Shoot the Moon

by Billie Letts

  “Except for this headache, I’m not in any pain.”

  “Trust me, when the local wears off, you’ll know you’ve been shot. Now, let’s get you to X-ray for an MRI, see about that head injury.”

  “Did someone hit me in the head, too?”

  “Apparently you did that when you fell into your room. At least that’s what the paramedics surmised.”

  “How long was I out?”

  “An hour or so. Long enough that we need to see if you have a concussion.”

  Mark took a deep breath, held it several seconds, then exhaled audibly.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “As okay as I can be knowing that someone tried to kill me.”

  Mark was sleeping when a nurse drew the curtain separating his bed from the one nearest the door.

  “Sorry if I woke you,” she said, “but you’ve got a roommate now. He’s just back from surgery. Can I get you anything?”

  “No, thanks.”

  After she left the room, Mark felt himself drifting off again until he heard Ivy’s voice. “Hi,” she said. “How’re you doing?”

  “Not so bad.”

  “You seemed to be resting well.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “About an hour.”

  “I don’t remember sleeping. Can’t remember much, actually.”

  “That’s okay. Don’t try.”

  Taking his hand, she bent over him and kissed his cheek. “I’m glad you’re doing so well.”

  “Yeah. I just . . .” He closed his eyes for a few seconds, then, with sudden awareness, said, “I was shot, wasn’t I.”

  “Yes, but you’re going to be fine.”

  “Who did it?”

  “No one knows yet, but Hap said O Boy’s got every one of his deputies searching the woods behind the motel.”

  “Was Hap here?”

  “He didn’t want to wake you. He came back up with me after we’d eaten, but you were still asleep.”

  “What? You left me all alone? Helpless and in pain?”

  “Helpless and in pain, maybe . . . but not alone. There’s a security guard right outside the door.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Huh-uh.”

  “Whose decision was that?”

  “Hap’s.” Ivy looked a little sheepish when she said, “Mine.”

  “You think whoever shot me didn’t get the job done? You actually believe someone’s going to come to the hospital, sneak into this room and try again?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “And it’s also possible that the shooting was accidental. Someone might have been hunting.”

  “Hunting what?”

  “I don’t know. What’s in season now in Oklahoma?”

  “Smart-aleck veterinarians from California.”

  “Seriously. Maybe some kid was squirrel hunting or target shooting.”

  “Yeah. And you were the target.”

  “I have to go to the john.”

  He pressed the button that connected him to the nurses’ station.

  “I could help you, you know.”

  “Not a chance in hell.”

  “Well, if that’s the way you feel, guess I’ll take off.”

  “Yeah, you should. I’m about ready for another shot that will send me back to la-la land.”

  “Okay.” Ivy dug in her bag, pulled out a paperback book. “Maybe when you feel better . . .”

  “Thanks.”

  “Then . . .” She made a move toward the bed, then backed away. “You feel better soon.”

  “I think . . .”

  “Mark, if you—”

  “Ivy, we need to talk about yesterday.”

  “What happened yesterday?”

  “Come on. Stop playing games.”

  “Okay, let’s talk.”

  “I’m sorry about what happened.”

  “You told me that already.”

  “Help me out, Ivy. We’re in a very awkward situation here.”

  “All right. Let’s lay it out,” she said. “We’ve spent a lot of time together over the past week. We get along, we like each other. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “You’re extremely vulnerable right now, and I seem to be your strongest ally. Then, in an irresolute moment, you kissed me. And I kissed you back.

  “But when that happened, you came to the horrible realization that you were kissing a woman whose belly looks like a giant water balloon. You remembered that I’m going to have a baby and you are not the father. Sudden humiliation caused you to recoil, fearing our friendship was damaged. How am I doing so far?”

  “You’re way off the mark.”

  “Let me finish. You’re humiliated and guilty; I’m humiliated and angry. I run out of the pool hall, you run back to the motel. And then you’re shot. I didn’t do it, by the way. I was mad enough to shoot you, but I didn’t. I’m a better shot than that. If I’d wanted to kill you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. End of story.”

  “No. Maybe the end of your story, but not mine. I kissed you because you’re a desirable woman—energetic, bright, compassionate, beautiful. My guilt had nothing to do with you being pregnant. None. When I said it wasn’t right that we kissed, I wasn’t even thinking about that.”

  “Mark, you don’t have to be kind about this. I know how I look, and I understand my situation. I don’t expect you or any man to find me desirable.”

  “You’re wrong, Ivy. And if we weren’t cousins, I would be—”

  “Cousins?”

  “I just don’t feel comfortable with that.”

  “You think we’re cousins?”

  “Ivy, Navy Harjo was a brother to Gaylene Harjo. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “And if my understanding of family structure’s correct, that makes us cousins.”

  “Yes, if Navy Harjo were my father, we would be.”

  “Hold on.”

  “Navy adopted me when he married my mom.”

  “Are you telling me—”

  “We’re not cousins, Mark. We’re not even blood related.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  When Teeve walked into Mark’s hospital room just before seven the next morning, she found him in a chair eating breakfast.

  “Let me guess,” she said. “French omelet, pork terrine, baked grapefruit and walnut molasses bars with peach butter.”

  “Close. Very close. Try artificial eggs, synthetic bacon, make-believe coffee and fake toast with counterfeit butter.”

  “And how is it?”

  “Truly disgusting,” Mark said.

  “Complaining about hospital food is a sure sign of recovery.”

  “Well, I’m not ready to leg wrestle yet.”

  “You have a good night?”

  “Great night. An extremely attentive nurse woke me up every fifteen minutes to ask me if I needed a sleeping pill.”

  “You look pretty good considering someone tried to kill you less than twenty-four hours ago.”

  “Doctor says I’ll probably be discharged later today.”

  “Lord, Lord. They send you home nowadays before the bleeding’s even stopped.”

  “I think if you can survive a night in the hospital, they figure you’re able to hit the road.”

  “Well, you call the pool hall when you’re ready to go.”

  “Thanks, Teeve, but I’ll just grab a taxi and go to the motel.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re coming back to my house.”

  “No, really. I think it would be best if I didn’t.”

  “Is this about that nonsense between you and Ivy?”

  “She told you what happened?”

  “Yeah, I had to laugh. I figured she’d told you she wasn’t Navy’s child, and she assumed I’d told you. Anyway, I’m glad you two have hit it off. You’re good for her right now.”

&nbs
p; “Ivy’s great, Teeve, but—”

  “I know, I know. She’s got a quick temper. And she’s not a very trusting person. I blame Navy for that. When he left us, she was brokenhearted. And once he was gone, he just forgot her. Never phoned, never wrote. Not a word, even on her birthday.”

  “What about her real father?”

  “Oh, honey, that was so long ago, he doesn’t seem any more real to me than some soap opera character.

  “I was seventeen, thought I was in love, got pregnant. He left here before Ivy was born, got killed in Vietnam. Bless his heart, he never even knew he fathered a child.”

  “Does Ivy know all this?”

  “I never tried to hide it from her. But truth is, she lost two dads and I think that’s the reason she’s never married. She just can’t seem to let herself trust men. Don’t know if she told you she was engaged once. When she was living in Vermont.”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  “She sent out invitations, bought a dress, had everything planned. Then, a week before the wedding, she called it off.”

  “Did she tell you why?” Mark asked.

  “Never did. But that’s her way. She keeps too much inside.”

  When an aide came in to pick up Mark’s tray, Teeve said, “Well, I’d better get to the pool hall before the domino boys break down the door. Now, you promise to call when you’re ready to get out of here?”

  “Teeve, I’m not completely comfortable staying at your place.”

  “Why?”

  “If it’s true that someone was trying to kill me, he’s still out there. And once he finds out he didn’t get the job done, he might try again. Better the motel than your place.”

  “Honey, Navy left an arsenal in my closet. And I know how to use every gun there. You leave the protection to me and I’ll leave the caregiving to Ivy. I don’t know how she is with people, but I’ve seen her doctor hamsters, cats, birds, mice. She saved all of them, but they ended up neurotic, so be careful. She’ll baby you, mother you, pamper you and drive you crazy, but she’ll get you through it.”

  “Sounds like the treatment is going to require more patience than the injury.”

  Teeve waited until the aide left the room, then she closed the door. “Mark, I want to ask you to do me a favor.”

  “Sure.”

  “Talk to Ivy about this baby, will you? I’m a little worried.”

  “About what?”

  “Well, I don’t know if this’ll make any sense to you. It’ll probably sound like I’m off on a tangent, just borrowing trouble.”

  “Tell me, Teeve.”

  “Ivy doesn’t seem to have any plans for this baby. She hasn’t picked out a name, isn’t curious about whether it’s a boy or a girl. She hasn’t shopped for the stuff she’s going to need. No diapers, no gowns, no blankets. Doesn’t show any interest in baby furniture. I told her to turn my sewing room into a nursery, but she hasn’t done a thing about it, hasn’t even bought a bassinet.”

  “Maybe she’s just procrastinating, putting everything off until the last few weeks.”

  “Mark, she’s down to the last few weeks.” Teeve shook her head. “The truth is, Ivy isn’t excited about becoming a mother. And I want to know why.”

  Mark was hobbling from the bathroom on crutches when he found O Boy waiting in his room. “Didn’t know I had company,” he said.

  “You look to be in better shape today.”

  “I’m doing okay.”

  Mark propped his crutches in the corner, then slid onto the bed, his feet dangling over the side.

  “How about your head? You were pretty messed up yesterday, didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Doubt you remember much of our conversation.”

  “I can recall some of it, but there are a few gaps.”

  “That’s why I’m here. I want to talk about one of those gaps,” O Boy said.

  “Go ahead.”

  “You didn’t tell me you were with Kyle Leander yesterday morning.”

  “Not much to tell. He called, asked me to meet him at his stepfather’s cabin. I did. We talked for a couple of hours, then he went to bed, I went back to the motel. That’s it.”

  “Did you know he’d escaped from the nuthouse?”

  “I knew he’d been in a psychiatric hospital for a few days, but there was no talk of an escape. He said he was taking a break, so I assumed he’d checked himself out.”

  “You don’t check yourself out of the nuthouse. That’s why they have bars on the windows and locks on the doors.”

  “Where is Kyle now?” Mark asked.

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out. Thought you might have some idea.”

  “I don’t have a clue. I left him at the cabin, didn’t see him again.”

  “No, you probably didn’t. But I believe he saw you.”

  “Where?”

  “Through the scope of a rifle when you were standing on that motel balcony.”

  Two hours later, Mark was back at Teeve’s house with Ivy hovering. When she came from the kitchen with a fresh ice pack, he said, “The one that’s on here now is still cold.”

  “The doctor said change them every hour. And that’s what I’m going to do.” She shot him a look that said the routine was non-negotiable; she was in charge.

  And in his present condition, he knew he had little choice. She had leaned his crutches against the fireplace mantel across the room, then stretched him out in a recliner, two pillows on top of the raised footrest so that his bandaged leg—exposed by the baggy shorts she’d made him wear—was elevated. Really elevated. For the moment, he looked about as helpless as a turtle on its back.

  But she’d made sure that anything he might need was within his reach. On an end table beside his chair, she’d assembled his pills, a bottle of water, thermometer, cordless phone, paperback books and the TV remote.

  “Can I get you some fruit? Bananas? Apples? Grapes?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “How about some ice cream? We have strawberry, vanilla and black walnut.”

  “I’m fine, Ivy.”

  “Want me to read to you?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Maybe you’d like for me to rent some movies. You like comedies? Or do you—”

  Mark was relieved to hear the doorbell, which sent Ivy to the front of the house.

  Moments later, when she returned, she was followed by Hap. “Hey, Mark,” he said, “tap-dancing yet?”

  “Great. Another stand-up comic.”

  “Hap, can I get you something to drink?” Ivy asked.

  “I’m not going to stay long, Ivy. Don’t want to tire out your patient.”

  “No chance of that,” Mark said. “Nurse Ratched will tell you when your time is up.”

  “Ingrate.” As she left the room, she said, “I’ll be in the kitchen, Hap, if you need anything. But your client can fend for himself.”

  “So, Mark, other than being abused by your caregiver, how’re you doing?”

  “Not bad.”

  “I don’t know if you’ve heard that Kyle’s in jail.”

  “Oh, damn.”

  “One of O Boy’s deputies picked him up out on I-244. He was trying to hitch a ride. I suppose he’ll be arraigned in the morning.”

  “Charged with?”

  “Attempted murder.”

  “That’s just nuts. Kyle didn’t shoot me.”

  “Probably not.”

  “I don’t believe it’s in him to try to hurt anyone. Besides, he had no reason to harm me. No reason at all.”

  “Well, this isn’t the best time for you to get upset, Mark. You can’t do anything about Kyle right now, and neither can I. But I have another piece of information, one that might prove to be valuable.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I made contact with Sybil Sokolowski in Long Beach.”

  “Who the hell is Sybil Sokolowski?”

 
; “Former secretary to J. W. Downing, the lawyer who handled your adoption. She was also his lover from 1968 until he died in ’85.”

  “She told you that?”

  “She did. Said she had no reason to keep it secret now because Downing’s widow died a couple of years ago. But here’s the bombshell.”

  “Drop it.”

  “The house he bought her in Long Beach has a basement, and that’s where he stored his records after he retired. And not only does she still have them, she found your file. Copies of your birth certificate, the decree of adoption, receipt for payment. Even found his notes.”

  “So . . .”

  “It was a woman who showed up in Downing’s office with a ten-month-old boy in her arms. A woman who said she was Gaylene Harjo.”

  It was almost midnight when someone tapped at the front door. Teeve had been in bed for a couple of hours, and Ivy had fallen asleep on the couch watching The African Queen on TV. But Mark was still awake, propped up in the recliner, reading.

  “Ivy,” he said, waking her, “someone’s at the door.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Ten till twelve.”

  “Who comes to visit at midnight?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll be surprised if it’s a social call.”

  The gaggle of reporters had thinned a bit until news got out that Mark had been shot, an event that caused them to swoop back in. Even so, the Harjo routine had taught them that no one came to or went from Teeve’s house much after nine, so Ivy was more than a little curious about this late night caller.

  When she looked through the small window in the front door, she saw a short, fat woman looking back.

  “I’m Rowena Whitekiller,” the woman said when Ivy opened the door as far as the safety chain would allow. “We talked on the phone the other day.”

  “Yes.” Ivy removed the chain, then said, “Come on in.”

  “I was wondering if I could see Nick Harjo for just a few minutes. I know he was shot, I read about it in the paper, so if he doesn’t feel like seeing me—”

  “Hello,” Mark said as he crutched into the foyer.

  “I really won’t stay long, I promise. I know it’s awfully late, but I’m leaving town early in the morning.”

  “You all go in the kitchen,” Ivy said. “I’m going to turn in. Oh, Mark, you’re sleeping in my room tonight.”