Was he talking or thinking? He didn’t know, didn’t care, as he put every ounce of strength he had into shoving the Ford backward. He thought he was going to die with the effort until a man dressed in heavy snow garb bent to help. Woo slid to the ground. “It’s gonna be okay, Woo. It’s gonna be okay,” Ross whispered. He wanted to yell, to shout and scream for an ambulance, but he couldn’t get the words out. There was no way he could get to Jory, so he didn’t try. Woo needed him, and he could hear other people around the Rambler and the milk truck. He heard somebody say an ambulance was on the way. He heard someone else say the girl’s alive.
Ross leaned closer to Woo’s ear. “An ambulance is on the way. I think Jory is okay. I can’t get to her. You saved my life, you son of a bitch, and look what happened to you. I should slug you right here. Damn you, Woo. Don’t tell me you didn’t see it coming, you did, and you pushed me out of the way. Why’d you do that, you dumb shit? Now what the hell am I gonna tell your parents?” He cradled the big man in his arms, saying anything that came into his head. When he exhausted his litany of curses he was about to start over when he heard the wail of the ambulance.
“Ross, don’t tell my parents it’s serious. Promise me,” Woo whispered.
“I have to call them, Woo. They’ll never forgive me.”
“Please, Ross,” Woo whispered. “Not yet. Maybe later. I want your promise.”
Ross tried to speak again, to tell the ambulance attendants to be gentle, but again the words wouldn’t come. He ran alongside the stretcher, trying to speak to Woo, to tell him he’d hitch a ride in the second ambulance, the one carrying Jory and the driver of the milk truck.
“Sorry, bud, there’s no room,” one of the attendants said, slamming the door of the ambulance in Ross’s face.
Dizzy with exertion, Ross tried to make sense out of what had just happened. The police cars, their red and blue lights flashing in the swirling snow, forced him to look away. He could still hear the sound of the shrieking ambulances. How had it happened? One minute he was walking along, and the next Woo was pinned to the light pole. Jory. He looked at the holocaust around him. He counted eight cars in the pileup. Tow trucks were arriving. Jory would never drive the Rambler again. She just had to be alive. Woo. . . Woo had to be all right too. He’d been so still, so dead-looking when they placed him on the stretcher. He hadn’t been able to see Jory all that well when they pulled her out of the wreckage.
A policeman was shouting to be heard over the din, pulling at Ross’s arm. “Did you see what happened, sir?” Ross nodded. He tried again to talk, but couldn’t. He motioned to his throat, tried again to speak. He mouthed the words “ambulance, wife, friend.” He reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket for a business card. He mouthed the word “hospital”
“John, come over here,” the officer called out “Take this guy to the hospital. He can’t talk. Maybe you can have him write out his statement His wife and friend were in the accident.” He turned to another policeman. “Clear this goddamn area. What the hell is this? Get rid of all those looky-looks. What the fuck are they doing out in weather like this anyway? Move it, Spenser, before the chief shows up.”
Ross climbed into the patrol car, grateful for the warmth it afforded. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and prayed. Thirty minutes later, siren still wailing, the patrol car pulled to a stop underneath the canopy of the hospital’s emergency entrance. He was out of the patrol car before it came to a complete stop. He waved his thanks as he rushed through the wide double doors.
An hour later he was still waiting for someone to tell him what was going on. At two o’clock he demanded answers on a written tablet At three o’clock he asked one of the aides, again on paper, to call his father to ask him to come to the hospital.
It was four-thirty when Jasper Landers arrived, apologizing as he shook the snow from his overcoat and woolen cap. He put his arm around his son and led him to a chair against the wall. “What happened?”
Ross scribbled furiously.
“What can I do?” Jasper asked helplessly.
Stay with me, Ross wrote on the tablet.
Jasper squeezed his son’s arm. “Of course I’ll stay. This might be a good time for you to be seen by the staff doctor. You look awful, Ross,” Jasper said, his voice full of concern.
I feel awful, Ross wrote. I’ll see the doctor. I have to go to Chestnut Hill and take care of the dogs. Jory will never forgive me if I don’t. I need to know they’re all right. I’m going to need your car, Dad.
Jasper’s eyes rolled back in his head. His son had never, in the whole of his life, called him Dad. At that moment he would have promised to gift-wrap the moon if he could find a way to get it for his son.
At five-fifteen, after being examined by the staff physician, Ross returned to the waiting room to take his seat next to his father. I have a fever, he wrote, my chest is congested, and on top of that I have a head cold. Got a double shot and these pills. I took two of everything. I’ll be okay.
Jasper patted his back. A moment later he was on his feet when he saw Lyle Mortimer, the chief of staff, approaching in his operating room attire. They nodded to one another. Jasper’s arms went around his son’s shoulders again. “How are they?”
“Not good, Jasper. I’m not going to soft-pedal this. Mr. Woojalesky has internal injuries, a broken pelvis. His right leg is broken in three places, his left in two places. We have him on a twenty-four-hour watch. His spine suffered damage. We’re not sure how extensive his injuries are at this time.”
Ross groaned.
“Jory?” Jasper said quietly.
“Not as bad. She’s got a concussion, four broken ribs, two fractured ribs, fractured hip, damage to her left kneecap, ruptured spleen. They’re both in a lot of pain and have been sedated. I ordered round-the-clock nurses. There’s nothing either one of you can do, so I want both of you to go home. We’ll call if there’s any change. They’re not going to die, if that’s your next question.”
He looks like I feel, Ross thought.
“Can we see them?” Jasper asked, anticipating Ross’s next scrawled message on the tablet
The doctor shook his head. “Tomorrow. Go home now, and for God’s sake be careful. The emergency room is full right now. We don’t need any more patients. I’ll be here throughout the night.”
“Thanks, Lyle,” Jasper said, extending his hand. Ross did the same.
“Don’t thank me, Jasper. It’s my job. I treat each one of my patients like it’s my father, my mother, my son or daughter. Now, take your son home and leave the worrying to me.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jasper drove the high-powered Cadillac like it was a bus. “I cannot allow you to go to Chestnut Hill in your condition,” he said flatly.
Ross wanted to tell him he was years too late in expressing concern for him. Then he remembered his father’s comforting presence at the hospital.
“I know, I know, you aren’t going to listen to me,” Jasper said. “At least you’re going to eat before you leave, and take another dose of your medicine. I’ll be here waiting for any phone calls. What about Woo’s parents?”
Ross grabbed his father’s arm and shook his head vigorously.
“That must mean we aren’t to call them. I don’t think that’s wise, Ross.”
“I promised,” Ross rasped.
“All right, I understand a promise. However, if things look . . . if things don’t look good, you must call them. They’ll never forgive you, and rightly so. I know how much you love that family. Sometimes promises have to be broken. That’s all I’m going to say on the matter.”
He should have been a commanding general, Ross thought as his father issued orders to the cook on their return to the Landers house.
“Rosa, get all the flashlights, all the candles and lanterns we have. Pack up all the food in the refrigerator for Ross. Get him my woolen socks, my sheepskin boots, my cap with the fur earmuffs, that lap robe for the car, and anything else
you can think of. Water too, in case the pipes freeze.”
“Yes, Mr. Landers,” Rosa said, scurrying off to do his bidding.
“I’ll make some hot cocoa and put it in a thermos for you. Coffee too, for when you get there. Who knows, you might be lucky and the power will be on, but I doubt it For years Chestnut Hill has gone without power at the first sign of a storm They’ve never been able to remedy that, at least that’s what I’ve been told, I don’t know it for a fact.” Jasper realized he was babbling. He clamped his lips shut and headed for the kitchen.
Ross went upstairs to change into the heavier clothing Rosa had laid out on his father’s bed. As he changed he wondered where his mother was. He didn’t care enough to ask the housekeeper. All his father had said was that Justine lived in the front of the house and he lived in the back. Which was the way it had always been. As if he cared.
Back in the kitchen, his father stared at him, his eyes full of concern and worry. “I should go with you.” Ross shook his head violently. Jasper screwed the caps on the thermos bottles as if he’d been doing it for years. Picnics with Helen Halvorsen, Ross thought He smiled, enjoying the concern in his father’s eyes. His father was worried about him. The thought stunned him. “I just don’t understand all this. I do understand the animals have to be taken care of. Of course you have to go . . . .”
Ross reached for the tablets. He wrote: No one wanted the dogs. Jory says no one wanted her. Go to the hospital early and tell her I went back to take care of them. She loves them. They love her and depend on her.
“You could bring them here tomorrow,” Jasper said, a frown of worry building across his brow. “If the power and phones are out on the hill, this would be the best place. How will I get in touch with you?” he fretted. “And you’re ill, Ross. I’ve never interfered in your life before, but this time I feel like I must For your own good, of course.”
Ross bit down on his lower lip. “Maybe you should have. Interfered, that is.” His voice was so raspy, so hoarse, it was almost indistinguishable. Nevertheless, Jasper heard the words. He looked away.
Ross refused to apologize. I need lots of paper. For the dogs. I’ll come back tomorrow morning. Guess that’s it. You’ll see me when you see me, he scribbled.
Rosa’s husband appeared in the dining room doorway. “Will there be anything else, Mr. Landers?”
“Do you have any old newspapers?” Jasper asked.
“Quite a pile, sir, in the basement.”
“Load them into the car for Ross, as many as you can fit in.”
“I think,” Ross said in his raspy voice, “I should leave you with a smile on your face so you won’t worry. Jory bought TIF, not to read, but to put down by the doors for the dogs to poop on. She said that’s all it’s good for.”
“I always liked that girl. She has a real head on her shoulders. She’s astute. If I had a dog, I’d do the same thing. She’s going to be all right, Ross. You’re right, a smile will be on my face all evening when I think of that. I might even leave a note on the dining room table for your mother to that effect, not mentioning names, of course.”
“Okay, Dad, I’m leaving.” How easy it was to use that word when things started to crunch up.
There it was, that wonderful-sounding word, Dad. Jasper almost swooned a second time. This father-son stuff was heady indeed. He clapped Ross on the back. “Drive carefully, son. I’ll take care of things here. I might go back to the hospital tonight if the weather lets up.”
Ross nodded. Christ, his throat hurt. His ears were buzzing too. On the ride to Chestnut Hill, Ross cautioned himself over and over not to think about Woo or Jory. Concentrate on the road, on this monster car you’re driving. Think about the dogs and on making a fire when you get there. Think about spending the night in your ex-wife’s house. Think about anything but the two people lying in the hospital.
It was eleven o’clock when he arrived in Chestnut Hill. The sand trucks were out, following on the heels of the plows. The houses were dark except for pinpoints of light shining from a few windows. The power was out again.
The night was quiet, with an ominous feel about it, Ross thought as he got out of the car to step in snow up to the middle of his calves. He could feel it sliding down into his boots.
He carried box after box to the back porch. Relief coursed through him when he saw the pile of wood on the porch. Jory must have carried it in from the garage yesterday or maybe that morning. He pushed open the kitchen door and stared into darkness. No happy yelps of surprise greeting him. He tried to whistle. God, they didn’t freeze to death, did they? He called the dogs by name, hoping, expecting, to see four furry streaks circle his legs. Nothing. He kicked the door shut.
Jesus, the house was cold. He lit two candles and set them into two cups from the drainboard, then carried them into the living room for illumination. The fire was out, the room ice-cold. So cold he could see the vapor from his mouth when he breathed.
They were huddled together by the hearth for warmth. He tried to coax them from their cocoon, but they wouldn’t budge.
“Okay, okay, just give me a few minutes and I’ll have things shipshape. Stay there. I’ll have a fire going and supper on the table before you know it.” Jesus, was he really talking to these dogs like they were people? Yeah, he was.
The fire took some doing, but he finally managed to get it to spark. He added an extra log and a wad of newspaper that flamed so bright he stepped backward, startled by the shower of sparks shooting up the chimney. “Good, good,” he chortled. The dogs watched him. “I have the situation in hand. I think.” He headed for the bathroom off the kitchen, one of the candles in his hand for light. He grabbed a pile of towels from the shelf next to the tub. In the living room he fanned them in front of the fire until they felt warm to his touch. One by one he wrapped the dogs in the fluffy towels. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or not, but he thought they looked grateful. A tiny pink tongue licked at his hand. He felt dizzy with the display of affection. He fanned a fifth towel in front of the flames until it felt hot to his hands. He spread it near the hearth, but not on the cold fieldstone. Carefully, he carried the dogs over to the towel. A second tiny tongue licked him, then a third and a fourth. “See, I’m not such a bad guy,” he crooned. “I’m gonna be moving around here until I collapse so you guys stay tight.” He halfway expected a response.
Then Ross carried in the boxes and stacks of papers. He piled everything in the corner, away from the fire and the Christmas tree. He lit five more candles, setting them on the table and mantel. He made three trips back to the porch for more logs. By God, no one was going to freeze while he was in charge. The room was warming up from the blazing fire. He removed his heavy jacket, hat, and gloves, and kicked off his boots. He peeled off his socks and put on heavy dry ones. His feet were cold as ice. Cold feet, cold heart. “Not true,” he muttered. While he was at it, he changed his trousers too, pulling on a thick flannel-lined pair from his college days. Where in the hell his father found them he had no idea.
He was almost warm.
“Time to eat! Let’s see what we have here. Ah, chicken, roast beef, and what have we here, gentlemen? It looks like duck, tastes like duck, so it must be duck. My father eats well, you see. We have soup in this thermos, tea in this one, coffee in this one, and a whole bottle of plum brandy. We’ll drink first to warm our innards and then we’ll eat, but first I have to find saucers so you can . . . lap at it. Lick? Whatever it is you do.”
The docile pups, drunk with warmth, licked daintily at the chicken soup and then at the tea laced with brandy. Ross picked at a fat chicken breast and hand-fed the dogs. By God, their eyes were grateful. In his life he’d never been more pleased with himself. The elation he’d felt the day he smacked a solid home run at Woo’s family picnic paled in comparison to what he was feeling now. “One more slug of tea and that’s it for you guys.” He filled the saucer again. The dogs lapped obediently, their eyes closing as they finished. “I don’t
suppose any of you have to . . . go. So, it was a stupid question. I’m entitled,” he muttered wearily.
Ross swallowed his medicine, drank some soup, poured brandy in his coffee and took it in two quick swallows. He felt his insides spring back to life. He took another swig of brandy straight from the bottle. He liked the feel of it going down his throat. He took a second and then a third swallow before he capped the bottle.
Outside, the wind shrieked and howled, the snow beating at the windows like giant claws. The fire burned brightly. He added two more logs before he spread the blankets and pillows from the couch onto the floor. He stretched out next to the dogs, reaching out one long arm to draw the four little bundles closer to him.
Lyle Mortimer said they weren’t going to die.
He slept.
Ross woke at five-thirty, instantly aware of where he was and what had transpired the evening before. He was also aware of four snuggling fur balls under the blankets with him. He lay perfectly still, loving the feel of one tiny head burrowed into the warmth of his neck. One pup was on his chest, another snuggled under his arm. He closed his eyes, trying to feel the fourth one. He could feel the beginning of a panic attack when he located a soft wiggle in the bend of his knees. The relief he felt was so overwhelming he grew light-headed. He realized he felt somewhat better, though not good. Time for the pills. Time to do whatever it was you did when dogs woke up. Only they weren’t waking up. They were probably on Jory’s schedule and didn’t get up till she did, around seven, maybe six. He wished he knew her better.
He had to think about it now, the accident, the hospital, and what was going to happen next. The Woojaleskys. They had to be told. Damn Woo. No, not damn Woo. A promise was a promise. What was this accident going to do to Woo’s job in the D.A.’s office? Surely they wouldn’t fire him. Nothing mattered except Woo’s recovery. Hell, for that matter he could take Woo’s place if push came to shove. Jory and her job were another matter.
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