by Julie Rowe
The crew responded, nodding and adding their support in quiet voices.
Emilie turned to Sharon. “Where’s Bob’s body?”
“Outside. Tom parked him…it…close to the door, but off to one side so he…it…wouldn’t be in anyone’s way.”
“How are people doing?”
“They’re pretty choked up. Bob was well liked and Tyler has a lot of friends, probably more than he realized. No one is blaming him.”
“Good. Please make sure no one emails this news out until we’ve contacted Bob’s family in the States. We’ll have to find out what they want to do about…his final resting place.”
“We’re not set up for funerals.”
“We’re not set up for a lot of the things we do here and that’s never stopped us before.”
Chapter Eleven
Emilie went back inside the clinic, quietly closing the door.
Tom was bent over Tyler, talking. “Look, I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to get a grip on yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong,”
She stepped to one side so she wouldn’t disturb them. Perhaps Tom could get through to Tyler, help him deal with what happened.
“But I should have fixed the problem,” Tyler said, his voice high-pitched, stressed.
“You said you hit the throttle and nothing happened. Did you have time to do something else?”
“No. Right after that I ran into Bob. He came out of nowhere.”
Tom shrugged his broad shoulders. “Then it was out of your hands.”
“I don’t think you get it. Bob is dead. Accident or not, I killed him.”
“I know how you feel, but if you let this eat at you you’re just going to end up in a worse place.”
“Give me a break. You don’t have a clue how I feel.”
“Yeah, I do.”
Tyler smiled, one side of his mouth twisting in self-depreciating sarcasm. “Kill anyone lately, Tom?”
“No, but I wanted to. In fact, I almost did.” He looked into Tyler’s eyes. “And it was no accident.”
Emilie gasped and covered her mouth. Tom had deliberately hurt someone? She couldn’t imagine it. He was the most responsible man she’d ever met.
“Who was it?” Tyler asked, his expression gone slack.
“My father.” Tom smiled, showing his teeth. “He beat the crap out of me on a regular basis when I was a kid, said it would make me tough. Well, one day, not long after I turned sixteen, Dad tried to give me a whupping, but I whupped him instead. I told him that if he ever hit me or my brothers or sisters again, I’d kill him with my bare hands. I was so angry that had he resisted or protested I probably would have killed him right then and there.”
Tyler swallowed. “Why didn’t you?”
“My baby sister was in the room. She’d watched the whole thing, cowering in the corner. I told her to get out, but she just made herself smaller, like I had always tried to do when I was little and Dad got physical. Do you know what I did then?”
Tyler shook his head.
Tom laughed, but it was a mocking sound. “I went to the police station and waited to be arrested.”
“Did they?”
“No. My father was evidently too scared for his own hide. I sat on the station steps for a few hours until a couple of cops offered to give me a ride home. I think they knew something was up, because they walked me to the door and waited for my mother to answer it. She thanked them for bringing me home and that was it.”
“Did your father ever hit you again?”
“No, and every time I looked at him I made sure he knew what the repercussions would be if he did. The thing is, I had to live with the guilt of doing to him what he’d done to me, and it wasn’t right.”
“But you only fought back the one time.”
“So? A man is responsible for all his actions. But—and this is the important part, so pay attention—learn from what you did. Pay your debt forward and you just might be able to redeem yourself. Become an expert at accident prevention. Use what happened today to help other people avoid ever getting into the same situation.”
“How do you deal with it when it’s in your face? I mean, I’ve got to live with the memory of…”
“Mostly, I didn’t.”
“Oh.”
“Learn from my mistake, don’t let it consume you, don’t let it become your life.” Tom turned and looked at Emilie like he’d known she’d been there all along. “I think he’s ready for that cast now.”
She thrust a smile onto her face. “Thanks.”
He walked over to her as she grabbed the supplies needed to make Tyler’s cast, and said softly, “Now do you understand?”
“Understand?”
“Why you’re in danger. Why the baby’s in danger.” Self-disgust was painted all over his face.
Emilie’s jaw dropped. “From you?”
He nodded once, twice.
She shook her head. He was still punishing himself for a sin he’d committed years ago. Something no one else would’ve called a sin. The man he’d become, the leader, the friend had redeemed the transgression of his youth long ago. Only he didn’t seem to know it. “You’re the last man I need to be afraid of.”
Her vehemence made him blink then scowl. “I’m no fuzzy bunny.”
She laughed. “No, you’re not, but then I’m not interested in a something soft and furry. I want a man, not a pet who’ll come when I call him.” She stepped closer and poked him in the chest with one finger. “I trust you with my life.”
“But it’s not just your life you’re trusting me with anymore.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You can’t scare me away, Tom. I’m not going anywhere. Pun intended.”
He stared at her, one eyebrow rising to challenge her statement.
Stubborn fool. “This is getting us nowhere.”
“I agree.”
He’d gotten it into his head that he was damaged goods, a man gone bad. Her gut knew otherwise, but convincing him was obviously going to be difficult. She needed time and that she had plenty of. Emilie angled her head toward the doors. “The crew needs an update.”
“What was that about going nowhere?”
“I’m not running, this is a strategic retreat and regroup. I’ll win the war yet.”
He almost smiled but shook his head. “You are the most hardheaded woman…”
She rolled her eyes. “You know you like it.”
He hesitated a moment. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” His mouth a grim line, he walked out.
She shook her head. If only he could see himself through her eyes. After a moment, she turned and finished getting the necessary supplies while Tyler watched.
“How do you feel?” she asked him when she was ready.
“Like I’m being torn into a million pieces from the inside out.”
“Believe it or not, that’s normal.”
“Great.”
“Tom’s right, you know.” She paused to slip a cotton stocking over Tyler’s left hand and arm. She reached for the basin of moist cast strips and began laying them over the stocking. “The only way to come out of this sane is to let yourself go through all the stages.”
“Stages? You make it sound like I’m giving up booze. Is there an AA for murderers?”
“Yes, there are support groups for this kind of emotional trauma, but no, you don’t stand up, say your name and tell everyone you’re a recovering killer, because you’re not. I’m talking about the stages of grief.”
“You make it sound so clinical.”
“It’s easier to talk about it that way, don’t you think?”
He didn’t answer.
“The first stage is usually denial then anger, bargaining—”
“What? I’m going to argue myself out of having done it?” Tyler interrupted. “Bob’s corpse is probably frozen solid out there by now. That’s not going to go away.”
“Depression,” Emilie continued. “And acceptance.”
&n
bsp; “I think I’ll pitch a tent in the anger parking lot. It’s easier than all those others.”
“It’s not, Tyler. Didn’t you hear what Tom said? Staying angry or trying to deny it happened will only keep hurting you.”
“How would you know?”
“Because my husband died a year ago and I’m still going through the stages.” She finished creating the cast and cleaned up her mess. “You’re still in disbelief and anger, and it’s okay to let yourself feel that way until you’re ready to move on to the next step, but you need to give yourself permission to feel each emotion until you’ve gone through them all. It could take weeks, months or even years to fully progress through all the stages. It’s different for everyone.” She dried her hands on a towel and put them on her hips. “Your wrist is done. That was the easy part. Now we have to do your ribs, and that’s going to be uncomfortable.”
“Do your worst, it won’t bother me.”
“I know, and that, Tyler, is your deepest wound of all.”
At three in the morning Emilie wanted to drop where she stood. Tyler was finally asleep, thanks to the painkillers more than her doctoring.
He was carrying around enough anger to knock over a bus.
But she couldn’t go to bed yet. Tom was still up. His pain was even more palpable than Tyler’s. He wore it as a tight mask pulled over his face and in his clenched jaw. And even though he walked tall, his shoulders erect, a person could almost see the heavy load he carried. Mea maxima culpa. My most grievous fault.
Between discovering he was going to be a father, one of his crew dying, and another injured, Tom was liable to self-destruct. But she couldn’t afford him the luxury to indulge in self-pity and punishment. Sixty-two other people needed him sane and in control. People who were going to lean on him harder than ever when morning arrived. He had to be ready for it.
It took her another twenty minutes to track him down in the kitchen, talking with Carol and the rest of the kitchen staff.
When she walked in, he closed his conversation and waved her over. “What’s up?”
“I’m going to bed.”
“Tyler’s okay?”
“Yes, I had five volunteers offer to look after him, so no problems there.”
“Good. Get some sleep.”
“Sure, let’s go.”
He turned away. “There’s too much to do.”
He wasn’t shutting her out that easily. Emilie crossed her arms over her chest. “Either you come with me now or I follow you, nagging you until you go to bed.”
He frowned. “This isn’t a good time for your bedside manner. I’ll sleep later.”
“You’ll sleep now.”
He stared at her, his brows hung low over his eyes.
She waited to see what he would say or do.
He glared for a couple more seconds then shook his head. “You never give up, do you?”
“I’m a doctor, we always think we’re right.”
He snorted, but the beginnings of a smile appeared and disappeared on his face. “Fine, I’ll grab some sack time, but only a couple of hours. Things are too crazy around here.”
“I don’t like it, but it’ll do.”
“Of course you don’t like it. You’re a woman and a doctor.”
Emilie waited while he finished discussing the menu for the coming day.
“You’re still here?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.
“I leave when you leave.”
“Stubborn woman,” he muttered.
“What was that?”
“Nothing, let’s go.” He led the way, going directly to Emilie’s room. She figured that was what he would do, then go back to work sans sleep. Well, she had a plan to deal with that.
When he stopped outside her door she sprung her trap. “Stay with me.”
Both his brows rose and he took a step back. “What?”
“We need to talk, alone.”
He glanced down at her belly. “You heard what I said to Tyler. I’m the last guy you should be spending any time alone with.”
She cocked her head. “Are you completely unaware of the passage of time?”
“What?”
She held up a finger. “Fact, your father physically abused you and your siblings for years.” Another finger went up. “Fact, you were a traumatized sixteen-year-old boy when you defended yourself.” A third. “Fact, you defended yourself, but walked away before you could do anything else. What more could you have expected from yourself?”
“I shouldn’t have hit him at all. I lost control. What if I lose control again?”
“You never lost control. You were in a situation where your back was to a wall. You could’ve found a lot worse ways out of it than the one you chose.”
“My back’s to a wall again.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. My back is the one against a wall.”
“Excuse me? That’s my baby too,” he said, pointing at her belly.
“But I’m the one who’s pregnant.” She shook a finger in his face. “So, don’t go taking all the credit. I’m the one at risk here, not you.”
“That’s exactly my point.”
“Indeed. So, like any other rational person, you’re going to let me make my own decisions, right?”
“Are you always this pigheaded?”
“No, but thankfully, I’ve had a period of fast personal growth recently.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You might want to reflect on your own recent past. How would’ve the sixteen-year-old you reacted on that oil field in Saudi Arabia? Do you think that Tom Wolinski would have known what to do to save his buddy’s life? Do you really think you can go through life without growing at all?”
“Why do you insist on painting me as some self-sacrificing guy when I’ve done and said some pretty nasty things?”
“And I haven’t?” She snorted. “Congratulations and welcome to the human race.”
He grunted and turned his back to her, rubbing his hands over his head.
“I want you to talk to Tyler again.”
“I haven’t got anything else to say,” Tom growled, his back still to her.
“He needs to know how to get over the guilt. He thinks he murdered Bob.”
Tom spun around. “Do I look like the pope? I can’t give him absolution. Hell, I can’t even forgive myself.”
“I’m not talking about forgiveness, I’m talking about teaching him to cope with it.”
“Cope?” His laugh was as barren and cold as Antarctica. “I didn’t cope, I ran and kept running.”
So, that was why he thought he wouldn’t make a good father. “You’re still running, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.” He bent his head and stared at the floor. “I’ve got nothing to tell him. He’s going to have to work this out for himself.”
“What if he can’t? Do we turn our backs and pretend we can’t hear or see him in pain?”
“Em—”
“You were a lot younger than Tyler when you had your crisis of conscience. You’ve grown since then, whether you’re willing to admit it or not. You know a lot more than you realize.”
He didn’t respond.
“Think about it, that’s all I’m asking.”
“If I say yes, will you stop arguing with me and go to bed?”
“As long as you promise to get some sleep too, yes.”
“Fine. I promise to get some sleep.”
She let one side of her mouth curl and nodded toward her room. “My offer for you to stay here is still open.”
“I can’t, Em. I just can’t.”
Emilie woke with a start. She sat up, cold and alone.
“Damn it.” She checked the clock. 9:12 a.m. Six hours of sleep should have been plenty, but her muscles protested every movement.
Tyler was overdue for meds and saline. Why hadn’t anyone called her?
She entered Club Med to find the lights dim. Stan sat at her desk writing on a pad of paper, the only sound the whir of the IV p
ump.
He looked up as she approached and put his pen down. “Tyler’s still asleep,” he whispered. “Tom came in about two hours ago, hung a new bag of saline and gave him another shot of painkiller.” Stan handed her Tyler’s chart.
She nodded while reading Tom’s notes.
“Why don’t you grab some coffee and a quick bite to eat before I go,” Stan said.
“Do you know where Tom is?”
“He told me he was going to call Bob’s sister in Denver. I don’t know if he’s done it yet, but you could try the communications room.”
“Thanks, I’ll be back shortly.”
Emilie headed to the communications room, but when she arrived there was a sign on the closed door: Do Not Enter, Important Call in Progress. She opened the door and slipped inside. Tom sat in front of one of the computers having a voice conversation over the internet with someone. Both had activated their webcams, and Emilie found herself looking into a female version of Bob’s face.
“Thanks, Lisa,” Tom said. “I think that covers everything. We’ll record the service and forward the file to you.”
“Thank you, Tom. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
The woman disappeared as he shut down the computer.
“Bob’s sister?” Emilie asked.
“Yeah.” Tom stood, rubbing his face with both hands. “We worked out the details for Bob’s memorial service.”
“And the burial?”
“At the McMurdo Station. She said that’s what he would have wanted.”
Emilie sighed. “I’m going to have to do a preliminary exam.” She wasn’t looking forward to it.
Tom’s expression was grim. “I had his body brought in a couple of hours ago. It should be in decent condition to examine.”
“Where is it?”
“In the janitor’s closet next to Club Med. I didn’t want it out in the open for everyone to trip over.”
“Good thinking.” She studied his face. “How much sleep did you get? You look awful.”
He blinked then started to laugh. “I can always count on you to keep me humble.”
“Tom—”
He held up a hand. “I’m fine. I know my limits. Besides, you look whiter than the snow outside.” He looked her over, his gaze pausing at her midsection.
