by Don McQuinn
Careful. Careful. He's clever. He said it himself: The fisherman. He catches people.
Words spit out of Crow. He heard them in his head before they were spoken and hated them. Still they came, bitter as bile. "Look, you all are just playing parts. You push your God like a used car salesman; she's the eye candy that gets the suckers on the lot so you can fast-talk them into junk you know's going to fall apart five minutes after the check clears."
Pastor Richards cheeks bloomed two faint red stains. He blinked rapidly and took a deep breath that he exhaled slowly. Shame threatened to curdle Crow's blood. The Pastor said, "That was so far beneath you I'm going to tell myself it never happened. I asked you for details of your condition earlier. I'd like you to tell me now, please."
Sophia's voice came as a rescuing trumpet. "That's Doctor Newton's car coming. Garza must have told him you all are here."
Crow told the Pastor, "There you go; get your answers from the horse's mouth. Or whatever. And tell him, whatever he tells you, I don't care. I'm still my own man."
The Pastor said, "I think I just realized why I like you. There's just enough damned fool in you - damned in the Biblical sense, that is - to make saving you a challenging entertainment."
He spun on his heel and was on his way toward the approaching blue Boxter.
Lila hurried to join him. She and Crow passed within feet of each other as he went to the Airstream. She slowed to say, "I didn't mean everything I said. You made me mad. I hate waste. Any kind."
His head wanted to split. He managed a return smile. "If that's an apology, don't. I'm the one was wrong. And if you're trying to confuse me, you win. What's waste got to do with anything?"
Her chin went up again. He winced, dreading more temper. She surprised him, almost shy. "You. You're wasting a good man's life."
There it is. She's just like her buddy, Richards.
His vision wavered. He slowed, holding together. By the time he was sure of himself she was already part of the gathering.
Doctor Newton, like many Northwesterners, regarded chill weather as bullying. The hard gray-green of the sea agreed with the calendar that fall was taking charge; an increasing breeze reinforced them. In shorts, flowered short-sleeved shirt, and sandals, Newton was ready for Waikiki. The Pastor resisted the urge to hug himself, offering a handshake instead. "I'm Pastor Andy Richards from Lupine, not far from Seattle. My friend is Lila Milam. She came with me. We want to help Crow recover."
Lila shook hands. Newton told the Pastor, "Good luck with that." He sent a sharp look at Crow, standing alone with Major. "Remember Bacon's 'No man is an island?' I wish he'd known that idiot. Is he going back to Lupine with you? Are you family?"
Pastor Richards said, "It's complicated. We're just some people who think he's a good man and want to do the right thing."
Newton snorted. "What do you know about a concussion like his, exactly?"
"Well, Hector Garza said..."
"Hector Garza's the best nurse I ever saw." Newton made slicing motions with both hand. "His problem is he's tied up with the same nonsense as you. He thinks Crow's a romantic lost soul. He may have a point. Doesn't matter. What I'm telling you is he's headed for an explosion. We just don't know when. He's practically certain to recover if he gets good care and takes care of himself. He won't. What he'll do is dominate your life. He's a parasite, frankly."
"He's asked for nothing."
"Why the hell should he? You people are offering."
Pastor Richards laughed softly. It was an honest reaction, but he hoped it might also defuse Lila's angry glare. Richards said, "Let's not argue, Doctor. Tell me what I need to know. Let me worry about the rest."
Newton shrugged. "I tried. Okay, If I get too technical, stop me. When we got him he pitched a 13 on the Glasgow Coma Score. It's something we use to quantify the degree of seriousness, you know? He vomited a couple of times. When he started talking he had some pretty serious antegrade amnesia - that's when you can't remember everything, but you remember some things. What bothers me is, he babbled about squads and guns and stuff. He begged someone to live. 'Stay with me,' is how he put it. He called for a corpsman- that's what Garza was. The way he sounded... I'll hear him forever."
Lila half-turned to glance back at Crow. He ignored her or pretended to. When she faced Newton and the Pastor, the doctor was clearly waiting for her. He went on, "Garza was there with me when Crow was hallucinating. Had to leave. Crying. He tell you that?"
The Pastor shook his head. Lila said, "Hector - he was in Iraq. So was Crow, I'm sure. I read up on PTSD - post traumatic stress disorder - do they have that?"
Newton said, "Garza, no. Crow? Probably. When he was brought in, I classified him as a Grade Five concussion. His brain went into hypermetabolism - especially sensitive to inadequate blood flow. He kept forgetting where he was, for instance."
Lila asked, "What can we do?"
"If he goes with you - which he won't - be patient. Be observant. He should be active, but nothing strenuous for a while. Get him under a doctor's care. Some of his symptoms may not resolve for weeks. Headaches. Sensitive to light and sound. He could slide off into depression or anxiety, could have memory and attention difficulties. On top of all that, you're right, there's the high possibility of PTSD. Promise me you won't hesitate to call me and your local authorities if he ever seems outside his normal behavior. Immediately."
Alarmed, Pastor Richards asked, "Are you saying he could be dangerous?"
Newton's lip curled. "The crazed returning veteran: One of our most fertile urban myths. You're in more danger of being hit by a meteor. Could he hurt himself? Possibly; not likely. What I'm telling you is behavior that's outside normal patterns may be a sign of other difficulties. You shouldn't worry about it beyond getting him attention."
Lila said, "Could he be - is he - suicidal?"
"I very carefully said 'hurt himself.' As a physician, I know the difference between that and 'kill himself.' But I'm not psychic. He's a troubled man, already hurting himself. You know that, or you wouldn't be here. What I said earlier stands: With proper care, there's no reason to think he can't lead a perfectly normal life. What fate has in store for him, I can't say. Not my department."
The Pastor said, "We've got something better than fate to rely on."
Newton smiled. He almost hid the condescension in it.
Lila said, "How long before he'll be well again? I mean, I know you can't say exactly, but can you give us an estimate?"
"Symptoms usually peak four to six weeks after an injury like his." Newton looked past Lila to Crow, calculating. He said, "I'd put him on the short end of the scale. He's a tough son of... son of a gun."
Lila almost laughed at the small concession to "ladies present." Still, it was thoughtful and, more than that, it broke the tension that had been ratcheting upward within her at every new fact from Doctor Newton. Following his gaze, she sent another look at Crow, then to Newton. She said, "He's worse than I hoped and better than I feared. We can do this. He'll be staying on my property. It's large enough so he'll have privacy, but I'll be able to check on him. Lots of room for Major, too. We've got a team standing by to help. We'll get him right."
She took a deep breath, proud that she felt every bit as confident as she sounded. She felt good, as well; she was doing something for someone. It wasn't too much to hope that this accident, awful as it had been, might be the key to Crow finding his way back to a life with real friends and real roots.
That evening, with dinner and sitting in the park, showed what he really was like.
How long had the evening been? Three hours?
Sometimes if seemed like ages, all packed with intensity. Other times it seemed like a flash or two of connection separated by clouds of idle chatter.
Doctor Newton said, "I have your word, then? You'll call if you have any questions at all? Even more importantly, talk to him about the Pacific Medical Center or the VA hospital in Seattle. They both have people who unders
tand the wounded warriors. They're as dedicated as they are overworked and as tough as they are compassionate. Make him contact them."
They both nodded. Lila told the two men, "I'm going to try to talk some sense into him. If I'm not making any headway or if I run out of gas, I'll call for help, Pastor, okay?"
He nodded approval. As she walked toward the Airstream, Newton got in his car and started it. He and the Pastor shook hands. Newton looked back to the couple. Major sprawled between them. Their conversation appeared to be civil but too brisk for friendly. Newton asked the Pastor, "You ever make a bet, Pastor?"
Pastor Richards laughed. "My profession is one long bet on good against evil. Never for money, though; only souls. "
"We've got a lot in common. You and souls, me and lives." Newton bobbed his head toward Lila and Crow. "Tell you what; I've got a proposition for you."
"A bet involving those two?"
Newton put his car in gear. "I'm saying he'll break her heart. When you get home and convince yourself he won't, you call me. I'll cover any amount. I can always use the money."
Chapter 20
Lila led the way downhill. She said, "You know how serious this could be."
Crow's silence went on so long she thought he'd closed her out completely. Her first reaction was to demand he answer. Stubbornness cut in: If he thought he could make her do all the talking, he needed another guess.
Crow finally said, "Yes."
Lila sputtered. "That's it? 'Yes?' I ask you a reasonable question about your survival and all you've got is 'Yes?'"
When he looked at her and smiled, she saw beyond a damaged man to the boy who'd smiled embarrassment. "I'm not about to hurt anyone. All I want is to hole up. None of that makes me an evil person."
She continued picking her way downhill toward the Strait, glaring at the ragged gaps in the dissipating fog. Why couldn't Crow's injury fade out the same way? Life was to enjoy, to bring enjoyment to others. It wasn't meant to be dangerous. Or lonely.
In mid-stride she was suddenly revisiting Crow's departure from Lupine and the other-worldly sense of another mind blending with her own. The effect was hypnotic. Lila continued to walk, uncaring about the uncertain footing, confident that the part of her mind controlling her movements was as aware as ever. The rest of her being concentrated on that voice, although it was more than that. Impressions and images became messages. As unnerving as it had been, she savored it. It was a sharing, The woman who came to her for those few moments knew both heart-breaking sadness and soaring joy.
Lila stopped abruptly, unaware of Crow, unaware of anything except secret discovery. The contact hadn't come to explain or probe. She came to prepare her for a day like this. The revelation filled her with light. This meeting with Crow wasn't about just trying to save Crow. It included saving herself.
Impressions pounded in her consciousness, drumbeats. She was aware how gloriously happy Crow was once. The signs were unmistakable; his easy banter, his ready smile. Fragments of what that man had been. Loss and sorrow had claimed everything else.
That was when the words repeated in her memory, blazing clear. What we can create within ourselves can refuse any boundary. Any of us can be broken, but we can create something that lives far beyond us.
And then she grasped the reason behind the sudden sense of risk. Originally, she heard the words as pure optimism, a definition of hope surviving damage. Now she felt a parallel warning. Perhaps if one tried to create something so powerful, one could be destroyed by it.
That could be what had happened to Crow. And someone else. A woman.
Very probably Crow's wife.
What about me? Will I be broken before I'm ever whole?
* * * * *
When Crow caught up to her there was irritability in his voice. "What's so evil about wanting to be left alone? I don't..."
She rounded on him so quickly he clipped off the end of his sentence. She said, "No one ever said you're evil. Evil always has a purpose." Her arms and hands were flying in all directions. He'd broken off her interior dialogue, possibly cheated her out of other insights. Now this - his same tired defense of the indefensible. This was exactly the conversation she'd told herself wasn't going to happen, and here it was, in living color, and it was all his blind, me-me-me fault and he wasn't going to get away with it. "You just... You just happen. You don't have any purpose except the next fish. We were fools to come here. Especially me. I even offered to let you park your Secret Escape Machine on my place."
"You did that?" His surprise stopped her. It also made her realize she'd better inhale. While she did, he added, "I didn't think..."
Crow had to catch his own breath.
Don't even think about how such giving comes naturally to her. You'd be comparing her to Patricia. Patricia would be hurt.
I'd hurt Lila, too. Letting her think I could come back to the world where she belongs. It'd end up just like last time.
But it wasn't as if she had no blame in the situation. Still, he had a right to explain. "I figured you and Zasu were sort of like me and Major, except you need to be in one place. And there's that guy - Vanderkirk; he's more than just your friend. He won't like me and Major..."
"Hold it. Whatever you think about me and Van, we're none of your damned business. Nothing I choose to do is any of his damned business. Do you understand?"
"I'm sorry. I didn't know. It's just when you offered the place I wondered about him. I mean, you know, the situation."
Her eyes narrowed. "What situation? Exactly what were you thinking about me?"
"Whoa. I wasn't thinking whatever you think I was thinking. All I meant was, it could make trouble for you. Me staying there, and him - you know." He blinked, stammered. "You know."
"No, I don't know. Whatever you were thinking, you were wrong."
Crow sought refuge in silence. He looked out to sea. Miles of the Strait were clearly visible now, the fog a stage setting of wings and distant backdrop. In the open area, a sailboat breezed along, heeled over to port. Freshening wind broke up the fog and raked the water into a chop. The boat danced through it. The way it breasted the water - rolling and pitching - made Crow think of laughter, as if the vessel was amused by the rough game.
Crow watched and longed.
Once she was just wood and metal and cord and cloth. I know every thought that went into every saw cut, every sail stitch, every drop of paint and varnish. She's doing what she was born to do. She's moving on.
Forcing laughter that sound pitifully false, he told Lila, "See how much better it is for everyone if I keep my distance? I can think all the wrong thoughts I want and no one suspects I'm deficient. As it is, you've already chewed me out twice today and we still have hours of daylight left."
"Oh, stop it. All we came here for was to offer you a place to stay while you recover."
The sailboat came about. From the west, an aircraft carrier materialized out of the remaining mist, an ominously silent city of gray steel. Her bow pushed aside the sea, a perfect bone-in-her-teeth. Astern a silver-and-blue trail spooled out from her huge screws. Crow seized the distraction, said, "Look at her. Makes that sailboat look like a fleck of paint."
"Don't sailboats have the right of way? Will they run into each other?"
Crow laughed. "Both captains know who has the right of way, just like they both know who gets squashed if push comes to shove."
Within seconds of his saying it, the smaller craft whipped off on another course.
Crow said, "Please don't think I'm turning down you all's offer because I don't appreciate it. It's just that... Look, it's a long way back to Lupine and you all just got here. Rest up, at least a while. That alder grove there's a good place to sit. Amber calls it her secret kingdom. Even named it: Latoat. When she's there she's the queen, but when she leaves, she leaves her crown behind so she can live with ordinary folks without embarrassing them. "
"I never named my secret place. What's she call it?" Lila was intrigued in spite o
f herself; she knew he wanted to distract her.
Ships. Right of way. Secret kingdoms.
He's just running away again.
Crow said, "The name means 'Looking At The Ocean And Thinking'. LATOAT. Clever kid. When I told her it wasn't much of a secret if people knew about it she gave me this 'dumb grownup' look and said, 'A place is just a little secret. What the name means is the real secret because it tells you what's inside the person who named it. That's a forever-friend secret. You only talk about it with them."
The hair on the back of Lila's neck stirred. Amber's innocence reminded her of the implied risk in the earlier voice, made her wonder if she was being warned about sharing too much.
She sternly reminded herself that there's a significant difference between coincidence and paranoia.
Silent now, they walked to a boulder flanked by tall trees. Amber's kingdom was v-shaped, the larger end facing the water. Lila and Crow settled down, backs against the rock. Lila watched Crow lose himself in contemplation of the sailboat.
Oddly, she was comfortable at the edge of his consciousness. She wondered if it was unfeminine to not mind being ignored, even for a few moments. She didn't know about that, but was certain that when he returned his attention to her it would be all the more focused.
Suddenly he was there again. His eyes locked on hers. His easy smile did nothing to quiet the quickened beat of her heart. He said, "I guess that's how it works - girls have hiding places and boys have forts."
It was mere conversation. Why did it make her wish she knew something - anything - about his boyhood? Where did he grow up? What turned him from flesh and bone to steel and stone?
Why did she care?
She straightened, drew back an inch, possibly two. She heard herself say, "We were talking about you coming back to Lupine with us."
He winced. "I meant it when I said I really appreciate you all. No one's ever done anything like that for me."
"No one? Ever?" She scoffed.
