. My stomach clenched painfully as I read the amount due.

  I moved to the laptop in the living room and opened the GoFundMe account that had been set up for Josh. Charlie flopped onto my feet.

  I scrolled through the recent donations. There had been a number from the people in our community since Nate had died, but the total in the account was still too low. I scrolled back, but there were no large donations.

  Gabe hadn’t made a payment for at least a week before he’d died.

  I felt sick.

  I had no money, and no way to get access to the bank account Gabe had set up to donate from. Since the investigation was ongoing, it would be months, maybe years, before Nate’s life insurance paid out.

  I looked again at the total amount due printed on the bill. And that wasn’t even factoring in the chemo or any of the emergency treatments Josh had needed this last week. Nor everything he would need going forward. But at least he would live. I was grateful for that.

  The police had already searched Gabe’s apartment and gas station, but I’d heard nothing about cash being found.

  I showered quickly and dressed in navy slacks and a matching blazer, carefully applying makeup to cover eyes that were swollen from a week’s worth of crying. I’d lost so much weight I looked skeletal, my cheekbones sharp, my lips tattered.

  I went to the kitchen, trying to decide if I would be able to eat anything. A sound startled me, and I jumped.

  “Charlie?” I moved in the direction of the sound.

  The shadow of a man loomed in my living room. My scream came out mangled, dying halfway up my throat.

  “Ben!” I threw a hand out to steady myself on the wall.

  He was sitting in the armchair, Charlie panting happily at his feet. There was no dressing on his wounded ear; just a neat stitching job, black threads peeking out from the side of his skull.

  Dangling from his hand was my gun.

  Tentacles of fear clawed at me, my pulse racing. I eyed my brother warily.

  “You’re out of rehab?” I asked.

  He raised an eyebrow. “They told you I was there?”

  I nodded. “That agent. She said they questioned you. That Carlos shot you when you tried to get drugs from him.”

  He laughed, a paper-dry, mirthless little laugh. “Carlos was always too hotheaded. Santiago was calmer. I’ll miss him. No matter what they think, I didn’t kill him.”

  “Who did?”

  Ben rubbed a hand over Charlie’s long ears, not answering. “I’m heading out of town. I wanted to give you back your gun before I left.”

  He held it out to me. I gingerly took it, checked it was disarmed, and slid it into my purse.

  I wanted to beg him to stay, to plead with him not to leave me. Family is family. Yes, our relationship was complex, but complex relationships, the ones you worked at the hardest, were sometimes the most important ones.

  I didn’t want to lose him.

  But all I said was: “What about Lucas?”

  “He’s with Violeta’s mom.”

  “Bring him here,” I said. “He’s my nephew. I’ll keep him safe.”

  Ben squinted at me. “He doesn’t even know you. No, he’ll be happiest with his grandma.” His shook his head, looking sad. “Violeta was a good mom, but me… I’m just a fuckup. I don’t want him raised around an addict. I got enough of that from Dad.”

  “You think Dad was an addict?”

  “You don’t?”

  I thought of how Dad drank, his gambling problems. How much of a workaholic he was. Substances weren’t the only addiction a person could have.

  “Addiction’s in my blood,” Ben said, “it’s in my brain. Maybe I can beat it if I go away this time.”

  “Addiction is about escape. It’s about numbing painful emotions and detaching from reality. Running away won’t change—”

  “Stop,” he cut me off, his voice like a shard of glass. “This is my life, not yours. You don’t get to tell me what will or won’t work.”

  “I’m… I’m sorry, you’re right.” I looked down, embarrassed.

  I was ashamed of what I’d done to Ben, turning him in to the police and getting him thrown in jail. I’d cut him off from friends, family, community. It was my fault he’d been isolated. My fault he’d hooked up with a lunatic like Violeta. My fault even that he’d become addicted again.

  Maybe everyone, no matter how imperfect, is capable of finding their own way, given the right support. I wanted another chance to be that support.

  Ben stared at the fireplace mantel, an old photo I’d framed of Mom, Dad, Ben, and me at the beach when we were young. “You know, I blamed myself for Mom and Dad dying for a long time. If I hadn’t been off my face that night, maybe they wouldn’t be dead.”

  “Dad was drinking,” I reminded him. “It wasn’t your fault. But if you keep using, you’re going to end up dead just like them.”

  “I know. That’s why I need to get out of here.” He kicked a duffel bag I hadn’t noticed on the floor toward me. “Here. That’s all the money I have left. Take it, for Josh.”

  “Ben…” I searched his face.

  “Take it. But promise me you won’t do this shit anymore. Things will go wrong, and you’ll get caught or you’ll get addicted. To the money, the drugs, the power. Take this and get out while you still can.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ben moved toward the door, but hesitated. “I never told you how proud I am of you. You pulled your life together after Mom and Dad died. I love you, Emma. I always mess it up, I know, but it’s not because I don’t love you. I do love you.”

  Tears clogged my throat. “I love you too, Ben.”

  He turned to go, and the emptiness I felt was vast and cavernous. I knew it probably wasn’t good-bye forever, but every good-bye with Ben felt like the last one we’d ever have.

  Charlie tried to follow Ben, but I called him back.

  “Ben!” I called out. “Who were you working with?”

  He stopped abruptly. “Just leave it alone,” he warned. “Trust me, some stones are better left unturned.”

  And then he was gone, an icy wind curling in through the open door, ruffling Charlie’s fur and stirring my hair. A minute later, I heard the roar of his motorcycle as he s
ped away.

  CHAPTER 45

  MOIRA WAS ALREADY AT the funeral home when I arrived. She was dressed tastefully in a pale-pink dress suit, her slate-gray bob immaculately styled, contrasting with the raw red of her eyes.

  Two police officers with their badges covered in black tape guided us into the backseat of a black SUV. The funeral procession began, nine motorcycles flanking the car that held Nate’s flag-draped casket in front of us. A line of police cars stretched behind us.

  We rode through town in silence, people on the sidewalks stopping to stare as we passed. Moira reached across the back of the car and held my hand. Before all of this, we could barely stand each other. Now I had nobody else.

  Patches of dirty snow clung to the edges of the roads, gathered in little piles along the shoulder. The day was cold and bleak, the kind that never seemed to warm up. More snow was forecast for later.

  The procession finally turned in at the stone-and-glass community center, which was the only place with an auditorium large enough to accommodate all the mourners. The flags at the entrance had been lowered to half-staff. Rows of servicemen on either side of the road saluted Nate’s casket as we drove by.

  Lieutenant Dyson helped Moira and me out of the SUV. He accompanied us up the walkway, the soaring evergreens and snow-encrusted Cascade Mountains towering in the distance. His limp was more pronounced than ever, his face gray with grief. For the first time, I realized he looked like an old man. I’d heard he’d announced his impending retirement shortly after Nate was killed. I wondered who would take his place now.

  At the entrance to the community center, one of the police officers took over, leading us to our seats at the front. Moira and I sat, both of us numb with shock and grief.

  “Hey, stranger,” I heard behind me.

  I whirled around and stood. “Julia!”

  She leaned her metal cane against the chair and hugged me; her body was thin and frail. Her dark hair was tied into a tight ponytail, freckles stark on her pale skin.

  Julia’s lashes glittered with tears. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “Thank you. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m feeling… lucky. I must’ve been off my head to take so much. To be honest, I don’t really remember a lot from the last few weeks. Everything’s a little… murky.”

  I studied her face. She didn’t seem suspicious in any way. “It’s understandable.”

  The pastor began speaking, and Julia returned to her seat. The service sped by in a whirl of music and pallbearers and blurred tears. The mayor spoke, as did Lieutenant Dyson and a few others from the police department. Moira got up to speak, and then it was my turn.

  I looked out across the sea of faces, surrounded but alone.

  I fingered the heartbeat necklace Nate had bought for me, the metal cool against my sweaty fingers. Everybody was here. Nate’s brothers and sister. My colleagues from the hospital and friends I’d made in the last few years. Marjorie. Julia. Kia. Dr. Palmer. Josh’s nurse, Katie. I caught my breath, tears filling my eyes. I couldn’t seem to stop them anymore. I wanted desperately to throw myself into the casket with Nate.

  “The first time I met Nate, he’d been stabbed through the hand. I was the doctor who stitched him up. Nate said he was lucky he’d been stabbed because he got to meet me.” I laughed, a weepy little gasp. “I fell in love with him because of his commitment to his family, his friends, and his job. He was a good man. An honorable man. He always said we have to do the right thing, even if it’s the hard thing, and he taught our son to believe that good overcomes bad and right always overcomes wrong.

  “Nate lost his life while trying to stop a man who wanted to kill me. A man who wanted to destroy everything he’d worked so hard to defend. Nate is my hero.” I took a deep breath, tears now cascading down my cheeks. “But it isn’t how Nate lost his life that makes him a hero. It’s how he lived it. Nate was a devoted father, a loving husband, a dedicated cop, the protector of the innocent. He was a man of great love and compassion. We’re all better people for having known him. I think, in the end, we’re the lucky ones.…”

  A raw sob caught in my throat and I bent over, teardrops smearing the notes on the lectern.

  Moira hurried to me and helped me down the stairs. I stumbled back into my seat, sobbing, unable to catch my breath.

  How would I survive without Nate?

  * * *

  BACK AT the hospital, Josh was awake and howling for Nate and me.

  I hurried into his room to find him curled in a ball on his narrow bed, sobbing, one of the nurses trying desperately to comfort him.

  “Hey, shhh…” I lay on the bed, pulling his thin body against mine.

  “I thought you were gone,” he sobbed.

  “I’m right here,” I soothed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  His tears finally stopped, and he popped his fingers in his mouth. His eyes drooped, and I thought he would go back to sleep, but he struggled to a sitting position, wincing as the IV tugged at his hand.

  “Where’s Daddy?”

  “Sweetie…”

  “Where is he? I want Daddy.”

  I’d been waiting for this moment, planning what I would say, how I would say it. But now that it was here I couldn’t speak. My throat closed around those ever-present tears.

  “Josh,” I began. “I have some sad news to tell you. You know that Daddy had a dangerous job. He protected all of us, but sometimes there were risks.…” I gulped, tears already falling. “Daddy loved you so much.…”

  Josh’s lower lip trembled.

  I took a deep breath. “Josh, Daddy died. I’m so sorry, baby.”

  Josh’s tears spilled over, tumbling down his pale cheeks in glistening streaks.

  “Did he die instead of me?” He choked on the words, and I wrapped my arms around him, feeling the sharp angles of his ribs under my hands.

  “No, sweetie, no. Daddy’s a hero. He was the good guy and he will always be the good guy. And he would never have gone away if he had a choice. You were the most important thing in the world to him.”

  Josh pulled away and lay down, facing away from me. He stared at the door as he cried, fat, silent tears streaking his wan cheeks. I stroked a hand gently over his smooth skull.

  “I know you’re sad. I’m sad too.”

  He didn’t reply, so I kept going. “You know in Star Wars, how Obi-Wan sacrificed himself so that Luke and the others could get away?”

  Silence.

  “Well, that’s like what Daddy did. But even though he’s gone, just like Obi-Wan, he’s always there, living inside the people who loved him.”

  More silence, and then a raspy whisper. “Daddy was the good guy. Why did the bad guy win? Daddy said the good guys always win.”

  * * *

  AFTER JOSH was asleep, I slipped outside to have a cigarette.

  The temperature had dropped dramatically. Flakes of white drifted to the ground. I huddled behind a copse of evergreens next to the hospital parking lot and lit a cigarette with shaky hands.

  Josh’s words echoed in my head. The good guys always win.

  No, I wanted to scream, the good guy doesn’t always win. The truth hovered over me like a shadow, blocking out any light. I wasn’t the good guy. I didn’t deserve to be the one who lived, and as he got older, Josh would realize that. He would wish Nate had lived instead of me.

  I wished it now.

  I inhaled, letting the smoke warm me from the inside. It caressed my skin, curling into my hair, my eyelashes. Through the veil of the evergreen boughs, I saw a flash of movement and heard the angry lilt of voices.

  I peered through the trees and recognized the crisp navy suit and bright white hair of Dr. Palmer. He was tucked behind the corner of the staff entrance. His back was to me, but when he shifted his feet I could just make out over his shoulder the person he was arguing with.

  Ben.

  I wanted to move closer so I could hear better, but I didn’t want them to know
I was here. They argued for another minute while I strained to listen. Snatches of words floated to me as snowflakes speckled my hair and melted on my hands.

  “… drugs… she… forget… know…”

  Finally Ben stepped away from Dr. Palmer. His face was red, his eyebrows drawn tight with anger.

  “… what really happened that night,” Ben said.

  It made no sense. I was there that night; I knew exactly what had happened to Nate.

  Ben stormed toward the back of the parking lot, while Dr. Palmer walked the short distance to his black Mercedes and climbed in. I tossed my cigarette to the ground, grinding it into the dirt before hurrying to my car.

  I followed Dr. Palmer’s Mercedes away from town. Orange streetlights shimmered in the murky air. He headed uphill, turning right and crossing the bridge.

  I knew where he was going before we arrived.

  The old mill warehouse looked more dilapidated than ever, the ancient rotting wood bowed and bending. The crumbling brick smokestack was barely visible in the murky light.

  I left my car parked around a bend in the road and headed into the swirling snow. To my left, the winter forest stretched into the mountains; to my right, a narrow strip of brambles and evergreen trees snaked and snarled toward the river and the churning waterfall in the distance. A cruel wind bit at my face. The fall leaves, beaten by heavy rains, were now covered in snow.

  I swept my flashlight over Dr. Palmer’s car, catching sight of my reflection in the window. Faded black circles rimmed both my eyes, thanks to Gabe cracking the cartilage of my nose. My skin hung loose and gray on my frame, my cheekbones sharp, lips cracked and bloody.

  The car was empty. Fear prickled in my mouth, bitter as a dandelion green. Where had he gone? Why was he here, and why had he been arguing with Ben?