Safe Harbour

by Danielle Steel

  He didn't like talking to her about it, he was afraid that even doing that would push her to extreme conclusions. And he didn't want to close any doors between them. He wanted to leave them wide open, and give her the chance to come through them when she was ready. Whenever that happened, if it did, he'd be waiting for her. And in the meantime, all he could do was love her as best he could, even if the relationship was limited. “You didn't fool anyone, Ophélie. Time is a funny thing. You can't define it, can't buy it, can't predict its effect on people. Some people need more, some less. Take whatever time you need.”

  “And if I never get there?” she asked him sadly. She was afraid she might not. The depth of her fears, and their paralyzing effect, had frightened her.

  “If you never get there, I love you anyway,” he assured her, which was all she needed to hear. As always, he made her feel safe, unpressured, unharried. Being with Matt was always like a long, peaceful walk on the beach. It rested her soul. “Don't torture yourself. You have enough other things to worry about. Don't add me to that list. I'm fine.” He smiled at her, and leaned across the table to kiss her on the lips, and she didn't resist. In fact, she welcomed it. In her heart of hearts, she loved him, she just didn't know what to do about it yet. If she loved anyone, and allowed herself to live again, she knew it would be Matt. But she recognized the possibility that Ted might have ended her life as a woman for good. He didn't deserve to have that power over her, but much as she hated to admit it to herself, he still did. He had destroyed some essential part of her she could no longer find or retrieve. Like a sock that had gotten lost. But the sock was filled with love and trust. And she had no idea where it was. Gone, it would seem. Ted had thrown it away. He hadn't even taken it with him. She kept wondering what she had meant to him, and if he had loved her when he died. Or ever. And she would never know the answers. All she had left now were the questions.

  “What are you up to tonight?” Matt asked her before he left.

  She started to tell him and then hesitated as their eyes met. From the look on her face he knew, and hated it.

  “The outreach team?”

  “Yes,” she said, putting their cups in the sink. She didn't want to argue about it with him.

  “God, I wish you'd stop doing that. I don't know what it's going to take to convince you. One of these days, Ophélie, something terrible is going to happen. I just don't want it to happen to you. They've been lucky, but they can't be lucky forever. Your exposure is too great, and so is theirs. You're out there two nights a week. Sooner or later the odds will get you, if nothing else.”

  “I'll be all right,” she tried to reassure him, but as always, he was unconvinced.

  He left at five, and a few minutes later, Alice came to baby-sit for Pip. It was routine by now. Ophélie had been doing it since September, and she felt completely confident about it, unlike Matt, who had constant forebodings of disaster. But Ophélie didn't share them. She knew the team well, and how capable they were. They were always sensible and cautious. They were cowboys, as they said themselves, but cowboys who knew their way around the streets, and watched their backs, and hers. And she had grown skilled at what she was doing too. She was no longer an innocent on the streets.

  By seven o'clock, she was in the van, with Bob driving, and Jeff and Millie in the other van. They had added more supplies for their route, a number of food items, more medical supplies, warm clothes, condoms, and there was a wholesaler donating down jackets to them regularly. The vans were loaded that night, and the night was bitter cold. Bob told her with a grin that she should have worn long johns.

  “So how's by you?” he chatted amiably, as they always did. “How was Christmas?”

  “Pretty good. The day was tough.” They had both been through it, and he nodded. “But we went to Tahoe the day after. We went skiing with friends. It was fun.”

  “Yeah, we went up to Alpine last year too. I've got to get the kids up this year. It's expensive though.” It made her aware again of how lucky she was not to have those worries. He had three mouths to feed and very little money. But he did everything he could for his children. “How's your romance, by the way?” They shared a lot, driving around all night, and they had their kids and widowhood in common. They exchanged a lot of advice and information, and talked more than they would have in an office. This was no desk job.

  “What romance?” She looked innocent, and he shoved her playfully.

  “Don't give me that, you phony. Couple a months ago you had a twinkle in your eye. Looked like Cupid got you in the ass…so what happened?” He liked her. She was a good woman with a lot of heart, and from what he'd seen on the streets working with her, a lotta balls, as he'd often said to Jeff. She was afraid of almost nothing. She had never held back, never hung back, she was right out there, night after night, every week, helping with the others. And all three of the regulars loved her. “So what's with the romance?” he persisted. They had time to chat as they headed toward the Mission.

  “I'm chicken. Sounds stupid, I guess. He's a wonderful man, and I love him, but I just can't, Bob. Or not yet at least. I think too much has happened.” There was no point explaining to him about Ted and Andrea's baby, or the horrifying things she had said about Ophélie and Chad in her letter, which implied that Ted agreed with her, that Ophélie was incompetent and had handled their mentally ill son abominably and was the cause of his problems. The sheer cruelty of it still killed her. She had even asked herself if what Andrea had said was true, and she had exacerbated Chad's problems. Even if she'd been manipulating Ted, maybe there was some truth to it. She had tortured herself endlessly over the letter and finally burned it, so Pip would never find it and read it, as she had.

  “I know, I know. A lotta shit happened to me too, when my wife died. It's hard to believe now, but you get over it. Enough to put your life back together. And by the way.” He tried to look nonchalant as he glanced out the window and not at “Opie,” as they all called her. She had come to like it. “I'm getting married.” He dropped the bomb on her, and she cheered when she heard it.

  “Good for you! That's terrific. What do your kids think?”

  “They like her… they love her… they always did.” Ophélie knew his fiancée had been his wife's best friend, which seemed to be a familiar story among widowers. They married their late wives' sisters or best friends. It was familiar to them.

  “When?” Ophélie was pleased for him.

  “Ah shit, I dunno… she's never been married before, so she wants to make it a big deal. I just want to go down to City Hall and get it over with.”

  “Don't be such a spoilsport. Enjoy it. Hopefully, you'll never get married again.”

  “Yeah, I hope not. She's a good woman though, and kinda like my best friend.”

  “That's the best way.” Like the way she was with Matt. It was just too bad that she couldn't get over her own terrors enough to have a real relationship with him. She almost envied Bob. But his wife had been gone longer than Ted. Maybe one day, she hoped, she could throw caution and terror to the winds, and do it.

  They skirted the edges of the Mission after that, did their drop-offs in Hunters Point, and had no trouble at all. It reminded her of how unnecessary Matt's fears for her were when she was on the streets. She was completely relaxed, and joking with Millie and Jeff when they stopped for hot coffee and something to eat. It was freezing outside, and the people on the street were miserable, and grateful for everything they gave them.

  “Man, it's coooolllldddd tonight,” Bob said as they drove off again. They covered the loading docks and the railroad tracks, the underpasses and the back alleys, as they always did. They worked Third, Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Streets, although Bob said he never liked them. There were too many drug deals going down and people who could feel threatened by them, and thought they might interfere. It was never a good idea to interrupt business on the street. The people they wanted to reach were those who were simply trying to survive, not those who
were preying on them. Sometimes the signals could get mixed. But Jeff liked that neighborhood, and he was right at times, there were huge numbers of homeless lying in the doorways and back alleys, under rags and tarps, and in the boxes they called “cribs.”

  They cut into an alley called Jesse between Fifth and Sixth, because Millie told Jeff she saw a couple of people at the far end of it, and both of them hopped out. Bob and Ophélie waited, and figured with only a few people visible, the others could handle it, but Jeff signaled to them for sleeping bags and coats, which were stored in Bob and Ophélie's van. And she hopped out first.

  “I'll get it,” she called back over her shoulder, and Bob hesitated, but she moved so fast, she was halfway down the alley with the bags and coats in her arms before Bob could get out.

  “Hold on!” he shouted after her, and followed her, but the alley looked deserted, except for a crib at the far end. Jeff and Millie were already down there, and Ophélie had nearly reached them when a tall thin man stepped out of a doorway and grabbed her. Bob saw him reach for her, and started running toward them. The man was holding Ophélie by one arm, but oddly enough, she wasn't frightened. As she had learned to do instinctively, she looked him right in the eye, and smiled at him.

  “Do you want a sleeping bag and a jacket?” She could tell he was high on something, speed probably, or crystal meth, but her firm gaze telegraphed to him that she wasn't afraid and meant him no harm.

  “No, baby, I don't. What else you got? You got anything I want?” The man had huge wild eyes that darted around him.

  “Food, medicine, warm coats, some rain ponchos, sleeping bags, scarves, hats, socks, duffel bags, tarps, whatever you want.”

  “You selling this shit?” he asked angrily, just as Bob reached them, and took in the scene.

  “No, we're giving it to you,” she said calmly.

  “Why?” He was hostile and speedy, and looked nervous. Bob stood very still. He could sense trouble, and didn't want to upset the delicate balance between them.

  “I figured you might need it.”

  “Who's the dude?” He still had Ophélie by the arm and his grip had tightened. “Is he a cop?”

  “No, he isn't. We're from the Wexler Center. What can I give you?”

  “A blow job, you bitch. I don't need any shit from you.”

  “That's enough.” Bob stepped in quietly, as Jeff and Millie approached slowly from the other end of the alley. They knew something was happening, but they couldn't see what yet, but they could hear him. “Let her go, man,” Bob said quietly but firmly.

  “What are you? Her pimp?”

  “You don't need trouble, and neither do we. Give it up, man. Let her go,” he said clearly, and was sorry he no longer carried a gun. Seeing it drawn would have backed the guy off. By then, Jeff and Millie walked up, and the man holding Ophélie in his grip looked angry and yanked her suddenly toward him.

  “What is this? Undercover? You guys look like cops to me.”

  “We're not cops,” Jeff shouted clearly. “I used to be a Navy SEAL, and I'm gonna kick your ass if you don't knock it off and give her up.” He had pulled Ophélie halfway across the alley toward a doorway where Bob could see there were two more guys waiting for him impatiently. It was the situation they hated most, they had walked into a drug deal in progress. “We don't give a shit what you're doing. We've got medicine and food and clothes for people here. You don't want them, fine, but we got work to do. Go on about your business. It's no skin off my ass.” All they could do was talk tough when things got tough, they had nothing to back it up. And the drug dealer who was hanging on to Ophélie looked like he didn't believe them.

  “What's she? She looks like a cop too.” He pointed at Millie, and Ophélie kept silent. Millie always looked like a policewoman to her too.

  “Used to be. She got kicked off the force for prostitution,” Jeff said valiantly, but the guy didn't buy it.

  “You're bullshitting. She stinks of cop to me, and so does this one,” and with that he let go of Ophélie's arm, and shoved her backward toward them, and sent her reeling. She nearly fell, and hadn't expected it, and as she caught her balance and stood up, they all heard gunshots. They had never even seen him pull the gun. And within a split second, he seemed to do a twirl and a jump in space, leaped like a ballet dancer, and started to run.

  Jeff started to run after him, and Bob shouted after him as the two men in the doorway vanished into thin air. They disappeared and a door closed. Everything happened so fast, and the whole focus was on Jeff and the man he was chasing, as Millie ran faster and shouted at Jeff too. They weren't armed, there was no point chasing him down. If they got him, there was nothing they could do except risk being shot while they wrestled him to the ground. They weren't cops, and what Bob wanted to do was get the hell out. He turned to tell Ophélie to run to the van, and as he did, he saw she had dropped where she stood, and there was blood everywhere. The man with the gun had shot her.

  “Fuck, Opie… what did you do?” he said, as he got down on his knees and tried to pick her up. He wanted to get her out of there, hoping it was a surface wound, but he saw instantly that she was too badly injured to move, and they were sitting ducks with her lying where they were. There were drug deals going down. The alley had been a bad move.

  Bob shouted as loud as he could, and Millie heard him first. He signaled to her, and she called out to Jeff. They had seen Ophélie on the ground in Bob's arms by then, and came back at a dead run. Jeff had his cell phone in his hand, and was already calling 911. They were back with Bob and Ophélie within seconds. Bob looked like he was in shock, and she was unconscious, but he had found a pulse, and she was still breathing, but barely.

  “Shit,” Jeff said, as he got on his knees next to her and Millie ran to the mouth of the alley to wave the paramedics in when they got there. “Is she gonna make it?”

  “Doesn't look good,” Bob said through clenched teeth. He was pissed at Jeff. The alley had been a bad decision. It was the first dumb one they'd made in a long time. And he was even more pissed at himself for letting her do it, and not following her more closely. But without guns, there was almost nothing they could do to protect each other in situations like this. They had talked about bulletproof vests at one point, but decided they didn't need them. And until then they hadn't. “She's a widow with a kid,” Bob said to Jeff as they watched her.

  “I know, man…I know… where the fuck are they?”

  “Coming, I hear them,” Bob said, watching her, and keeping his fingers on the pulse in her neck. It was getting weaker, and it had only been minutes, but it felt like lifetimes. But they could hear the sirens coming, and a second later, Jeff saw Millie waving, as the paramedics came running.

  They loaded her onto the gurney quickly, as one of them ran a line into her arm while they were still moving. “How many shots were there?” one of them asked Jeff as he ran beside them. Bob ran to get into his van, so he could follow the ambulance to General. They had the best trauma unit in town. And he could hear himself praying as he started the van and turned it around.

  “Three shots,” Jeff told them, as they put the gurney in the ambulance as fast as possible, and both paramedics jumped in. They took off as one of them closed the door. And Jeff ran back to his van. Millie was already behind the wheel. Both vans followed the ambulance at full speed. It was the first incident like it that had happened to them, but it was no consolation now.

  “Think she'll make it?” Millie asked, weaving in and out of traffic, her eyes on the road, and her foot lead on the gas.

  Jeff took a breath and shook his head. He hated to say it but he didn't, and neither did she. “No, I don't,” he said honestly. “She took three bullets at close range. Unless the guy was firing a peashooter, she's dead. No one can survive that. Not a woman at least.”

  “I did,” she said grimly. It had blown her off the force and put her on disability, and it took a hell of a long time, but she'd lived. Her male partner who was
shot at the same time, hadn't. Sometimes it was just the luck of the draw in situations like this.

  They were at the hospital in seven minutes, and all three of them got out of the two vans, and followed the gurney inside. They had cut off her clothes by then, and she was lying half naked, exposed, and with so much blood on her you couldn't see what was happening. And within seconds, she disappeared into the trauma unit, unconscious, with an oxygen mask on her face. Her three co-workers sat silently, not knowing who to call, or if they should. It seemed sinful to call a kid, and they figured there was a baby-sitter. At least someone had to know.

  “What do you think, guys?” Jeff asked. He was in charge, but it was a tough call.

  “My kids would want to know,” Bob said quietly. They all looked sick, and Jeff turned to him again before he walked to a pay phone in the hall.

  “How old is her kid?”

  “Twelve. Her name is Pip.”

  “Do you want me to call the baby-sitter or talk to her?” Millie offered. It might be less scary if a woman called. But how much more scary could it be than telling her that her mom had been shot twice in the chest and once in the stomach. Jeff shook his head and headed for the phone, as the others waited, leaning against the wall near the trauma unit door. At least no one had come out yet to tell them she had died. But Bob felt sure it wouldn't be long before they did.

  The phone rang in the bungalow at Safe Harbour just after two A.M. Matt had been asleep for nearly two hours, but he woke suddenly. Now that he had kids again, he never turned off the phone, and worried if anyone called him at an unusual hour. He wondered if it was Robert, or Vanessa in Auckland. He hoped it wasn't Sally.

  “Hello?” he said sleepily, after he had groped for the phone.

  “Matt.” It was Pip, and in the single word he could hear that her voice was shaking.