The Traveling Woman

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  He shot me an impatient look. “Other options don’t offer the same chance of mobility.”

  “But there are other options?” I pressed.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “I don’t know! I thought, I don’t know, I mean, if you’ve got a broken leg, you put it in a cast and it heals. Why can’t you do that with backs?”

  “Let me show you something,” he replied, and he turned around abruptly and pushed open a door with his name on it.

  Then he switched on his computer and flipped through a couple of screens until he found what he wanted. He clicked on an icon and a X-ray lit up the monitor.

  “This is the patient’s spine,” he said pointing at a mess of bone splinters in the middle of the X-ray.”

  I thought I was going to be sick.

  “You can clearly see that bone fragments from the shattered L4 are protruding into the spinal cord canal. I need to remove those to limit neurological damage, thus providing the patient with the best chance of some mobility. Although there are no guarantees, of course. The patient’s level of fitness is in our favor, but you can see that there has been existing trauma to the spine, probably untreated,” and he gestured to another vertebra, three above the damaged one, pointing out what looked like a dent in the bone.

  “The patient has a name, Dr. Goldsmith,” I said quietly. “Kestrel Hawkins. Do you know what a kestrel is?”

  He looked bemused, but answered my question.

  “A member of the falcon family, I believe.”

  “A wild bird,” I said slowly but clearly. “He needs to fly, Doctor, to be free.”

  His expression softened a little.

  “I can assure you that we’ll do everything in our power. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have patients waiting.”

  And he left me standing in his office, staring at the X-ray of my love’s shattered spine.

  Shaken, I walked back to Kes’s room, stopping to get a coffee from a vending machine. It was mid afternoon and I hadn’t eaten any lunch, but now I’d lost my appetite. Then I saw Zach hurrying toward me.

  “We’ve got a problem,” he said.

  I turned to run back to Kes immediately, but Zach grabbed my hand.

  “It’s not Kes—it’s about Kes. Shit, sorry. Look, can we sit down?”

  I nodded, wondering what on earth could have Zach so worried now. Surely the worst had already happened?

  He steered us toward a quiet corner of the family room.

  “It’s the fucking insurance,” he said.

  “What about it?”

  “It’s been altered!” he choked out, tugging at his hair.

  “What do you mean it’s been altered?” I snapped.

  “Exactly that,” he ground out. “Shit, I don’t know . . . Kes used to have loss of income coverage and his policy no longer includes that.”

  My eyes widened with shock and I stopped breathing.

  “How can he not have that insurance?” I gasped. “He’s a stuntman, for God’s sake!”

  “I know! I know!” Zach took a breath and lowered his voice. “He’s used the same company going back six years.”

  “So?”

  “So when I talked to them this morning, they said he’d canceled the loss of income part of the policy—did it himself! In an email sent from his address. I know for fucking sure that I didn’t send that email and neither did Kes, but they’ve sent me a copy of it. And not just Kes’s: Zef’s and Tucker’s insurance policies were altered at the same time.”

  I shivered, suddenly chilled, as if every drop of blood in my body had drained away.

  “Aimee, the hospital bills will be covered, but after that . . . he’ll have nothing left.”

  “Nothing?”

  Zach shook his head.

  I swallowed, trying to understand.

  “Kes spent a lot of money buying the land in Arcata—pretty much everything he had,” Zach said quietly, as if it pained him to speak. “He probably paid more than it was worth, he was so determined to have it . . .”

  “What are you saying?”

  He sighed and rubbed his face.

  “You could try and sell the land, but I don’t know how easy that would be . . .”

  My heart was thumping erratically as Zach continued to explain.

  “The market isn’t great at the moment, so you’d take a hit on the price. But it would be enough to keep you going and . . . if you need to buy an adapted living home . . .”

  “Even if Kes agreed, how quickly do you think we could sell it, or at least sell some of the land?” I asked, my voice shaking.

  Zach shrugged. “Months, and that’s even if you sell it off cheap.”

  I closed my eyes and swallowed.

  “I have money,” I whispered. “I have almost twelve thousand dollars saved and . . .”

  “How long do you think you can both live on that?” Zach asked sadly.

  And then I thought of the amount of money Kes paid out for his mom’s care and my heart sank. How would we pay for that? Could Con pay for that by himself? I felt overwhelmed.

  “I did have some money,” Zach went on, “but I just bought my new RV and that pretty much emptied my account. I could ask the guys, but I think they spend whatever they earn. We could try a loan,” he suggested, “but they’d want the land and the cabin as collateral. But Kes wouldn’t have any way of making the payments . . .”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  “Are you sure about all this, Zach?” I asked. “There’s no possibility that Kes could have picked up that coverage from another company and forgot to tell you?”

  He shook his head. “Come on, Aimee. Can you really imagine Kes scanning through insurance companies on the internet, filling out the paperwork and sending it off without one of us knowing? Besides, I’d have seen the payments going out. But I think I know how this happened . . . I’m pretty sure I can guess who happened.”

  My eyes widened as I followed his train of thought.

  “Oh my God! You think . . . ? No! She wouldn’t—would she?”

  Zach nodded sadly. “She’s the only who had access to the records, as well as Kes’s email address and personal details.”

  “Sorcha!”

  That bitch was going down.

  I was boiling with rage, my blood heated with fury. That fucking bitch had screwed with my family for the last time.

  Zach held my arm as I leapt up.

  “Before you go off the deep end,” he said, “there’s a slim possibility that Sorcha used an additional insurance company but she never got around to telling anyone.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You really think that?”

  He sighed. “I don’t know. It’s possible.”

  “What date was the email sent? The one altering Kes’s insurance.”

  “Shit! I hadn’t thought of that. Hold on a sec,” and he scrolled through his phone.

  When he looked up again, his expression was grave.

  “August first.”

  “I think that answers that question,” I said tightly. “Because they split up in July.”

  Zach nodded. “I can’t believe she’d do this to Kes.”

  “Can’t you?” I asked, because I could.

  That evil slut had kept Kes and me apart for eight long years. Who knew what depths she’d sink to next?

  “I want her address.”

  Zach looked shocked. “What?”

  “I want her address, Zach. She’s not getting away with this.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Aimee.”

  “Zach, you’re a good friend and I love you like a brother, but I really don’t care whether or not you think it’s a good idea; just give me her fucking address. Right now.”

  “I’m not sure I have it,” he bluffed.

  I stood up and marched down the corridor.

  “Where are you going?” he called after me.

  “I’m going to drive around Sacramento screaming
her name until I find her,” I yelled.

  He jogged up behind me.

  “What will I tell Kes?”

  I stumbled to a halt, then turned to face Zach.

  “We don’t tell him anything. He doesn’t need to have this worry on top of everything else.”

  “But he’ll need to know sooner or later.”

  “I know that, Zach! But not yet! I need time. Somehow I’m going to get every penny we need.”

  “How the hell are you going to do that?” he barked. “You’re talking about a lot of money.”

  “I don’t know—I’ll get a job! Maybe I’ll ask that Michaels guy. Maybe I’ll ask Kes’s sponsors. Maybe I’ll call up Shelly Lendl and see what she’d offer for an exclusive story,” I said bitterly.

  “You can’t do that,” Zach said quietly.

  My shoulders slumped. “I know. But I’ve got to think of something.”

  He squeezed my hand. “We’ll work on it. Come on, let’s go see Kes.”

  We walked back to Kes’s room hand in hand, earning a surprised glance from a nurse who knew me as Kes’s fiancée. Whatever. I had more important things to worry about.

  Kes was alone in his room, holding the weirdest pair of reading glasses that I’d ever seen. The lenses were triangular in shape, as if two mini periscopes had been attached to the frame.

  “Hey,” I said quietly. “What have you got there?”

  He threw me a frustrated look.

  “They’re called prism glasses. You wear them when you’re flat on your fucking back so you can read a book without holding your arms above your head.” And he jerked his head at a pile of novels on his bedside table. “One of the hospital volunteers thought I might like to read, seeing as I can’t fucking walk.”

  He tossed the glasses onto the table and closed his eyes.

  “Well, maybe we could do some reading practice together,” I said brightly.

  But his eyes remained tightly shut.

  “I’m not in the mood, Aimee,” he said coldly.

  “Sorry. Just trying to . . . never mind. Zach’s here.”

  Kes opened his eyes and turned his head. “Hey, brother. How are you?”

  Zach smiled. “More to the point, how are you, you mad fucker?”

  Kes grinned at him.

  I slipped out while they were talking, ignoring Zach’s hard stare that bounced off my back.

  It wasn’t that difficult to find where Sorcha lived. I browsed the web on my phone until I found an old newspaper article about Kes where her surname was also mentioned. Then I looked her up in the Sacramento phonebook, set my GPS and headed off.

  It turned out she only lived 10 minutes from the hospital, and her place wasn’t hard to find. There was no real purpose to my journey, I knew that. But I just wanted to get in that bitch’s face and tell her what I thought of her.

  I wanted to yell. I wanted to scream, and Sorcha was in the firing line.

  And I admit, a malicious part of me wanted to hurt her—and hurt her badly.

  I didn’t even need to get buzzed into her building. A couple was just leaving as I walked up, and the man held the door for me. Nice people in Sacramento. With one major exception.

  I knocked on her apartment door, standing to one side so she couldn’t see me through the peep hole.

  I heard her walk up to the door.

  “Yeah, who is it?”

  “Delivery for Sorcha Vaughn.”

  She opened the door and I edged forward.

  Her eyes widened and she took a step back. But then she folded her arms across her straining t-shirt and gave me a cool smile.

  “Well, look who it is—a self-centered cunt: putting the ‘me’ in Aimee.”

  She tried to shut the door, but I barged into her apartment, hustling her backward.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” she hissed, when she realized she couldn’t shut the door on me.

  “You changed the guys’ insurance,” I said flatly.

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, I thought you’d come about . . .”

  She stopped talking suddenly and I cocked my head to one side.

  “Care to finish that sentence, Sorcha?”

  “No,” she smiled nastily.

  “Not a certain gutter journalist, for example?”

  I saw her eye twitch, but she didn’t reply.

  “Get the fuck out!”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” I said quietly. “You and I are going to have a nice little chat.”

  She laughed coarsely. “I’ve got nothing to say to you, rube.”

  I smiled thinly.

  “I’m not a rube anymore, but you probably already know that. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, just once. Did you take out additional insurance with any other company?”

  “No, I fucking didn’t! I’d have canceled it completely if I could have. Kes deserved it, dumping me like that. Seven years I gave him! Seven fucking years!” she shrieked. “I did everything for him! Everything! And he treats me like trash!”

  “But you didn’t do everything, did you, Sorcha? You didn’t tell Kes that Seymour Michaels had been trying to reach him? You didn’t tell the guys that they’d been offered important gigs in Dallas and Houston? You didn’t tell Kes that you were skimming money off the top. He could have had you arrested for fraud. But he didn’t. Even when you sicced Shelly Lendl on him.”

  “I loved him!” she yelled. “For years!”

  “No you didn’t!” I shouted back. “And I’ll tell you how I know! Because when you love someone, you want the best for them, whatever it costs you. You don’t fucking screw them over!”

  And then I slapped her. “That’s for lying to Kes about having seen me when I was 17—for keeping us apart for eight fucking years!”

  I hit her again. “And that’s for cancelling the guys’ insurance, you evil slut!”

  She reeled back, her cheeks stained red. I could practically see the imprint of my hands on her face—my palms certainly stung enough.

  And then she threw herself at me, screeching wildly. I tripped on my own feet trying to back away from her and she crashed into the wall, sliding to the floor, her hard eyes glittering with anger and hatred.

  “I’m calling the cops!” she screamed.

  “Oh please do!” I laughed coldly. “I can’t wait to tell them about your fraud. I can’t wait to tell them about your malicious intent to cause a crime!”

  “What the fuck?”

  “Changing his insurance without Kes’s permission or knowledge. That’s malicious intent.”

  I was making it up, but she looked worried.

  I was so angry, I was almost panting.

  Sorcha dropped her eyes and gently felt her cheeks.

  “How come he sent you?” she muttered, as she climbed to her feet.

  “Kes doesn’t know I’m here.”

  “Figures. Tell him to do his own dirty work next time. Or maybe you’re too scared that he’ll decide he doesn’t want a little school teacher and that he wants a real woman,” she sneered.

  “I’ll tell him,” I said, suddenly tired as my rush of adrenalin ebbed. “But he won’t be around to see you, now or ever.”

  “Keep telling yourself that,” she laughed. “Kes and I had something good. He wasn’t faking it the way he fucked me. He loved that I could take everything he gave me. Bet you’d never guess how rough he liked it, little wallflower like you. Oh yeah, there was nothing I wouldn’t let him do. Nothing.”

  “You’re disgusting. No wonder he dumped you.”

  She grinned at me, knowing that she’d scored a hit. “He’ll be back when he’s tired of you.”

  I gave her a cold smile.

  “Kes won’t be going anywhere soon. And I’ll tell you why.”

  “Go on then,” she laughed. “I can’t wait to hear this!”

  “Because he’s lying in a hospital bed with a broken back.”

  The blood drained from her face, leaving a clear outline of my finge
rs.

  “You’re lying.”

  “No.”

  As she continued to stare at me, I walked out of her apartment. I heard her shout something, but I couldn’t make out the words. Besides, I’d said everything I’d come to say.

  Funny, it hadn’t felt as satisfying as I thought it would.

  When I arrived back at the hospital, Zach gave me a searching look, but I just shrugged. Kes was so out of it with the drugs, he had no clue how long I’d been gone.

  He smiled when he saw me and reached out to hold my hand.

  “There’s my girl,” he said, his eyelids drooping.

  “Miss me?”

  “Always.”

  Within minutes, he was asleep. I sat there watching him, so still, so silent. His chest moving with each slow breath, his soft lips slightly parted.

  How could I tell him that we were almost penniless? How would we live?

  I firmly believed that he’d get better, at least enough to be able to walk. But after that? How could a disabled stuntman earn a living? Even if I got a full-time teaching job again, it wouldn’t be easy.

  I needed a plan.

  Easing my hand out of his, I went to the family room, empty at this time of day, and made the first of my calls.

  It took several tries to get through to Seymour Michaels, but I bugged the crap out of his assistant until she put me through.

  “Miss Andersen, may I first say how shocked we all were to hear about Kestrel. How is he?”

  “Thank you. He’s doing what Kes always does—he’s fighting.”

  Michaels chuckled.

  “That’s good to hear. What can I do for you, Miss Andersen.”

  “I need money, Mr. Michaels.”

  That shut him up.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Kes’s ex-manager cancelled his loss of income coverage, and . . .”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Very sorry indeed. But what is it you think I can do?”

  I clenched my jaw.

  “I was hoping you would give us an advance on the movie and . . .”

  “I’m sorry you’ve been under that misunderstanding,” he interrupted me. “But as Kestrel won’t be able to make his World Record attempt in February . . .”

  His words tailed off, but the intent was clear.

  “But his contract . . . ?”

  “Null and void, Miss Andersen. I’m sorry. I wish I could help you, but my hands are tied. Our very best wishes to you and Mr. Hawkins.”