by Geeta Kakade
Christy took out the first aid box she had put on the kitchen shelf before Miss Bellinger arrived. She’d noticed O’Keefe had bought a very professional, well stocked one the day she’d been hurt. The bandage in it would have to do for the time being.
She went back to his side relieved the towels weren’t staining with blood and wrapped the bandage over it as tightly as she could. Using her fingers as a clamp she applied pressure over the wound for a few minutes, loosened her grip then applied pressure again.
“I have to call the paramedics.” He needed to be treated in a hospital; have the wound stitched. If he had been in a fight, it had to be reported to the police.
His right arm came up and gripped her wrist. “No. Don’t call anyone. I mean it. You can’t let anyone know I’m hurt.”
“I’m not supporting you in your shenanigans.” If he was on the wrong side of the law he was going to prison. Alone.
“Promise me you won’t tell anyone about this. I haven’t done anything wrong. Other lives depend on you keeping quiet.”
Other lives? Was he delirious?
The grip on her hand, the look on his face compelled her to say, ”All right. Just relax.”
“Christy, you’re the only one I can trust. I mean that.”
He closed his eyes and rested his head back, slipping lower. He wasn’t passing out on her was he? She had to move fast while he could still help her.
Taking out two of the painkillers, she made him swallow the tablets with a glass of water. It wasn’t much but it was something.
For his sake she hoped his tetanus shots were up to date.
“C'mon,” she said patting his cheek. “You have to lie down.”
“I’m fine”, he said.
“Yes I know.” She told him, getting her shoulder under his armpit and putting her arm around him. “I’ve never seen you look better.”
She got him to the family room and said, “I want you to lie down on the carpet slowly.”
He knelt and then lay down. She put him in the recovery position talking herself through the moves.
Roll him on his side. Right arm under his head so it’s raised. Keep mouth clear of the floor so he can breathe freely. Left arm at right angles. Left leg bent at right angle. Check for breathing.
He was out of it. O’Keefe’s chest rose and fell under her palm so that meant his airway was clear.
Christy got to her feet to get the afghan from the couch and another from the living room.
She covered him, checking his breathing again. He was doing okay for now though his pulse was rapid. She checked his arm relieved that no blood was seeping through. He’d done the best thing he could by taking off his tee shirt and pressing it against the wound.
What had he meant by, ‘Other lives depend on your keeping quiet about this?’ That he was in some kind of trouble she knew. What was he mixed up in? Drug running? Or was he a gambler and had someone knifed him because he couldn’t pay his debts? Or had he been in a fight over the woman who had texted him?
‘You’re the only one I can trust.’
He had been so serious when he said that. Christy was really afraid. Had anyone followed O’Keefe here? She was shaking as she checked the bandage and his breathing again. Except for his paleness he was doing okay. Even his pulse rate was slowing down.
She went into the kitchen to put everything away and made sure there were no traces of blood anywhere. She didn’t want Miss Bellinger coming down at the crack of dawn and seeing anything alarming. A glance at the wall clock showed it was one a.m. Christy knew she had to figure out where to put him before everyone woke up.
Christy walked back into the family room to check on her patient and frowned. Tremors were rocking him every now and then. Reaching for his hand to check his pulse again she realized he was cold. Very cold. Shock and exposure weren’t a good combination.
She was risking everything by not calling 911 but there had been something in his voice that held her back. Besides she owed O’Keefe. He’d been there for Jake when no one else had. She would have it out with him in the morning and if she didn’t believe his explanation she would still call 911.
If he isn’t dead and you aren’t taken in on a murder charge.
She bit her lip.
It only took a second to know what she had to do. She lay down beside him spooning herself around his body, pulling the two afghans over both of them.
She would lie here for a while just to warm him up.
O’Keefe woke to the sensation of being pleasantly warm. There was a constant pain in his arm but that he could put up with. The heat radiating from the body of a woman curled around him was comforting.
He froze as memory hit the rewind button. Not just any woman. Christy!
He had been walking down the alleyway to the bar where he’d been told to go in the text he’d received. He’d heard a noise and turned just as the knife had slashed his arm. The sound had saved his life deflecting the blow aimed for his heart and making the knife thrust a flesh wound. His right arm had hit his assailant but before he could do anything else the man had turned and run and he had become aware of the blood and the pain.
He had headed back to Cupid Lodge like a homing pigeon, staunching the flow of blood with his shirt. He couldn’t leave a trail for anyone to follow and he needed a place to hide.
The light coming in told him it was pre-dawn and he had to get away. He eased himself away placing a cushion against her as she stirred. He moved a tendril of hair across her face away and whispered, “Thanks.”
To be attacked the way he had meant his cover had been blown. He had put the operation in jeopardy and he had to get in touch with HQ.
His cell phone was in his back pocket. O’Keefe stood and ignoring the lightheadedness he walked toward the bathroom.
CHAPTER NINE
Christy woke at seven as Moira opened the kitchen door. The afghan around her, the carpet underneath brought the memory of last night back.
She stretched her hand. No O’Keefe.
Getting up quickly she put the afghans on the couch and went to the bathroom. The slightly damp towel that hung there told her he had been there. Wondering where he was, she went to her room, showered and came down to help Moira with breakfast.
She had certainly slept well. The way she had curled herself around him made her blush.
Moira had everything under control so Christy poured herself a mug of coffee and went to the front door. Opening it she stepped out examining the porch and the path that led to it for signs of blood. She walked around the front to her bedroom window looking at the ground. There was nothing out of the ordinary to be seen and she went back toward the house quickly. The crisp October morning had a decided snap in it.
Wondering where O’Keefe was, she had breakfast with Miss Bellinger who announced she was tired after yesterday and planned to spend the day at the local library gathering all the latest information she could on the main causes of pollution.
“Where is O’Keefe? I thought he might like a ride into town,” Miss Bellinger asked as she finished the last bite of her mushroom omelet.
About to say she didn’t know, Christy checked herself in time. “Out fishing probably.”
“Oh!” Miss Bellinger frowned and then said. “Well, I’ll be on my way. I believe the library opens at nine. I’ll be back at five.”
“Have a nice day,” Christy said, beginning to clear the table.
She listened as Moira told her what she was going to do that morning. Load the dishwasher and then clean Miss Bellinger’s room and bathroom after she started a crockpot of chicken soup. She wanted to make a couple of pies and bake a spice cake too before Frank got home from school.
“That sounds great. Don’t overdo it. I’ll be in the garden with Toby and Frank if you need me.”
Christy went out the kitchen door into the backyard and headed for the shed. Toby was there cleaning the mower. She looked at the tree, then at the boatshed by the water. The li
ttle rowboat was still moored to the deck. There was no sign of O’Keefe Wondering if he was lying in bed with a fever from his wound she headed for his apartment.
“I’m going to check the old refrigerator in there,” she told Toby. “It could be using a lot of energy if it’s old and we might have to replace it.”
Moira had mentioned the coffee pot she was plugging in so O’Keefe and Toby wouldn’t come into the kitchen when the paying guests were there. She’d also asked about the refrigerator there. If it could be used then she could store coffee creamer and milk there so Frank could have cereal for breakfast and stay out of sight.
Christy stepped into the entryway and glanced at O’Keefe’s door. She had to open it and check on him. Going into the family room she turned the door to his room. He wasn’t in bed.
She walked very quietly to the bathroom, knocked loudly, waited and then turned the handle expecting to find him lying in a pool of blood. He wasn’t there either.
She frowned. Where had he disappeared?
She looked at the refrigerator though she had no clue what she was looking for and then walked out.
Toby looked up from the rose bush by the fence that separated the apartment from the rest of the backyard and said, “He’ll turn up soon.”
Christy blushed. The gardener knew she’d been looking for O’Keefe.
“I guess so.”
She hesitated and then said, “What did O’Keefe do before he came here?”
Toby shrugged. “He doesn’t talk about the past. But Jake trusted him and so do I.
You should have seen him with Jake. He took care of him as if he was his own flesh and blood especially at the end. Wouldn’t leave his side.”
Christy said nothing. Yes, she definitely owed O’Keefe and if silence was the price he wanted, she’d pay it.
“Moira said she could use some acorn squash,” Toby said,” so I picked half a dozen.”
“I’ll take them back with me,” said Christy.
“The pumpkin patch comes up by itself year after year,” said Toby “ and we have different pumpkins and squash here. I could barter some more at the Farmer’s Market, if you’d like.”
“That’s fine,” said Christy absentmindedly. “Keep the large pumpkins for us.”
“Yesum,” said Toby shooting her a sharp look. It wasn’t like Christy to sound so frazzled.
Christy turned away her mind wholly occupied with O’Keefe. Worry was a painful knot in her midriff. Where was he?
Agnes flitted to and fro terribly upset.
“I don’t understand it Pa. I just don’t. How could we have been so careless to let O’Keefe get hurt?”
Phillip watched her for a while and then said gently. “His wound could have been much worse.”
Ma stared at him. “Did you have anything to do with that Pa?”
“Well” said Phillip, “You seem so awful fond of him I just threw a can so it would make a noise and warn him. O’Keefe turned in time for the knife to miss his heart and just graze his arm.”
The next instant Phillip could have sworn he felt a kiss on his cheek. “What was that for Ma?”
“You’re beginning to care Pa,” Agnes voice was jubilant, “but next time just make sure he’s not hurt at all.”
“Never can satisfy a woman,” Phillip muttered under his breath but he smiled too. It was a long time since Agnes had kissed him. A very long time.
Three days later Christy was as close to boiling point as she could be.
She wasn’t going to worry about O’Keefe any more. How dare he disappear without a trace?
She knew he wasn’t dead as she’d checked the Lake Herald carefully every single day. The paper carried no story of a corpse with an infected knife wound being found so he must be alive.
He had to be alive.
That was the crux of the matter. The way she felt about him, the gnawing worry that he was ill, that she hadn’t done the right things that night, that he would never return, had all made one thing clear. Christy wasn’t sure when she had fallen in love with him…all she knew was she loved him now.
He spent so much time with Frank up in the tree house making sure he did his homework, helped Toby whenever he could, talked to Moira about her food. He may be lazy but he was very astute and no one could have been kinder to her father.
Christy knew she had to get busy with something or she would go crazy. Luckily for her Miss Bellinger had extended her stay by three weeks. That news had relieved Christy but she felt none of the excitement she had when her guest had first agreed to stay.
She’d told Miss Bellinger who kept asking about him, Moira, Frank and Toby that O’Keefe had e-mailed her to say a private matter was keeping him in Reno and he would return as soon as possible.
On Friday she had a meeting with Frank, Moira and Toby after Miss Bellinger left for the day.
Frank had the day off from school as it was a teacher in service day and he’d started looking lost again.
You and me both, pal.
Christy had found another box in the attic that had sparked the idea she was going to share with them.
“I want to have a Halloween Party,” she said, “for adults and children. A sort of Open House for the people I know in town, the neighbors, and anyone else we can think of. It will be fun. I think Cupid Lodge will look great with Halloween decorations and some spooky music.”
“I can make bat and ghost streamers,” said Frank looking excited.
“Frank and I could carve some pumpkins.” Toby added.
“I can bake pumpkin pies and cookies. We could use that old kettle in the pantry for soup,” said Moira. “I can bake bars that look like fingers and we could paint nails on with edible color.”
“I got this book from the library that tells how to make a giant spider’s web,” said Christy. “Frank and I can be in charge of decorating the house. Toby can do the outside. Moira you take care of food and costumes.”
Everybody smiled and encouraged Christy went on, “I want everyone to come in costume. There’s a box full of things in the attic we can use. Hats, masks, cloaks.”
“Jake had a party here years ago,” said Toby.
“That must be where all the stuff is from,” said Christy.
They had lunch in the backyard around the old redwood table there, planning details. As Christy looked around she felt she had achieved something. She’d changed every one’s mood even if her own heart ached with the thought of never seeing O’Keefe again.
She told the group to write down what each department would and could do and they would reconvene in two days.
Moira went to her room with the old cookbook saying she thought she had seen a recipe for a great carrot cake in there, Toby went home with a basket of squash to barter and Frank raced toward his tree house, looking for the first time like every ten year old boy should look. Happy.
Christy stepped into the kitchen and almost jumped out of her skin. Sitting there as cool as you please was O’Keefe.
“You’re not dead!” How stupid that sounded.
She put a hand up to her heart to hold it still. It threatened to jump out of her chest; the way it was pounding.
“I’m fine. How are you?”
That casual greeting undid the last skeins of self control. Relief changed to rage. She had been worried sick and here he was asking her how she was as if they were at a cocktail party.
“How dare you show up here as if nothing has happened after worrying me to death? You have no sense of decency. You never think of anyone but yourself.”
“Whoa!”
His hold on her wrist told her she had been about to slap his face. Christy froze for a second. Then her other hand came up and he held it.
“Let go of me. I want you out of the house by tonight. I never want to set eyes on you a…”
She was hauled into his chest and his mouth came down on hers. She struggled but he kissed her till her mouth capitulated under his, her lips parted with a slig
ht moan and she began to return the kiss.
When he lifted his head there was a glint in his grey eyes that made them shine. She looked at him, waiting for him to say something. He put up one hand and with his thumb traced the line of her lower lip so gently she wanted to be kissed again.
“I’m really sorry I couldn’t get in touch with you. I had no choice. I had to stay away till my arm healed completely. I couldn’t risk anyone knowing I was hurt.”
Christy backed away from him and held on to the kitchen table, while she sank into a chair. She hid her trembling hands under the table and willed her voice steady.
“You can’t stay here. I can’t allow you to endanger anyone in this house.”
His eyes darkened. “I didn’t mean to.”
“What is it you do?”
“I can only tell you I work for a Special Investigative Government Task Force and nothing else. I have to stay here till the end of October because that’s an essential part of my job but I promise you I will leave after that.”
Christy bit her lip as relief poured through her. He worked for a Special Investigative Government Task Force. She should have known he was something more than a bum.
How could you when he was putting on an Oscar performance?
She took a deep breath, then another.
“Till the end of October,” she said “Three weeks and then you’ll leave even if I haven’t paid you back?”
He nodded, picked up his plate and headed for the back door. “I don’t care about the money. Thanks for letting me stay.”
She lifted a hand to her mouth after he’d gone, feeling empty suddenly. How stupid could she be not to ask him if his arm was all right.
Was he speaking the truth when he’d mentioned his work. It all fit in. His odd hours, the beach bum front he kept up. She had a great deal to think about.
Christy loved coming into the kitchen at six, starting the coffee and then having a mug before Moira came in and started making breakfast. The Sunday after O’Keefe came home she gave Moira the day off. Miss Bellinger had said she would be visiting a friend and returning Tuesday and the timing was perfect for Moira to have some time for herself and Frank.
