False Impressions

by Terri Thayer

  An owl hooted in a nearby tree, causing her heart to pound and her feet to slip out from under her. She steadied herself. If someone was hurt inside that car, she needed to get help. She reached in for her phone, called 911 and reported the car off the road.

  She grabbed the flashlight and stepped carefully across the frozen earth. She slipped once and cursed loudly. There were no houses along this stretch of road and no businesses. It was a wooded area with steep ravines and lots of undergrowth.

  April held the flashlight over her head and caught a glimpse of the car at the bottom of a small embankment. She eased herself down, treading carefully. The snow here was crusty and slippery. There was no way to tell how deep it was without stepping through the brittle surface. She didn’t want to end up knee-deep in snow.

  April reached the back end of the car. It was nose down, surrounded by broken branches. She played the flashlight around until she found the driver’s side. The car’s front end was bashed in. The windshield had a point-of-impact break as though a head had hit it. She pulled on the door handle. The door was iced shut.

  She circled, brushing away the accumulation on the windows, trying to see inside. It was light and powdery and flew easily away as soon as her mitten hit it, like tiny fireflies. She had the sensation that she was opening a secret cache. Like an archeologist brushing away sand to reveal the pharaoh’s tomb.

  It had to be a tomb. How could someone survive this crash? If they survived the impact, how could they stand the freezing temperatures?

  She tugged harder and was gratified to hear something cracking. One last yank, girding herself against the ground and using all her strength, and the door gave way.

  The nose-down position of the car prevented it from opening all the way. April squeezed into the small opening. There was no glass in the driver’s side window. She could see a body tossed over the passenger seat like a no-longer beloved rag doll. She reached in to see if she could feel a pulse. As her hand wavered over the man’s neck, a grunt came from his bloodstained lips.

  April drew back her hand in shock. “Hey, can you hear me?”

  There was no answer this time. April watched his chest and could see the rise and fall. His face was turned away from her, pushed into the plastic seat cushion. There was blood on the side of his face.

  She thought about how cold he must be. Maybe the cold had helped him by slowing down his heart rate. Meant he didn’t bleed out.

  She tucked the flashlight under her arm and called the dispatcher back, her frozen fingers fumbling, barely able to push the last-called button. “There is someone alive in the car. I can see that he’s breathing,” April said.

  “The EMTs are on their way. Are you visible from the road? You should be by your car.”

  April agreed to wait on the road.

  She began to back herself out. Another sound, this time more like a sigh, came from the broken body. April couldn’t leave him here alone. She had to offer whatever solace she could.

  She moved back into position, squeezed between the door and the car frame. “I’ve called for help,” she said. “They’re on their way. Any moment now.” She spoke softly.

  His hand flopped like a fish, and she gasped. The movement seemed deliberate, not involuntary. He whispered something she couldn’t understand. She tried to lean in further. The cold edge of the car cut her. He groaned again. April reached in to touch his arm, give him a bit of human contact. It wasn’t much, but it was all she had to offer.

  He was holding a business card. She loosened it from his fingers.

  She realized there was no broken glass around him. None of the pellets she’d have expected to find from shattered safety glass.

  She realized then that the side window wasn’t broken out. It was rolled down. He’d been driving with his window down on a night when the weather was below zero. That didn’t make sense.

  Her eye caught the faded string braid on his wrist.

  She backed up so quickly she hit her head on the door frame. “Ow!” she yelled before clamping down so hard on her lip that she bit it. She tasted the blood and felt her head throb.

  She pointed her flashlight directly on his arm. The string bracelet was familiar. This was J.B., Kit’s precious uncle. He’d lost control of his car, and he was hurt, bad. April looked to the road. She thought she heard help coming, realized all she was hearing was her own ragged breath. She gulped, hard. Then she heard it for real. The siren that indicated that his rescuers had arrived.

  “Down here,” she yelled. She saw flashing lights. She climbed up the embankment a few feet, planting her feet and resting her back against a tree trunk. The night sky seemed to envelop her.

  The clouds had moved on, leaving the clear night sky. So many stars. April looked up through bare branches and found Ursa Major. The order of the constellations, changing yet permanent, calmed her. The world was so vast there was no way to understand it all.

  Like how J.B. had ended up in a ditch.

  CHAPTER 8

  April shined her flashlight so the EMTs could find her. One of them pulled her up from the embankment, his strong hand wrapping around hers. He told her to wait in her car and went down to see to their patient. The area was soon lit up with bright lights and the bustling activity of the people trying to save him.

  April started her car and cranked up the heat. She tucked her hands in her pockets and leaned against the headrest. Her body ached from the cold.

  As they put J.B. in the ambulance, April recognized one of the EMTs as the young woman who worked with Vince in Aldenville’s volunteer fire department. She got out of her car and approached her.

  “Is he going to be okay?”

  “He’s alive,” she said grimly. She was stowing the equipment they’d finished with and didn’t look at April. “Not stable, but alive.”

  “Did you find a driver’s license?” she asked.

  “The car registration. No license.”

  “That’s not who he is. He’s not that guy. His real name is J.B. Hunsinger.”

  She shrugged, her expression strobed by the flashing lights. “Our concern is saving his life, not identifying him. You can follow us to the hospital and talk to them there.”

  April got back in her car and pulled out behind the ambulance. They headed up the mountain to Lynwood General. The trip seemed to take only minutes.

  She’d been born in this hospital but thankfully hadn’t spent much time here since. Her parents were healthy and stayed away from doctors as a rule.

  She went into the emergency room, the automatic doors making a whooshing sound as she entered. She found herself holding her breath, afraid to breathe in the sickness, the blood, the desperation that made people come to rooms like this. She heard a baby cry out from behind one of the curtains and winced.

  April shook off her uneasiness. The best way to navigate places like this was to pretend like you knew where you were going. She kept her eyes straight, using only her peripheral vision to glance into the beds and see if the person lying there was J.B. The hospital was probably understaffed. No one challenged her.

  He was in the last bed. The EMTs were talking to a doctor and a nurse. His breathing was labored. She saw again the family resemblance.

  “Excuse me, are you with this man?”

  April turned to see a nurse in the doorway. “I’m the one who found him.”

  “Please sit outside. We’ve not even begun working on him yet.”

  April backed out as the doctor and nurse approached his bedside. The young EMT fell into step alongside her.

  “How’s he doing?”

  She shrugged. “If he has any family, I’d get them up here as soon as possible.”

  April stayed behind as the EMTs made their way back to their truck.

  It was up to her to call Mary Lou. What was she going to say to her friend?

  “Your brother, who you thought was dead, is dying.” “Sorry what I said about the meth house the other day, but now your br
other is really, really hurt so you better get over here right away.”

  April scrubbed at her face. She called Mary Lou. A man answered sleepily. “Who is this?”

  “It’s April Buchert, Peter. There’s been a car accident. You should get Mary Lou up to Lynwood General as soon as you can. It’s about her brother.”

  “What do you mean, her brother?”

  So Peter hadn’t seen J.B. this evening. April wondered if Mary Lou was keeping his visit secret. Not anymore.

  “You should call Kit, too. And hurry. I don’t know how long he’s going to last.”

  She paced the foyer in front of the double doors to the emergency room. Icy blasts of cold, along with frightened people, came through every time the door opened. No one wanted to be in the emergency room.

  Twenty minutes later, Mary Lou and Peter burst through the doors. They had thrown coats on over flannel pajamas and stuffed their feet into fur-lined boots.

  Mary Lou stalked over to April. “What is going on?”

  “It’s your brother,” April said. She looked for any sign that Mary Lou had seen her brother earlier.

  Mary Lou stopped short and looked around the room as if expecting a ghost to appear. “What are you talking about?” she hissed. “Didn’t you get your kicks at my party? What’s with you, April?”

  The worst. J.B. hadn’t gotten to Mary Lou’s house. April took in a deep breath and talked as fast as she could.

  “Your brother didn’t die in that explosion last year. He’s here in the emergency room. I happened on his car accident when I was going home from Mitch’s.”

  “This isn’t making any sense,” Mary Lou said, her voice breaking with tension. She rubbed her upper arms as if she was cold. She looked to Peter. Her husband put an arm around her shoulder.

  Kit and Logan burst through the doors. They were in paint-spattered jeans and sweatshirts.

  “Mom? Dad? Where is he? Is J.B. okay?”

  Mary Lou looked at her daughter with wide eyes. “What are you talking about? Your uncle is dead. You know that.”

  “Did you throw him out again?” Kit got close to her mother and spat the words at her. April took a step back. “It was your fault he was living on the streets and got involved with the meth gang in the first place. You wouldn’t let him come back home after he rescued me from my bachelorette party.”

  Mary Lou shrugged off her husband’s arm and took a step toward Kit. Kit stood her ground. Logan’s eyes followed the two women, and finally, he moved next to Peter. It was obvious he was torn. Kit was his wife, Mary Lou his boss.

  “Someday, Kit, you will understand what it is to make hard choices to protect your children. J.B. was a danger to you. I did what I had to do.”

  Kit’s tears filled her eyes and dripped down her face. She pawed at her cheeks. “He was on his way to see you tonight. He wanted to come home. Instead, he ends up in the hospital. Did you kick him out again? If he dies, his death is on you.”

  Mary Lou started as though she’d been slapped.

  A nurse came out of the cubicle where J.B. was. She gestured to April, motioning for them to come.

  “Go see him,” April said. “I know this is crazy. We’ll figure it out later.”

  “We?” Mary Lou reared back. The look on her face cut April to the core.

  Mary Lou’s eyes were shiny with tears, and her jaw was trembling. Her lips had thinned, and she spat out her words. “You’re not going to come anywhere near my family, April. I don’t understand this, but I know one thing. You’re not welcome in my house anymore. Stay away from us.”

  Mary Lou let the nurse lead the way behind the curtain. Peter and Logan followed. Kit squeezed April’s shoulder as she went past.

  They weren’t in there for long when the nurse came out and closed the door. She shook her head at April.

  “Sorry, he didn’t make it.”

  CHAPTER 9

  April drove home. The sun was coming up. She let herself in. Grizz and Charlotte were up already, of course. She was too spent to explain where she’d been, so she refused the offer of breakfast and went straight to the shower.

  When Ed and Vince had restored the barn, they had not skimped on the bathroom. The marble shower was as expansive as the front seat of a Cadillac, with showerheads shooting water at parts of her body that had never been attacked in quite that way before. Usually, in the spirit of environmentalism, she turned off most of the extraneous heads. Not today. She blasted them all, hoping to wash away the stench of death and heartbreak. The heartbreak of losing someone twice.

  She fell asleep almost as soon as she climbed into the loft, wrapped in her oversize terry robe. Even though it was damp, she didn’t take it off. She’d pay for sleeping with her hair wet, but she was too tired to care.

  She woke up several hours later, feeling stiff. She dressed quickly and came down the ladder. The clothes she’d left in the bathroom were neatly folded and placed on the floor. Charlotte drew the line at coming into the loft, but she couldn’t resist picking up after April, no matter how often she asked her not to.

  The business card that J.B. had given her was on top.

  It was the card of a pharmacist, Dr. T. Adama, from a small chain located in Mountain Top, about fifteen miles away. That’s where he’d told Kit he’d been living. This was the kind of place that J.B. would have frequented when he was shopping for the legal drugs that were needed to make meth.

  April’s curiosity was piqued.

  She was due at Deana’s in fifteen minutes. She still had half the filing to do. She called the funeral home.

  “Hey, April, honey. Good morning.”

  “Dee, I’m going to be late today,” she began.

  Deana interrupted her. “Listen, I can’t work on the files with you this morning. Why don’t you come in later? I have an autopsy to do.”

  April’s heart stopped. “An accident victim, from last night?”

  Deana was cautious, never wanting to reveal too much. “All I know is the family is requesting one. I don’t know anything more.”

  “It might be Mary Lou’s brother.”

  “Her brother Gregg?” Deana asked. “He’s in California, I thought.”

  April felt her exhaustion take over. This was too complicated. “I’ll explain later when I come in to finish the filing,” April said and hung up.

  April fingered the business card. Why had J.B. given her this? It was practically a dying declaration. It must mean something to him. Something important. While Deana found out how J.B. died, she could find out where he lived during the year he was supposed to be deceased.

  She ought to go downstairs and bake something. This is the way it worked in a small town. Death came with condiments. Everyone would be making dishes for Mary Lou and her family. If Bonnie was home, she’d bake a huge lasagna. Suzi would probably make her lemon bars. Neighbors would bring over tuna casseroles and homemade nut breads. Rocky would go to HoneyBaked and bring them a spiral ham.

  People would gather in Mary Lou’s country kitchen, offering food and comfort. But April wasn’t welcome there now. She’d find another way to bring solace to her friend. By finding out where J.B. had been.

  She waved good-bye to Grizz and Charlotte, who were parked in front of the TV. A small child was sparring with Regis, both of them dressed in silk shorts. Regis looked like a leprechaun. Charlotte put down her knitting, the precursor to getting up and making her a late breakfast, but April held out a hand.

  “I’ll be out all day. See you tonight,” she said.

  “Meatloaf tonight, dearie,” Charlotte called.

  Half an hour later, she pulled into the Crestwood Center parking lot in Mountain Top. It was anchored by a grocery store. The drugstore was right in the middle. It was a national chain, one that had taken over most of the family-owned businesses that had been the norm when she was a kid. Avoiding the snow piled around the light standards, April found a spot not too far from the door.

  The brightly colored ai
sles looked the same as the one she’d patronized in San Francisco and in Lynwood. It felt a bit surreal, and for a moment she wasn’t sure where she was.

  April walked to the back of the store. The cold remedies were under lock and key. A sign indicated that the store was complying with federal laws by limiting the sale of certain ones. The drugs needed to make meth.

  The pharmacist-on-duty sign indicated that Dr. Adama was here. She looked beyond the counter into the glassed-off area where the filling of prescriptions took place and saw two people in lab coats, both with their heads down, concentrating on their work.

  Why did J.B. have this business card? Was this someone who sold him drugs when he was buying? A pharmacist would be a good person to have on your payroll. Someone who could sell the legal drugs needed to make meth.

  April took a deep breath. She’d have to be careful. If this guy was involved in something illegal, he wasn’t going to be up front with her.

  She was a few feet away from the patient privacy zone, trying to formulate a way to ask for information about J.B. without bringing up the drugs, when the customer in front of her cleared away.

  “Can I help you?” a clerk asked, her eyeglasses bouncing on her chest, held there by a fancy beaded chain.

  April glanced down at the card, even though she knew the name. “I need to speak to Dr. Adama.”

  The clerk was nonplussed. “Please step over there, to the consulting area.”

  April moved down a window, under a sign that read “Ask Your Pharmacist.”

  Ask what exactly?

  A woman in a white coat joined April on the other side of the counter, wearing a professional, quizzical expression. According to the embroidery on the pocket, this was Dr. Adama. Dr. Tina Adama.

  April was struck dumb for a moment. This was Dr. Adama? She didn’t know what exactly she’d been expecting, but she definitely wasn’t expecting a round-faced chubby woman who looked younger than she did.