by Jade Powers
He sounded friendly. Of course, he was talking to his horse. He might not be so friendly once he discovered Wendy and Carson crashing in his stables. Wendy held her tongue. As much as she wanted to call for help and get Carson to a hospital, she didn’t think Carson would forgive her for that. He had been adamant that it would be too dangerous, even when he was clearly miserable and could use some doctoring.
They needed to think through their next move. Wendy listened as the rancher fed and watered his horses, talking to them in quiet sweet words. It was a strange thing to know that the rancher thought he was completely alone while he sang You Move Me to his animals. Wendy remembered all of the times she sang at the top of her lungs while vacuuming or washing the dishes. Now she wondered if someone had been listening.
People feel so secure in their own homes. Wendy decided she would do her best not to reveal their presence to the rancher. He seemed like one of the good guys from the bird’s eye perspective, and Wendy didn’t want to disturb his peace of mind.
Wendy was relieved when the man left the stables, although considering his promise to the horse, he’d be back and no doubt expecting his horse blankets. Wendy stayed put. They would return the blankets at dusk. Until then, she wasn’t budging from her safe perch.
Curled up next to Carson, Wendy felt comforting peace instead of the numb ball of grief that had been weighing her down for a year. She tried not to think too much about it. She tried to create a safe distance in her mind where this moment was the only moment and the ones that had come before were something else.
Emotional loss could be a constant ache in the chest, one that went on and on without hope of relief, a heavy weight on the heart, a hurt that felt unbearably present at all times. Wendy had suffered that ache ever since the day the officers told her John was dead, and now for the first time, the pain had broken with the ease of a wave on rocks. It made no sense.
Wendy mulled her emotional state over in her mind the way a person might tongue the hole where a tooth had been extracted. Somehow in all this, Wendy knew...she had fallen in love with Carson. And that love had eased her loss.
Someone took the horses out later that morning. All the while Carson stirred restlessly. She could hear grumbling about the horse blankets. When the day ended and she and Carson left, she’d have to put them in a different place, hopefully one the man hadn’t searched.
With the stables quiet a second time, Wendy yawned. Finally, she drifted into a deep sleep.
WENDY DREAMED THAT she was at home in the garden. It was a pathetically small patch with two rows of carrots, lettuce, zucchini, and a few odds and ends. The sunlight was bright and warm on her face. Wendy laughed and turned.
John knelt next to her, a weed in his hand and a grin on his face. He said, “I’m okay here, Wendy. I just wanted to let you know.”
They hugged. It felt warm and safe and better than real life. The sun felt so bright and filled with a warmth that seemed personal. Wendy said, “I miss you.”
“We’ll see each other again. Wendy, it’s okay to love Carson,” John said. His smile reminded Wendy of their trip to the beach in Virginia, the carefree days when John could truly relax, before he carried the strain of his job.
Brushing John’s cheek Wendy said, “I don’t want to forget you.”
John kissed her and held her. The flowers smelled sweet and the sun on her shoulders warm. She was wrapped in an expression of love that would last a lifetime.
“You won’t. There’s a doctor off of Grady Road who will help you,” John said.
Wendy clung to John and said, “I don’t think I can do this without you.”
“Of course you can. Carson needs to go to the hospital. Remember what I said. Grady Road.”
Wendy woke up with tears in her eyes. It was almost evening.
Chapter 10
CARSON LOOKED WORSE upon waking than he did asleep. Remembering her dream, Wendy felt happy. John’s permission was a necessary component that Wendy didn’t even know existed until that dream. It could have been her own mind, but Wendy believed wholeheartedly that John had reached out to her through her dreams. It gave her such relief. Somewhere, John still existed.
The proof would lie with Grady Road. If they ran into such a place, Wendy would know that John had really spoken to her in her dreams. The chances of Grady road popping up while they were running was slim to none. Even if it existed, Wendy and Carson weren’t likely to cross it while they were avoiding roads. She couldn’t quite believe that her dream was real, even if her time with John had seemed even brighter and more vivid than life.
They climbed out of the loft and snuck onto the field without incident. Wendy couldn’t like the state Carson was in. He was much too pale and moving slowly. His jeans had finally dried, but his shoes were still damp. This night was quiet. There were no sounds of men shouting to one another and no helicopters flying overhead.
Carson’s cough rattled in his chest, and his steps were more a stumble than the night before. Wendy stayed close, ready to provide stability if Carson needed it. When they reached a road, it was Carson who suggested walking along the side. Wendy agreed.
Her legs were tired. Wendy was more than ready for this adventure to be over. The fact that someone descended on McFarland’s house proved once and for all that John had been murdered. Hopefully, it would point to the culprit. She just had to get out alive.
They were walking along the highway when they came to a sign that said Grady road. Wendy gasped. The moonlight reflecting off the sign seemed magical to Wendy. She said, “We need to go this way.”
Fortunately, the road was a one way intersection turning toward the right, so at least Wendy wouldn’t have to choose a direction. Grady road. Wendy could scarcely believe what she read. Her whole demeanor changed, and she found herself smiling, despite her exhaustion, despite her pain. John had come! His visit was real, and somewhere he existed. It was beyond comprehension.
Carson grunted. It was the closest Wendy would get to an assent with Carson that tired and injured.
They walked another mile down the road. That was when Wendy saw another sign. She could just hear John laughing. It was the sign to a veterinary clinic. Wendy turned up the driveway. She knew without a doubt this was what John meant in her dream. When John said Grady Road, he had that funny smile he sometimes got when he was sharing an inside joke with her.
Aware enough to realize they were off course, Carson asked, “What are you doing?”
“I had a dream last night. I know it sounds crazy, but we’ll find help here.” Wendy said the words with absolute faith, knowing that she sounded like a kook.
Carson said, “I’m not sure about this. We should keep going.”
As if he could. Eventually Carson would collapse, and then Wendy would have to flag down the nearest passerby and call for help. Only by the time that happened, it might be hours before someone came along...or it might be the wrong people.
They were both at the end of their strength. She wasn’t about to ignore the one miracle she’d had in her entire life, the only thing that had ever made her believe in anything beyond what she could touch, see, taste, or smell.
Wendy continued down the driveway, even when Carson paused. He shuffled to keep up when he realized she wasn’t stopping. There was a car parked in front of the turn-out. A man was about to climb into that car.
“Excuse me?” Wendy called out, stopping him.
The guy jumped. He said, “You scared the dickens out of me.”
“We need help. We were riding a bike and dumped it. I think my boyfriend has a broken arm,” Wendy said.
“Come in. We’ll call an ambulance and get you folks help.” He clicked his key fob and his car beeped locked, then he led them into his office.
“I don’t need an ambulance,” Carson said gruffly, slurring his words. He could barely lift his foot over the ledge of the threshold to the veterinary clinic.
The room smelled of antiseptic and animals.
A poster about heart worm with a golden retriever as the furry model was posted above the waiting room chairs. Wendy helped Carson to the chair. She said, “Yes, you do. Let him call one for us.”
It was pure intuition, and probably wrong, but Carson needed medical attention, and he was on the point of collapse. Under the fluorescent lights, Carson appeared ghoulish. While the vet called 9-1-1, Wendy took Carson’s hand. It was cool.
Carson closed his eyes and leaned back. Apparently, he didn’t have the energy for an argument. Wendy was grateful. She had thwarted John a few times in their marriage, and the fallout had never been pleasant. Sometimes caution was better than risk, so she would do what she knew had to be done and suffer the consequences later.
Wendy was impulsive. She certainly wasn’t risk averse. But part of being intuitive was listening to that little voice that told a person what they needed to do. Military men didn’t like plans to change suddenly and especially didn’t make major decisions based on intuition. It was perhaps the biggest flaw in her marriage with John. Wendy would have never guessed while she was holding Carson’s hand in that veterinary clinic that he was known in military circles for his intuition.
The ambulance crew would be taking Carson to Saint Stephen’s Hospital. Carson was so adamant that Wendy accompany him in the back that the crew finally relented. Carson had been silent on the reasons. Only Wendy knew it was for her, so that she wouldn’t have to find a mode of transportation. And maybe for Carson, too, so that he didn’t have to worry about Wendy.
IT NEVER OCCURRED TO Wendy that she looked and smelled like an indigent until she sank into a chair in the surgical waiting room. The past two days had been harrowing and scary and to Wendy it was just a relief to get somewhere safe where Carson could get his arm looked at and she could sit down and rest. She was never a person to chat up the people around her, but she wasn’t used to being ostracized either. The woman sitting a few seats over looked askance at Wendy and then slowly removed herself to a seat across the room.
Wendy felt the burning in her cheeks. She had been sweating, sleeping on plywood and in hay under filthy blankets. She could smell barnyard in her clothes. The veterinarian had been so kind that Wendy never realized how awful she smelled or looked. It was no wonder this lady didn’t want to be near her.
Stepping out, Wendy found a restroom and washed up as best she could. Her pants were torn and dirty. Her jacket was caked in mud and carried the stain of grease from some bit of machinery she’d bumped up against in that first barn with the motorcycles and jet skis. She was a mess, but she could at least smell reasonably clean. Wendy washed, brushed, and cleaned as much as she could, completely unsatisfied with the results, but it would have to do.
Exhaustion set in. Finding a small alcove with a sofa, Wendy curled up. She’d never been one who could sleep in public places, but this time she could. The surgeon woke her up to tell her that Carson was out of surgery.
They let her back to see him a few hours later. He had actually regained his tan. He no longer looked weak and strained. Wendy took his hand. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. She said, “You look a lot better.”
His voice was still hoarse when he said, “I’m feeling better, too. Did you have any trouble?”
“No.” Wendy figured that she wouldn’t have been around to tell Carson she’d had trouble if she’d actually had trouble, but it wouldn’t do to worry him with a reminder of that fact. After a minute, the nurse sent her back to the waiting room until Carson could get a room of his own. That was fine with Wendy. She curled up and slept another few hours.
SOMEONE FOUND HER IN that waiting room. He wore an officer’s uniform and nudged her foot. Wendy blinked and groaned, straightening up. “Yes?”
“You need to come with me,” he said. If there was threat implied in his statement, Wendy didn’t catch it. He seemed very matter-of-fact. That didn’t mean Wendy was going with him, though.
“Um. No, I’m not. Would you call McFarland for me and let him know that I’m planning to stay here? He knows my whereabouts and can vouch for me. Just make sure you speak directly with him.” Wendy hoped throwing the name around would work.
“I’ve been instructed to drive you to New York,” the man said. He didn’t back down or veer from his mission. Wendy almost asked for his credentials, but then figured he probably had a fake id anyway. It didn’t matter. She was in no way going to leave with this man. He couldn’t exactly drag her screaming out of the hospital...unless they had fake credentials. She looked like a bum.
“And I’ve been asked to meet McFarland in four days time at his home. I don’t know you, and McFarland has been recently compromised so forgive me if I don’t jump and say ‘yes sir’ like a new recruit.” Wendy rubbed her neck. She’d kinked it sleeping. She felt angry and out of sorts. This guy wasn’t helping at all. It was a shame she smelled like a homeless person. She was so not credible sitting there in mangy two-day old jeans and a jacket covered in grass stains and dirt.
The officer went to the surgical desk and asked if he could borrow the phone. Wendy realized that he probably had someone nearby who could help remove her from the facility officially. They could drag her out screaming with the right paperwork, and everyone would feel bad for the poor officer who had to take the crazy woman to the insane asylum. Wendy slipped off the couch and out the door while the officer was still on the phone. They couldn’t take who they couldn’t find. She ran down the hall. Seeing a sign for the chapel, Wendy slipped inside, gently closing the door behind her.
The room was tiny with an altar at the front and four rows of chairs. Wendy wondered if it ever got any use. Today it was a true sanctuary, but there was only one exit and entrance. Not that anyone was going to scour the hospital for her. They would just put men on the entrances and exits and wait her out. Eventually Wendy would have to leave. They would no doubt wait in Carson’s room.
She had to be cunning, which was not one of Wendy’s best traits. Wendy sat down in the corner surrounding her knees with her arms. Anyone surveying the room with a cursory glance would miss her. The door opened once giving Wendy a start but nobody came in. Her alcove was well hidden and the room would have looked empty to someone poking their head in. Wendy held her breath as the latch closed, her heart pounding with fear. This wasn’t her idea of a good time.
No matter how long she waited in the chapel, Wendy was certain she couldn’t out-wait the military officer who in essence ordered her to accompany him out of the hospital. She found a stack of devotionals inside the back of the pulpit. Taking the whole stack, she returned to her corner and started reading.
Wendy wasn’t exactly churchy. She really needed a good murder mystery or romance. But the pamphlet on heaven caught her attention. She read it greedily, feeling disappointed when she turned the last page. The small magazine included three near-death experience stories. Wendy didn’t quite believe, but after her strange dream, which was more or less accurate, she believed something. Her dream was not how religions described death, but maybe there was an afterlife after all.
Wendy counted pages and read and read until she was bored out of her mind. One could only take so much inspiration. Finally she decided that it would be better to face the military guy than another pamphlet.
Her dream influenced her. Wendy didn’t think John would set her up for trouble. If he told her to get help on Grady road, then he must have known what would happen. Wendy knew her thought process wasn’t exactly logical, but for once she thought that things had to go her way.
She carefully navigated the hallways, stopping at each intersection and watching for anyone in uniform. At the surgical waiting room she stopped at the desk and asked, “I was just wondering if Carson Nichols is out of surgery and assigned a room yet.”
The man asked, “You didn’t get a pager?”
The nurse had instructed her to ask for one at the desk. At the time Wendy had assumed that the less interaction with the staff the better. She sai
d, “The nurse had mentioned it, but I planned on just checking in after getting some food.”
He scrolled through his computer.
“Well, he’s been moved.” Pushing his glasses up, the guy leaned forward into the computer screen. He added, “There’s no note for advising family.”
“What room is he in? I’ll head over there,” Wendy said with a forced smile. It had been a long day. She was glad Carson was already out of surgery and in a room. The doctor said that if the surgery went well, Carson might go home the next day. Wendy would check in first. Maybe the nurses could suggest a place to sleep. She’d make up a story about their wallet getting caught in the river with the bike. It wasn’t a complete fabrication, and she was without funds.
“No, Ma’am, you don’t understand. He was moved out of this building. We were given a court order to release him.”
There was no way, no way at all that the court order was real. Wendy said, “That’s impossible. The court order was a fake. Do you know where he was taken? Who released him?”
“Doctor Smith, but here, call this number. They’ll tell you where he is and how to arrange visitation.” He scribbled a number on a stick note pad.
Wendy took the sticky note with a sense of foreboding. The number scrawled across the middle had an unfamiliar area code. She thanked the man and left. With no money and no resources, Wendy was at a loss. She walked outside into the late evening sun. Somehow the day had passed, slowly and surely.
Finding a pay phone, Wendy dialed the operator, “I’d like to make a collect call, but I don’t know the number.”
With help from the operator, Wendy called General McFarland collect. She held her breath when McFarland’s bookkeeper answered. Wendy didn’t have any hope that he would accept a collect call. But when the operator finished her request, the bookkeeper said, “Yes. I accept the charges.”
