A Year of You

by A. D. Roland

  “She might need me,” he whispered. “I wasn’t there for her when she needed me yesterday and today. I hated her. Do you understand? I hated her.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. West. I really, really am. But you have to leave now. It’s going to be a long time before she wakes up. The doctor might want her to stay asleep for as long as possible, to help her heal.”

  West kissed Mattie’s forehead. She smelled like sweat and blood, with a harsh chemical overtone. Brown stains covered her chest above the blanket. Iodine prep, the nurse explained when he asked. “I need to clean her up? I hate seeing her like this.” She still had dirt under her nails and in the creases of her right hand, the one not swathed in heavy layers of elastic bandages.

  Walking away from Mattie, leaving her in the company of the hissss-shuuushhh of the ventilator and the beeps of the other things surrounding her was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Two endless, sleepless days passed. West spent as much time as he could at the hospital. Jose ran the business. West got a hotel room close to the hospital, since he didn’t have much of a home to go to. Mattie’s condition hadn’t changed. One surgery to repair the damage to her pleural cavity, another to remove the bullet pressed against her aorta. Another to put pins in her hand to repair the shattered fingers and metatarsals, and once she was stable, her surgeons repaired her shoulder, with the warning she’d need a total replacement in the very near future. The plastic surgeon worked on her face, on the deep gash near her hairline from being pistol-whipped, and the ‘K’ etched on her right cheek. She wasn’t getting much better, but she wasn’t getting worse. Most importantly, she was alive.

  The doctor knocked softly on the door. “Mr. West, I need to speak to you. Could you come out in the hallway?”

  West’s stomach trembled and his knees went weak. “Sure.” He kissed Mattie’s forehead and followed the doctor into the hallway. “What’s going on?”

  “Mattie had an episode of bleeding this morning. We need to do another procedure to clean the infected tissue out of her uterus.” West closed his eyes and leaned his forehead on the cool glass observation window that ran the length of the ICU room.

  “Do what you have to do for her. She should have had something good to wake up to.”

  “She has you, Mr. West.”

  “I don’t know what she’s going to think when she wakes up. I was such a bastard to her.”

  The doctor squeezed his shoulder and moved on, scribbling notes on Mattie’s chart.

  ***

  The days passed in a blur of hospital white, blood, and near-death moments. Rebel, Townsend, and Georgia spent as much time with him at the hospital as they could. They took turns with Mattie so he could sleep or deal with his own injuries. His broken ribs and broken nose were healing. The ghastly burst blood vessels in his eye were getting better, and the swelling in his face had gone down significantly. The blood faded from his urine, the result of one too many kicks in the back.

  Georgia’s suggestion that Mattie would need a place to come home to had him on the internet, searching for a solution. He could rent a house close to the hospital. An apartment, even. Everything was out of his price range. The three months were up, but Ruth Ellen hadn’t delivered the promised first payment. Rebel offered his loft, and West figured he’d have to take him up on it. Once Mattie was well enough to leave the hospital, Ruth Ellen would give her what she’d earned.

  Emeline was a ghost of herself, pale and even thinner. She stayed away from West, which didn’t bother him in the slightest. McKendrick came to visit once a week. He, too, seemed paler than usual.

  During Mattie’s second week in the hospital, McKendick sat near West in the waiting room. “I never shared the DNA results with you or Mattie,” the older man said quietly. “Ruth intercepted them. She’s had them since September. She’s made us play her game.”

  West nodded. “She told me, right before all this happened.”

  McKendrick pulled an envelope from the pocket of his sports jacket. He extracted the papers and unfolded them. “Mattie--Evelyn--is a full heir. I never even knew Karen was pregnant with her. She conveniently went to Europe for a full year. I never knew, West.”

  “You know now. You can make up for it.”

  McKendrick’s gaze grew distant. “Justine…”

  “She’ll get used to it.”

  “It’s not as easy as that.”

  A nurse hurried out of the ICU, a broad grin on her face. “Mr. West. So glad you’re here. Mattie’s been waking up a little bit every few hours today!”

  West left McKendrick without a second glance.

  Mattie had more color to her cheeks. She seemed restless. Her arms and legs twitched beneath the blanket. He pulled the doctor’s stool up to the bed. He touched her hand, and nearly laughed aloud when her eyelids twitched.

  “Mattie? It’s me.”

  He bit his lip, watching, waiting as her eyes moved, struggling to open. She couldn’t say anything for the tracheotomy tube in her throat, but her hand fluttered beneath his.

  “You don’t have to open your eyes if you don’t want to, Mattie. I just wanted you to know I’m here.”

  Beneath her golden-brown eyelashes, a faint line of moisture formed; then a real tear rolled down her right cheek.

  “Oh, honey, don’t cry. You can hear me, can’t you?”

  The hand beneath his trembled. He lifted it to his lips and brushed her knuckles over his lips. “I’m here. I just wanted you to know that.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  She couldn’t talk, couldn’t move too much, couldn’t do anything but stare at the walls. West had told the nurses she loved music, so they played a radio softly in the evenings when things were quiet.

  He came in and sang to her sometimes, softly so only she could hear, so that they were just her songs. He didn’t do it too often, because it made her cry, and crying hurt.

  Most of the time he just came in and kissed her forehead and smoothed her hair back from her face. He would sit next to the bed and hold her hand. In whispers one day he told her he didn’t care who she was, as long as she was his, and she cried so hard it made her cough up blood. The nurses warned him if he kept upsetting her, he wouldn’t be allowed back to see her until her condition stabilized.

  That scared her, knowing she was unstable. She felt unstable. Some days, she felt strong enough to try to breathe on her own, but most days, she just drifted in a weird place between wakefulness and sleep. The sleep wasn’t a normal one, since she relived her entire life in surreal sketches, parodies of her own life. More than once, she would open her eyes and realize a day or more had passed since she’d been conscious. Those times, West would be beside himself with worry.

  “You got to stop that, sweetheart,” he whispered after one of those weird times. “That near-death stuff is getting old.”

  The constant ache and sting in her chest and back finally started to ease. When the doctor would take her off the ventilators once a day, she was able to stay off longer and longer. They kept the tracheotomy tube in her throat open, even after she was able to stay off the vent as long as she was conscious.

  West urged her to get stronger, get better. He told her all about the surge in business EME Greens was going through since the news reports. “You’re a celebrity, Mattie. You need to get better so you can come back and help me run the place. I’ve had to hire four new people for the lawn maintenance crew.”

  He still wants me around? After everything that happened?

  He cried when the doctor told him they couldn’t find the baby’s heartbeat.

  While he whispered in her ear and sang to her, his hands busy in her hair, smoothing lotion into her dry skin, she dozed off. Her last thought before she slid into one of the first real periods of sleep in a long time, was how good West smelled.

  ***

  She dreamed about finding Elaine. The kid was still alive, crying, in her grave beneath a massi
ve oak tree. Oranges the size of beach balls hung from the branches, their pebbly texture exaggerated and highlighted like ads in a travel magazine. The cloying scent of orange blossoms pervaded the muggy night air.

  Far off, McKendrick hollered and flapped his arms. The giant oak tree stood on a hill, illuminated by the moon. West’s face was in the moon, his eyes sad and hurt.

  The scene made her think of something out of the Sin City graphic novels, something drawn in crime noir style. The shadows were India-ink black, the highlights vivid, retina-searing in their intensity.

  She dug deep in earth, hearing the sound of the baby crying. Whose baby? Hers? She had miscarried, lost the baby before it even had a chance. West had whispered it in her ear with tears thick in his voice. It had startled her to know that it had affected him so profoundly. He was looking forward to being a daddy.

  The deeper she dug, the weaker the cries became. Soon she couldn’t hear Elaine, only McKendrick’s shouting. With one breath he wanted her to stop, with the other he was begging her to find the kid.

  Emeline was there, riding the moon. She bucked and groaned.

  The shovel in her hand finally hit something hard, wooden.

  She threw it aside and dropped to her knees, pushing aside the wet black dirt with her bare hands. The wounds in her chest reopened and gushed bright red blood that mixed with the soil.

  Vines grew and tangled around her wrists until they held her arms back. Someone stood at the top of the hole, kicking dirt down on her head until it began to pile up around her body.

  She cried out for West, but he only laughed at her, continuing to please Emeline with his Man-in- the-Moon head.

  Her tears mixed with the great gouts of blood pouring from her body until the mud encased her entire body, as hard as concrete.

  ***

  The first week was the hardest. The second was much better, and by the third, Mattie was in a regular room, doing everything by herself. West, so touching and tender with his concern while she was in the ICU, went back to work.

  “I’m not about to die anymore,” she said of his absence when the nurses or her doctor asked. Therapists of every kind visited; respiratory therapists, psychiatrists, physical therapists. Her arm was nearly useless, the damage to her shoulder compounded by nerve damage. Even with a total replacement, there wasn’t much hope she’d have full use of it for a very long time, if at all.

  The days were long and mostly boring, except when Georgia would come visit. There were only so many TV shows that held Mattie’s attention. West’s visits had dwindled to a couple hours every other day, even though he called every night.

  She knew he was working hard. It was true, Rebel told her one day, that business had picked up so much that West had even hired a bunch of new workers to cut fern, pack it, and ship. He was working solely on the landscaping and was living in an RV he borrowed from Rebel’s parents.

  “I’m glad things are picking up for him,” she replied.

  Rebel looked a little troubled. “I don’t want to worry you or anything, but Emeline’s been over at his place a lot. She answers the phones during the day and does computer stuff.”

  Mattie shrugged with her one good shoulder, faking nonchalance. “She can do what she wants. I’m confident in my relationship with West. They’ve been friends a lot longer than we’ve even known each other.”

  After Rebel left, Mattie had the shakes so bad a nurse brought her a sedative to help her sleep. West didn’t show up the next day, even though he’d promised to. The next day, when he still hadn’t shown up, she called, only to hang up when Emeline answered his cell phone.

  Why did she have his cell? “You know why,” she whispered to herself. West wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t make a lie out of everything he’d whispered to Mattie during the long, painful days. Her breath grew short and her chest tight. Anytime she got excited or worked up about something, she had to go back on oxygen. Mattie forced herself to slow her breathing down, concentrate.

  When she could breathe okay, she called West’s cell phone.

  Emeline answered again. She gave up all hope of controlling her emotional reaction and hit the nurse-call button.

  ***

  The phone call me when he least expected it. The state attorney decided to pursue charges against mattie. Fraud. Conspiring to defraud the elderly. Assault. They wouldn’t charge her with killing K; they’d decided that was self-defense.

  On the way to the hospital, he called Ruth Ellen. “Fix it,” he said simply.

  She assured him, “I’m doing everything I can. James is insisting on pressing charges.”

  “Your word has to mean something. You asked her to come.”

  “She pretended to be Elaine. She accepted money as Elaine. She’s not Elaine. I’m not sure what I can say that will change that.”

  “Just fix it, Ruth Ellen. She didn’t survive that psychopath just to get locked up.”

  “I’m doing everything I can. I promise you that. Watch out for Justine, West. Keep her away from Mattie. She called me last night and left a frightening message. I think the news about Emeline’s paternity has pushed her over the edge.”

  “I’m going to the hospital now. I won’t leave Mattie’s side.”

  You mean it this time?

  He hung up and set the phone down by his thigh. West took a long drag of his cigarette, then flicked the butt out the window.

  Ruth Ellen was convinced her son-in-law had killed the little girl. West put his money on Justine. It was all about money anyway. The trust funds reverted to the remaining heir, doubling their worth. It was a hell of a pretty penny in Em’s pocket, which would, in turn, end up in McKendrick’s. Stocks, bonds, investments...Dear old Dad would milk her dry like he’d tried with Ruth Ellen.

  With Mattie in the picture, as a full heir, that money was threatened once more.

  West chewed on his bottom lip as he steered toward the McKendrick house. Nobody was going to be home. If they were, he didn’t care.

  Once he got through the gate, he pulled up to the garage. The side door was open.

  Justine’s car was sitting in the usual spot. She rarely drove it herself, so it was in the far space. West tasted blood on his lip. He swiped at the sore spot with his finger. Bright red blood trailed across his skin. He licked his bottom lip and headed toward the front of the car.

  Mattie swore over and over again the car that had run her off the road was a big black one. The damage was on the right side of his truck, which meant if his hunch was right, the left front side of Justine’s vehicle would be messed up.

  West went the long way around the car, trailing his fingers over the slick surface. Damn it.

  There it was. A deep dent, the paint gouged off, the fender pried up at the very corner. Light blue streaks of paint marred the lustrous black finish. Paint from his truck.

  He recalled the oil in the ceramic bust. It was a juvenile attempt, but one none-the-less. The time Mattie had fallen off the seawall, she said she thought someone had shoved her. He hadn’t believed her.

  He hadn’t believed her. Another insult to injury. West hurried back to his truck. Mattie needed him, right now.

  Justine and McKendrick were both at the hospital, mired in the mess of police and lawyers. One of them wanted the family secrets to remain just that.

  Secrets.

  Chapter Thirty

  Mattie woke up to someone in her room that set her nerves on edge. She looked around the dim space, seeking what had disturbed her. Mid-morning sunlight fell over her bed and filled the rest of the room with dark lumpy shapes. She blinked rapidly to clear her foggy vision. The cocktail of pain meds and sedatives were brutal. A shadow detached itself from the wall, moving forward.

  Mattie felt around for the remote control with the nurse-call button.

  “Go away,” she said.

  The figure moved closer to the bed. “You’ll never get a dime.”

  Mattie frowned. “Justine?”

  “
You ruined it all. We had it worked out perfectly. Emeline would get the Carruther money. James and I would invest it and save the family. But you…you had to show up.”

  “What do you want, Justine?” Dammit, where was that remote control? It was huge! In addition to controlling the bed, it controlled the TV, too. Before she’d gone to sleep, the nurse who came in to check vitals hooked it over the bedrail.

  Justine wasn’t even looking at her. She had her gaze glued to the window. The tiny slices of light that made it through the vertical blinds made her eyes glitter. “James is working with the state attorney to have you put in jail for many years to come. Soon, we’ll have Ruth Ellen declared mentally incompetent, and any changes she made to her legal documents since you arrived will be invalid. Emeline will stand as the only heir to her fortune, and James and I will be all right.”

  “Why are you telling me this, Justine?”

  “You have two choices. You can keep your mouth shut and plead guilty. You’ll go to jail and we’ll never think of you again. If you try to defend yourself in anyway, we’ll file for charges against West. He admits he knew you weren’t Elaine. He knew about Ruth Ellen’s plot. He’ll be charged right alongside you.”

  Mattie gasped and shook her head. “Leave him alone.” I’m sick of saying that to people. I can’t protect him like this. “You can’t touch him. If you do, I’ll make sure everyone knows you killed Elaine.”

  Wild guess, but it triggered something in Justine, much to Mattie’s astonishment.

  The older woman leaned over the bed and got in her face. “Without a body, you have no proof.”

  “I know where it is.”