by Gina Watson
“I want to say you, but that just seems too easy.”
“It is me. Did it seem like she was into me?”
“Yeah, I mean every time I looked up she was totally staring at you and putting her arms somewhere on you.”
“Cool.” He nodded.
“So what are your plans?”
“Well I was just considering what you told me about the sort of guy she prefers.”
Harmony squeezed his forearm. “Hey, don’t go changing or she won’t see the difference.”
“What difference?”
“You’re the difference.”
“And you’re drunk.”
She smiled and cued up Cameron David on satellite radio.
“What was Megan saying about Cameron?”
“Oh my God, she had a one-nighter with him a few months back.”
“I know, but what was all that killing each other stuff?”
“She said she wasn’t ashamed because it was that good.”
“Damn.”
“Do you keep in touch with him?”
“Not really. For birthdays or the occasional post we’ll tweet each other, but that’s the extent of it.”
“That’s sad.”
Ethan shrugged, “People grow up, Harmony.”
“But they still need friends.”
“Different friends. The friends I have now aren’t the friends I had ten years ago.”
“My friends are.”
“You’re the exception.” He tapped her nose. She was too drunk to try and understand him.
At home, as he always had, their father waited up for them.
“Hey, Dad”—Ethan greeted—”I only had one glass of wine right when we got there so that I could fulfill my duties as the DD. However, you’ll see Harmony is sufficiently intoxicated.”
Harmony cut narrowed eyes at her brother.
“It’s your duty to take care of your baby sister.”
Harmony stuck her tongue out at Ethan, making a monster face to go along with it.
“And you, young lady”—oh geez, she definitely was too drunk for the young lady speech—”you’re home for a few days and you’re out drinking too much. What’s going on with you?”
Harmony sat on the couch and watched Ethan’s retreating back as he left her there to drown on her own. “I saw Ashton.”
“Is that what this is about?” He shut the book he’d been reading.
“He looks bad—he’s a broken man.”
Her father listened as she recounted the events with the cow and the wood chopping. She told him about his diet and thinking Courtney was in the house. She didn’t reveal, however, that she was restoring the cottage. Those memories were just for her.
“Dad, will you tell me what happened that night?”
He scrubbed at his chin and crossed one knee over the other.
“Mr. David had so much alcohol in his system I really don’t know how he was walking. Among other things …” he mumbled.
“Other things?”
“He had narcotics in his system.”
Harmony grimaced.
“When I arrived on the scene he was standing near the fire truck, using the side of the truck to hold himself up. He was going on and on about pumping speeds—I’m not sure he was aware of what was happening. He kept laughing and saying he screwed the pooch.”
“Screwed the pooch?”
“He’d just purchased that suburban. The pooch reference was made to lessen the impact of totaling a forty-thousand-dollar vehicle.”
“But his family—”
“You and I both know he loved his family something fierce, but he was so messed up that night he wasn’t aware of what was going on. He and I had been great friends. I’d repeatedly tried to get him to slow down with the drinking and the drug use, but he wouldn’t. When I came upon the scene I was livid. Ashton was in shock, but his father couldn’t stop laughing. The boy was in bad shape medically, but he cared for his father after he came around.”
Harmony cried. He was so close, right over the property line. She’d go to him and stay forever if only he’d let her.
“But you arrested his father?”
“I did.”
“And then he was charged with vehicular manslaughter.”
“That was because the woman in the other car ultimately died in the hospital from internal wounds.”
Harmony swallowed the heavy lump in her throat.
“I think you know the rest of the story. I don’t wish to discuss any more.”
“Yes.” She hung her head and wiped her eyes. She knew the rest of the story and she too desired to end their conversation here. She stood and kissed her father’s cheek, something Ashton could never do. “Goodnight, Daddy. I love you.”
Chapter 7
The pieces of the air drilling rig had been delivered via freight. Ashton had assembled it all himself. It had taken him three months and today he’d be testing the equipment. This, as he said before, made him content—a feeling he didn’t get to experience very often. He was in such a good mood he didn’t even care that the stray dog was back on the side porch, staring at him rather pathetically as he drank his morning coffee.
Ashton stood and walked to open the door. “I guess you’re hoping for something to eat.” Ashton kept a garden and he had a chicken coop. The cows provided meat and the chickens kept him in eggs. He was pretty self-sufficient. However, there were some things he had to order, and dog food was one of them. When the mutt started coming around Ashton had ordered some fancy dog food, only to catch the dog eating the poultry feed he’d put out for the chickens. He stood aside to invite the dog inside. The dog understood this gesture and complied. He’d reached out to the dog before—at night when he couldn’t shake the ghost of his father, but the dog wouldn’t set foot into the den and instead had whined at Ashton from the doorway.
He prepared the dog a breakfast of Science Diet, dry and canned food mixed together. When he set the bowl down on the slate tile, the dog sniffed the food and then stared up at Ashton. “That’s it, buddy. Eat it or starve.”
The dog again understood this gesture and began to eat. At the stove, Ashton scrambled eggs and fried bacon while he sipped his second cup of coffee.
After breakfast he and the dog piled into an old Dodge truck and headed toward the drilling site on the back of the property. “I think I’ll call you Tramp if you don’t mind.” The dog looked just like the one in the cartoon. It had been one of Harmony’s favorite movies and for a second he thought he shouldn’t use the name Tramp, but it was too perfect for the dog.
At the site Ashton checked the equipment and the rig. He tested the compressor and manifold. The rotary hose and standpipe were moving air to the top drive and down the drill pipe. The one thing that had him stumped was the blowout preventer. He’d read and studied up about the unit, but he wasn’t clear on the function of each individual ram stacked in the unit. He liked to know exactly how something worked before he used it, but he was too excited to waste any more time pondering the mechanics of the machine.
He climbed up the platform and stood on the landing to inspect the air hose a little more closely. He’d had the rig operational for testing purposes only. Every time he turned on the blowout preventer the damn thing cut through his hose, severing it. He didn’t understand it, but he understood that he didn’t need the blowout apparatus turned on in order to pump oil.
With that in mind he disconnected it and repaired his hose. He turned on the compressor, and then climbed to the manifold midway up the rig to stand on the platform and watch. He didn’t want to miss the moment the oil began to pump and fill the trucks.
As he waited he chuckled, recalling that he was spending thousands upon thousands of dollars per day in rental fees for this getup. With any luck he may just break even, once it was all said and done.
The computer in the little platform box showed all lines were pumping air and so he waited, wishing he’d brought a thermos full of
coffee.
Suddenly a warning buzzer sounded from some place he couldn’t locate. The rig started to shake and vibrate. He knew from studying that this wasn’t normal. He planned to shut the compressor down as he started climbing down, but a loud pop and a hiss, coupled with a violent shudder, had him running down the rungs as the rigging fell apart. He was only halfway down, but the tower was folding over so he had no choice but to make a jump for it.
He seemed to fall forever before hitting the earth with a sickening thud—some of his bones cracking when he made contact with the ground. He was face down in the dirt, barely breathing, but he was conscious because he could feel pain. Too much pain for a mortal to bear. Please, just let me die was the last thought he had.
***
Harmony watched in horror as Ashton’s body landed hard like a puppet on the ground.
“No!”
She ran from the woods, followed by a mutt who looked famously like Tramp. Kneeling at Ashton’s side she cautiously placed her palm on his back. His breathing was shallow, but it was steady.
“Ashton?”
She pulled out her phone to call for an ambulance. Unfortunately she was in the process of switching carriers since the one she had wasn’t well represented in the greater Baton Rouge area. Her signal was week and the call would not connect.
Moaning and groans of pain emitted from the heap before her.
“Ashton?”
While screaming in pain he rolled onto his back.
She placed her hand on his chest as she watched his eyes roll under their lids. Suddenly his green piercing gaze was upon her.
“Ashton. Are you hurt?”
“I’m—finding—it—difficult—to—breathe.” He took a breath between each labored word he spoke. He struggled to sit up and failed, shouting expletives as his body managed the pain.
He tried again and this time she helped push him into a sitting position.
“I’m going to call an ambulance.”
“No you’re not.”
“Do you want me to bring a vehicle to you then?”
“No.”
“Ashton, let me help you.” She delicately rested her palm on his shoulder.
“Don’t touch me.”
His voice was dark and gritty, spooking her. She shivered and removed her hand. She was prepared to meet the beast. She’d even go toe to toe with him if necessary.
He rolled to his knees, his chest hugging the ground as the trees absorbed his screams. His body failed to support his weight and he fell out of his knee stand.
“Ashton, what can I do?”
“Leave.”
She ignored him and instead walked to the bank of trees where she’d parked the mule. She pulled it up alongside him. He rolled to watch her.
“Do you want to get in and I’ll take you to the house?”
Helping him up was a struggle, not only because of his weight and weakness, but also because of the loud expletives he spouted into her ear. She noted that he favored his left leg and right shoulder. It also put him in a great deal of pain to breathe. That had happened to her brother when he’d fallen from one of the horses and cracked a few ribs. As she adjusted his crippled body in the Kawasaki, she was close enough to see the residual scars along his right cheek that forever commemorated the night his mother died in his arms.
Her eyes burned with tears.
When he caught her staring he pulled some of his long hair over to cover his cheek. “Fuck.”
They drove up to the plantation in silence. When he attempted to exit the ATV on his own he stumbled to the porch and folded down to his left side, gripping his ribs.
“You need X-rays.”
“The only thing I need … ah”—he clutched his shoulder— “is … for you to get away from me.”
“Who’s going to help you then, Ashton? Hmm? One of your brothers? Your wife? A girlfriend? You’ll go inside and probably smother yourself to death between lack of oxygen and the pain of your broken bones.”
“You enjoy seeing me like this.”
“Whatever. I’m all you’ve got. I’m the only one who remotely cares what happens to you.”
Remotely was a low blow, but it was hard dealing with a beast.
“Jackson Olivier.”
“What?”
“Please call Jackson Olivier. Phone’s in my back pocket.”
She struggled for a bit, and then had the phone in her hand. “It’s password protected.”
“zero—five—one—four.”
Hmm, she was delusional. She didn’t know what the significance of that number was to him, but to her it was May fourteenth, the night of their junior prom.
“This is Jackson.”
“Hi, my name is Harmony Clark and I’m … an acquaintance of Ashton David’s.”
“Hello, Harmony.” His voice had a nice depth to it.
“He’s had a very nasty fall from some scaffolding and I think we are looking at some broken bones, maybe even some cracked or broken ribs.”
“Oh, no. You better get him down to my office.”
“That’s the thing. You see, he won’t go or allow me to phone for an ambulance.”
The doctor laughed heartily into the phone. “He must be in a great deal of pain, given your list.”
“He is. A lot of pain.”
“I’m on my way, but work on him—let him know he’ll have to come in for X-rays.”
She glanced at Ashton who’d kept his green gaze on her for the entire conversation, as if he didn’t trust her.
“Okay.”
She put his phone in her pocket.
“That’s my phone.”
“Ashton, I’m not trying to steal your phone.”
He rolled to his one good knee and attempted to crawl. At his side, she helped him get upright. It took five minutes, but once she was solidly propped under his left shoulder, they hobbled into the house. Instead of walking all the way through the house, she sat him in one of the chairs at the kitchen table.
“Can I get you anything? Some water or something to make you more comfortable?”
His face held a grimace that related pain. His eyes slowly closed. “No.”
They waited in silence for about ten minutes before she decided to try and break the ice. “Did you eat the pie I made?”
His eyes flashed open at her. “You.”
“Did you eat it?” She was hopeful.
“No, I threw it in the trash.”
She gasped. “But it’s one of your favorites.”
“Not anymore.”
She frowned and felt her lips tighten. Not the best presentation for a psychologist with her patient, but then again most patients weren’t beasts.
“The groceries!”
She jumped up and walked out to the mule to retrieve the items she’d purchased for his home. Carrying four bags of groceries into his kitchen she stumbled and landed on her knees, the groceries rolling from the bag and thudding against walls and baseboards. “Ow!” She vigorously rubbed her elbow. The only reaction from the beast was a raised brow and a look of derision.
“I have everything I need. You can collect your groceries and leave.”
She slowly made it to her feet. She went around the kitchen gathering items and placing them on the counter. She’d purchased all of his favorite things as she’d remembered them from childhood. She held a package in the air next to her face like a game show host, “But I bought Nutter Butter.”
“Keep it.”
“Don’t you still like them?”
“No.”
She huffed, but started the task of putting the groceries away.
Hearing a knock at the door she dashed from the kitchen to greet the doctor.
“Dr. Olivier, thank you for coming.”
“Call me Jackson. So, is he all set for coming to the office for X-rays?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I figured. I’ve called a mobile sports unit. They should be here within the hour.
I’m prepared to offer pain management while we wait, but I’m sure he won’t accept that either.”
“Oh, I don’t know, he’s in a fair amount of pain.”
She led him down the hall to the kitchen.
Jackson pulled up a chair next to Ashton and started examining him. He pressed against his ribs and listened to his breathing. He completed some range of motion tests on one arm and shoulder, but when he moved to the right one, Ashton yelled. He inspected his legs and ankles to the tune of more yelling from Ashton. “I’m not really sure how you’re sitting up right now. I’m even more unsure how you’re able to breathe through the pain. It looks like your right shoulder is dislocated so once it’s snapped back in place that should help. However, I think you’ve got cracked ribs and a fractured left ankle. Would you like a painkiller?”
Ashton shook his head and grunted in lieu of a reply.
“Harmony and I are going to take care of that shoulder.” Jackson looked up at Harmony who was standing nearby. “This T-shirt is not coming off overhead. Will you get some scissors?”
“Sure.” She searched the drawers, but scissors eluded her.
“With the knives.” Ashton grumbled.
She pulled the scissors out and walked them to Jackson who was busy writing in a chart. “Just cut the shirt away for me, please.”
Using the scissors she made carefully located cuts along the shoulder and then at the neck. She cut down and around the armpit and sleeve to expose his injured shoulder. Once the rags were pulled away, she saw more of the residual scars from the accident that had changed his life. Instinctively her fingers reached for the scarred skin and she lightly traced the area, hoping that one day he’d speak to her about his torment.
“Stop.” With his uninjured arm, his hand grasped hers and pulled it away. He wouldn’t look at her. It was just as well because she’d probably cry.
She cleared her throat. “Okay, the shoulder is exposed.”
Jackson stood and inspected her work. “I’m going to set your shoulder. It’s not going to feel good. Are you sure you don’t want to take something?”
“I’m sure. Just do it,” Ashton grumbled.
“Harmony, will you make a large icepack?”
She was deep in the freezer when she heard Ashton’s agonized cry.
