by Peggy Webb
“Six people were injured at the riot, two policeman and Dr. Joseph Swift.”
Callie moaned. “Not Joseph. Please God, not Joseph.”
“Patrolman John Lindley was treated and released from Houston General while Patrolman Marvin Hanshaw remains in critical condition.”
“What about Joseph?” Callie whispered. All the blood left her face, and she felt faint.
As if in answer to her question, the camera panned in for a close-up of Joseph being carried off on a stretcher.
“If he’s gone I will die,” Callie said.
“Dr. Joseph Swift sustained a head wound….”
Tears poured down Callie’s face, and it wasn’t until the newscast was over that she could find strength to get off the floor.
She stumbled to the phone and had to dial three times before she got the number right.
“Hello,” she said, but she could do nothing more than stand in the middle of the room and shiver with relief.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
“Oh, God, Joseph, I thought you were dead.”
“Callie?”
“I saw the riot on television.”
“I was on my way to call you. How’s your father?”
It’s you I want to talk about, she wanted to scream, and in that split second Callie knew that what her father had told was true: she would find another hero.
“He’s complaining, and that’s a good sign. All tests indicate a posterior infarct.”
“That’s good.”
Callie’s hand tightened on the receiver. “What about you?”
“I have a nasty scratch, that’s all. And I have a helluva headache,” he said with a chuckle.
“You’re laughing.”
“Not at you, Callie.”
“But you’re laughing.”
Callie wanted to hit him, she wanted to punch his lights out, she wanted to stomp on his toes. Hard.
“Posttraumatic hysteria,” Joseph said.
“It’s not funny.”
“No, it’s not. I’m so damned glad you were not here, Callie. God, if anything happened to you…”
Silence. She gripped the phone, breathless.
What, Joseph? What? her mind screamed, but she said nothing.
He finally cleared his throat, and she eased her death grip on the phone.
“How’s Ricky?” she asked.
“He’s fine, though a little sulky since you’ve been gone.”
“Does he ask about me?”
Joseph laughed. “Approximately every five minutes. Mainly he wants to know when you’re coming home.”
Home. A place where loved reigned. A safe spot where you could shut out the rest of the world simply by closing the door and walking into the arms of your beloved.
How easily she’d been fooled into believing the house trailer the three of them shared in Houston, Texas was home.
There was another long silence, and she wondered if Joseph was thinking the same thing.
“I promised him I would be back,” she said. “Tell him that, Joseph. I will be back.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow…to check on your dad.”
“Joseph…” Visions of riots and danger and death swirled in her head. “What’s being done to prevent another uprising?”
“Callie, don’t worry about us. This whole area’s so tightly sealed that a rat would have a hard time getting inside.”
“All right, Joseph I won’t worry. Take care.”
“You, too, Callie.”
It was only after she hung up that Callie realized she hadn’t inquired about Peg. What was wrong with her?
She knew, of course. It was a thing called love. It narrowed your focus so that no matter where you turned, no matter where you looked, all you could see was one person.
Your beloved.
Chapter Eleven
Brenda and the twins came over for Calder’s homecoming. She’d made pasta, salad and fruit turnovers. “All low fat,” she said. And the twins had made an enormous banner that hung from the front porch: Welcome Home, Big Daddy.
“What’s all this?” Calder stood in the middle of his driveway admiring his mountain, his house, his family, his sign. Life was good, he decided, and it was going to get even better. Today Eric had told him about Brenda’s pregnancy.
The twins wrapped themselves around his legs, and Brenda walked into his embrace.
“What a homecoming. I guess I’ll have to get sick more often.”
“Don’t you dare,” Ellen said.
There was a general happy hubbub while Eric stowed away the luggage. Calder endured it with all the patience he could muster then he got down to business.
He grabbed his coat and his hat off the rack by the door and kissed Ellen on the cheek.
“I’ll be back in a little while,” he said.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m going down to the clinic to see if Dr. Brenner has killed all of my patients.”
“Dad,” Callie chided. “He’s not that bad.”
“Come and see for yourself.”
It tickled him that Callie didn’t hesitate. If he played his cards right he might woo her back home.
And then to his clinic.
The tribal lands could use another good doctor. A Red Cloud had been their medicine man since the Apaches settled in the mountains.
Callie took his arm, and on the way down the curving path, Calder leaned a little heavier on her arm than he needed to. He liked to see a good tradition carried on, and he wasn’t above a little blackmail to do it.
The clinic stood in the midst of towering pine and birch trees with a stream meandering so close to the front door you had to walk over a small bridge to enter the foyer. As Callie stepped inside she was immediately transported back to her youth, back to days of standing at her father’s side while he explained the difference between simple and multiple fractures, of playing hide-and-seek with Eric in the medicine closet, of memorizing the names of medicines as if it were a game, of knowing the names and the life histories of all the patients who came through the doors of Big Bend Clinic.
Now she knew very few of the names and none of the histories. She’d been gone too long.
“Welcome back, Dr. Red Cloud.”
The man who greeted them was Doug Brenner, Calder’s assistant. He was young, earnest, frazzled and nothing at all like her father had said. Within five minutes Callie knew he was a jewel, and as soon as they got back home she told her father so.
“You should be ashamed of yourself, Dad, denigrating a fine young doctor like that.”
“Maybe I did exaggerate a little. I’m sorry, Daughter.”
“You don’t look one bit remorseful. In fact, you look rather pleased with yourself.”
Ellen stepped in, of course. She always did when Calder was under attack.
“Your father’s just glad to be home, Callie. And if you two are going to talk nothing but medicine I’ll have to intervene. He needs to relax.”
“You’re right, Mom. I’m sorry.”
Chapter Twelve
The last of the dead were buried, and the survivors had returned to their homes. In the trailer across the lot Peg Cummings was packing her bag for home. Callie’s replacement, Glen Sullivan, had left early that morning.
Now came the hardest part of Joseph’s job. Saying goodbye to Ricky. Without any surviving relatives he was now a ward of the State of Texas, soon to be consigned to the care of the Department of Human Services.
It all sounded so cold, so impersonal. And yet the woman assigned to Ricky’s case was neither. Jenine Rayborn was younger than Joseph had expected, early forties he guessed, and she exuded a warmth that put him at ease.
“Don’t you worry about a thing, Dr. Swift. We’ll take good care of your little boy.”
“He’s special and still fragile.”
“I can assure you that we have the best medical care available to our wards twenty-four hours a day.
”
Ward. Joseph inwardly cringed. He despised hearing Ricky described that way.
“Very few survive the virus he had.” The woman nodded as if to say she understood. Still, Joseph was not satisfied. He pulled out a business card, scrawled his home number in Italy, his mother’s number in South Dakota, his beeper number.
“Call me if anything unusual develops with him, anything at all.”
“I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises.”
That was the thing. Once Joseph handed Ricky over to the state, he also relinquished control. Whatever happened to Ricky was totally out of his hands.
Jenine glanced at her watch, a clear indication the interview was over.
“I’ll come by to pick up the boy this afternoon, Doctor.”
Joseph didn’t want it to be this way: Ricky riding off to a strange place with a strange woman.
“No,” he said.
Jenine’s expression tightened, and Joseph berated himself for sounding harsh and dictatorial. If he ever had any skills of diplomacy, now was the time to use them.
“Forgive me, Miss Rayborn, I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s been a rough ride.”
He didn’t have to feign fatigue in order to gain sympathy. Jenine’s smile stretched wide.
“I understand. No offense taken.”
“I’d like to make this transition as painless as possible. Ricky has had a difficult time.”
“Most of our wards do, Doctor.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to bring Ricky here, walk through his room with him, help him feel less abandoned.”
“Regulations…” Jenine paused, studying him. “I guess this once won’t hurt. What time can I expect you?”
“Four o’clock.”
“Fine. I’ll see you then.”
Joseph was sweating when he left her office, and he blamed it on the Texas heat. He glanced at his watch. Twelve o’clock. That left him four hours to spend with Ricky, four hours to convince the child that everything was going to work out all right.
He wished he could convince himself.
“I’m not going.”
Ricky stood with his back to the wall, hands balled into fists and back bowed up for a fight as he made his sentiments known in no uncertain terms.
In order to get down to the child’s level, Joseph was kneeling. He’d been on his knees for the last two hours and he was beginning to get stiff. He hated being stiff.
As a matter of fact, he hated being forty, he hated his job and he hated the State of Texas. Right now all he wanted was to be in his bed at home with the casement windows wide open and nothing in his view except a grove of olive trees and sunflowers as far as the eye could see.
“Ricky, Miss Rayborn is a very nice woman, and she’ll take good care of you.”
“Why do I have to go with her?”
“We’ve been through all that, Ricky.”
“I want to go with you.”
“I live in Italy. There are laws that say I can’t take you out of the country.”
“We’ll run fast and they won’t catch us.”
“Italy is across the ocean. I’ll be flying home.”
“I’ll hide in your suitcase.”
Sighing, Joseph glanced at his watch. Another hour, and he had to be in Jenine Rayborn’s office with Ricky.
There was nothing else to do except admit that his plan was a total failure. And that was something he hadn’t had to do in a long while.
“I wish it could be different, Ricky.”
Something in his attitude must have tipped Ricky, for he collapsed against Joseph, sobbing.
“I want you to be my daddy. I want Callie. Where’s Callie?”
“Her father got sick, and she had to go home.”
“She promised she’d come back. She promised.”
“Not all promises can be kept, Ricky.”
It was called being an adult, and it was one of the saddest rites of passage in a person’s life—the moment he realized that fate had a way of negating even the most heartfelt promises.
I will keep you safe always, he’d told Maria. I promise.
“I want Callie,” Ricky sobbed.
Joseph held the little boy next to his heart, and in that moment he knew that’s where the child would always be. They had forged a bond that couldn’t be broken by time or distance or the laws of the U.S. government.
“I want Callie, too, pal, but we don’t always get what we want. That’s another sad fact of life.”
The air conditioner worked overtime in the trailer, muting sound so that street traffic was nothing more than a hum, like the persistent drone of mosquitoes. Closer by, there was the sound of a car door slamming. Then suddenly she was there—Callie, standing in the doorway with a teddy bear in one hand and her suitcase in the other.
Stunned, Joseph sat on his haunches staring. Ricky didn’t suffer the same paralysis. He launched himself at Callie with squeals of joy.
“I knew you’d come back,” he said.
Callie squatted beside the small boy to hug him, but over the top of her head she watched Joseph. Why didn’t he say something? Why didn’t he do something?
“Of course I came back, Ricky. I’ll always come back to you.”
Did Joseph know she was talking about him, too? His eyes were dark and watchful, and he had the waiting sort of stillness she’d seen in panthers stalking prey in the mountains.
Moving with the lithe grace of one of the big cats, Joseph stood up.
“Welcome home, Callie,” Joseph said.
To anyone else, it might have seemed a strange choice of words, calling this godforsaken place home, but Callie fully understood his meaning. The three of them had made a crude trailer in a parking lot a haven.
“Miss me?” she said.
Her racing heart belied her teasing tone, and Joseph waited for a long time before answering. Heat flushed her face and neck.
“More than you’ll ever know.”
There was nothing lighthearted about his answer. Just the opposite. His eyes, his face, his whole body spoke of hunger so great it left her breathless.
She longed for one moment alone with him. One touch. One caress. One kiss.
Just one.
But Ricky had pressing things on his mind, things that demanded immediate attention.
“Callie, can I go home with you?”
The distraction was a welcome relief. Longing for things she knew she couldn’t have was destructive. Yearning for the forbidden would only bring her pain.
“What’s this all about?” she said, and Joseph told her.
She’d arrived in Houston just in time to say goodbye again, this time to Ricky. Should she tell him of her decision? Should she say, I want you to be mine?
She quickly decided, no. A morass of legal red tape had to be untangled before she could adopt Ricky, and who knew what would happen along the way? Best not to make a promise to a child that she might not be able to keep.
Ricky withdrew into sullen silence during Joseph’s explanation, and he remained steadfastly there, even when both of them bent over to reassure and comfort him.
“I’ll come to see you as often as I can,” Joseph said.
Tears glistened on Ricky’s cheeks. Callie wiped them away with the tips of her fingers.
“You know we will always love you, Ricky. And I’ll come see you, too, as much as possible.”
Ricky turned his face away from them. Pain ripped at Callie, and she sought to ease her own by easing his.
“I’m sure Miss Rayborn will find the you the best mommy and daddy possible,” she said.
“Why can’t I have you?”
Ricky’s question haunted Callie all the way downtown. Here was a child who had lost everything he loved. Nothing left to him was familiar except the two people in the car.
He rode beside them stoic. Once he’d realized it was useless to fight, he retreated behind a wall of silence.
Joseph was equally s
ilent, his hands tight on the wheel, his jaw clenched. Callie smoothed Ricky’s hair, touched his cheek, patted his knee, squeezed his hand. Anything to reassure him.
And herself.
Callie had no intention of telling Joseph her plans. The last thing she wanted was for Joseph to think she was using Ricky as a means to get to him.
No, Joseph would fly back to Italy and she would pursue her plans alone, just as she always had.
She’d known from the beginning how it would end. What she hadn’t counted on was the pain. How could a heart hurt so much and still go on beating?
Joseph wanted the separation to come quickly.
Jenine Rayborn was waiting for them. She’d obviously had experience with tangled goodbyes, for she quickly took over with Ricky. Joseph barely had time for one last hug.
“Goodbye, pal. See you soon.”
“Bye, Joe.”
Such a forlorn little face. Joseph walked away quickly. Now there was nothing standing between him and freedom except Callie.
In spite of his intentions, when the time came he couldn’t bear to say a quick goodbye in the sterile atmosphere of the Texas Department of Human Services.
“I’ll go with you to the airport,” she said.
“Fine.”
Silently he cursed himself for sounding curt, but that was better than the alternative, that was better than showing his true feelings.
Mercifully the ride to the airport was short. Outside the cab he grabbed his bag and hung on as it were a life raft.
“Well, Callie, this is it,” he said.
He knew he sounded like something out of a grade B movie, but he was too numb to care. He envied Callie’s self-possession. Was it because she didn’t care? Because she cared too much?
Joseph would never know. He would never ask.
“Yes,” she said. “This is goodbye—again.”
If it hadn’t been for the sun he might have lifted one hand in sardonic salute, then walked away. But the sun chose exactly that moment to angle itself westward and become a sunset so brilliant, so blindingly beautiful it looked as if it had been painted by an artist.
And Callie was right in the center. A thing of awesome, aching beauty. How could he leave her without touching her?
