The Hero's Redemption

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Cole swore and let his head fall back. “You really don’t know how illogical you’re being.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Pinning her with his gaze again, he asked, “Were you close to those girls? Did they care about you?”

  She bit her lip. “Yes. They...came to me with problems. I think they really trusted me.”

  Which made their deaths even harder for Erin. But he said, “You make it sound like they’re baiting you. Like they want you to die. If you’d died and only one of them had survived, wouldn’t you be glad for her—if you could know?”

  “Yes, but that’s different. The accident wasn’t their fault. It was mine.” She’d circled right back, her mental tape in a loop.

  “And so they’re vengeful, unable to move on unless you die horribly so they can take you with them?”

  Shock transformed her face. “No! It’s not like that! It’s...” She lowered her gaze to her hands lying on her lap. “It’s...just so unfair. So strange. I should have died, too. The van was—” She shuddered. “There was no way I should’ve made it out with such minor injuries. I keep thinking it was a mistake, that I was meant to die. Out of all of us, why did I walk away? I’m not special.” She lifted her head again, her expression beseeching. “I’d have died for any of them. I wish I could.”

  “But you can’t.” That rough-gentle voice didn’t sound like his, but man, the ache in his chest wasn’t familiar, either. “You can’t bring any of them back. Your death wouldn’t change a thing except sadden the people who care about you. You can’t tell me you don’t have friends, even if you’ve been dodging them.”

  She opened her mouth. Closed it, because he was right.

  “The one good thing that came out of it,” he went on, “was your survival. I’ll bet those girls told their parents about you. How cool you were. How you understood them. Gave the best advice.”

  Erin had gone completely still. He couldn’t tell if she was really hearing him.

  “People kept saying I should live for my girls,” she whispered. “What could be more pointless?”

  “Dying for them.”

  She flinched, and he felt brutal, but he had to say it. Keep saying it, if she gave him the chance.

  Her eyes stayed dry, but the devastation he saw on her face made him wonder if he’d hurt her more than he’d helped her. He felt a sudden, desperate need to escape. He had his own problems. Who was he to try to solve hers? Everything he’d said was probably wrong.

  Erin scrubbed at her eyes with closed fists, for an instant looking like a child. But when she lowered her hands, she offered him a twisted smile. “Thank you. I think maybe I needed to tell someone. I’m not sure why, since I could hardly wait to get away from everyone who did know about the accident. They just didn’t seem to understand. I couldn’t decide which was worse, the idea that I should feel lucky—” she said that with loathing “—or that God saved me for a reason. What reason? To remember, over and over? To suffer? Or am I supposed to be looking around for a chance to save someone, to make up for my failure?”

  As if a puzzle piece had slotted into place, he understood. “That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? You’re saving me.”

  Her eyes widened at whatever she heard in his voice. “You didn’t need saving. Just...a chance.”

  Why he should feel so damn humiliated, Cole didn’t know. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t realized he was a pity project for her. But he’d been stupid enough to forget.

  He shoved back the chair and stood. “Yeah, you’ve done that.”

  “Cole, you’ve become a friend.” She rose slowly. “Is it wrong to want to help?”

  A friend? Compared to her, he was like a drooling baby, trying to pull himself up on the furniture. Even if she was screwed up. It wasn’t possible for them to have anything like a genuine friendship.

  Just as he was turning away without answering, she asked suddenly, “Why did you try so hard to stop me tonight? And insist I tell you what was wrong?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t like owing anyone. Call it payback.” Not letting himself see the new hurt he’d caused, he walked out. He’d finish painting the garage tomorrow, and then maybe she’d be done with him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ERIN LIFTED THE last flat of perennials from the back of her Cherokee. In the three days since her breakdown in front of Cole, she’d continued digging out the flower beds by the porch, extending to each corner of the house. She had spent this morning at a nursery, choosing perennials, several roses and a couple of low shrubs.

  Before she left, she’d asked Cole if he needed anything. He paused in the act of pouring gas into the rented weed whacker to glance up with apparent indifference.

  “No.” Pause. “Thank you for asking.”

  Terse and civil. That summed up their communications since that night. They’d obviously hurt each other’s feelings. He’d certainly made clear that he thought the idea of even being friends was ludicrous.

  So be it, she thought, not acknowledging the hovering depression. Nothing new there. For whatever reason, she hadn’t felt compelled to steal away in the night since he’d caught her. Why bother? She was beginning to believe she couldn’t be killed. Some people would say she’d proved that by hiring a hard-faced, tattooed ex-con who had no references, and all but taken him into her home.

  The buzz of the weed whacker drifted around the side of the house. The front yard was down to stubble, although even an optimist wouldn’t call it a lawn. She’d thought about digging up the whole thing, but decided to try using a weed-control fertilizer to encourage the grass and kill everything else.

  The sound of the weed whacker stopped just as she was setting down the flat of lavender and delphiniums by one of the cleared beds. The thud of feet coming fast made her straighten.

  “Call 911,” Cole snapped, and ran by.

  Erin spun to see him tear down the driveway. What—Oh, dear God. The crumpled figure on the sidewalk across the street had to be Mr. Zatloka. A lawn mower sat idle beside him.

  Running after Cole, she did as he’d asked.

  “An elderly neighbor has collapsed...No, I didn’t see it happen.” She crossed the street. “I don’t know—Wait. It looks like he hit his head when he fell.” She held the phone away. “Is he breathing?”

  “Yes.” Cole’s relief was obvious. “Pulse is fast.”

  She repeated what he’d said to the dispatcher. “Please hurry.”

  The front door of the house opened, an elderly woman appearing. Tiny and hunched, she clung to the iron railing that framed the two concrete steps. “Roy?”

  Erin hurried over to her. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Zatloka. He either fell or collapsed, we don’t know. Cole saw him on the ground. I’ve already called 911.” She squeezed the woman’s arthritic hand. “I think I hear a siren.”

  She helped Mrs. Zatloka down the steps and across the lawn to where Cole knelt at their elderly neighbor’s side. Mr. Zatloka had a huge bump on his head that was oozing blood, but not so much that they needed to stanch it.

  “It might be his heart,” his wife said tremulously. “He’s on so many pills it’s hard to keep track of them.”

  “Do you have a list of his medications?” Erin asked. “The medics and emergency room doctor will want one.”

  “Yes. Oh, my.” She looked back toward the house. “I carry it in my purse. I always go with Roy to his appointments. He doesn’t hear very well, you know.”

  Erin had noticed. “Is your purse somewhere I can find it?”

  “Would you? It’s by the phone in the kitchen.”

  She ran again. Thank heaven the purse was exactly where Mrs. Zatloka said it was. Erin grabbed a chair, too, and carried it out.

  Cole rose at the sight of her and came to take the chair. “Good idea,”
he murmured. Erin watched as he set it down on the sidewalk, spoke quietly to Mrs. Zatloka and put an arm around her as she sat. The old woman’s hands shook when she accepted the purse.

  The ambulance came around the corner and down the block. When Cole lifted an arm, it lumbered to a stop at the curb, the siren cutting off just before two blue-uniformed medics leaped out.

  Erin watched as Mrs. Zatloka fumbled with her purse. She itched to take it from her, but most women—including her—were funny about their purses. At last the old woman produced a many-times folded piece of paper that appeared to be a computer printout with written additions and deletions.

  When she handed it over, the medics already had an oxygen mask over Mr. Zatloka’s face and a collar around his neck. One was unloading a stretcher. They paused to study the list, loaded him and the driver ran around the back to jump in. The other medic, a woman, came over to ask if Mrs. Zatloka was okay.

  “Can’t I go with him?” she asked, struggling to stand up.

  “I’m afraid not,” the medic said gently, glancing at Erin.

  “We’ll take you,” she said. “We don’t want to hold them up.”

  Half an hour later, the three of them perched on the edges of their seats in the ER waiting room. Getting here hadn’t been speedy. Erin had to race back into the house to grab Mrs. Zatloka’s walker while Cole fetched the car. She was incredibly grateful that he’d been willing to come along. He had been astonishingly kind, teasing the frail woman as he picked her up and set her in the front seat of the Cherokee. He’d lifted her out, too, once Erin braked in front of the ER. While she went to find a parking spot, he had hovered at Mrs. Zatloka’s side as she tottered in using her walker. When Erin made it back, it was a relief to see that he’d persuaded the poor woman to sit in a wheelchair.

  Time dragged. Erin found herself staring at the wall clock, frustrated at how slowly the numbers moved. Wishing she could reach for Cole’s big hand, instead she clasped Mrs. Zatloka’s small, knobby one. She was glad she had when she felt the elderly woman latch on to her. Mrs. Z had to be terrified.

  It seemed an eternity before they were summoned into the back. When Erin rose, Cole hesitated, but then did the same. The nurse chattered on the way back, giving them a piece of good news. Mr. Zatloka had regained consciousness.

  They arrived to find a young doctor leaving the cubicle. He turned and came back in.

  “Your husband has had an MRI,” he told Mrs. Zatloka. “We think he’s fine, but we’re going to admit him for the night, to be on the safe side. Our best guess is he either tripped and hit his head, or had an episode of low blood pressure.”

  “Just clumsy,” he growled from the bed. “Bunch of nonsense.”

  Cole’s mouth twitched as Erin hid her smile. She saw the doctor doing the same.

  “I assume you don’t drive?” he asked Mrs. Zatloka, who shook her head.

  “Roy does all the driving.”

  Erin had seen them in their great boat of a car that had to date to the eighties. It moved almost as slowly as Mrs. Zatloka walked.

  “We’re neighbors. We’ll be glad to pick him up when he’s released,” Erin volunteered.

  They all accompanied him to his assigned room. Cole and Erin remained in the hall to allow husband and wife a few minutes of privacy.

  “I told him I’d mow,” Cole muttered. “Why the hell didn’t he call?”

  “Pride.” She was careful not to look at him. “It’s apparently a big deal with men.”

  Silence.

  Finally, he said, “That a shot aimed at me?”

  “Maybe.”

  After another pause, he said, “I guess you’re entitled.”

  She forced herself to look at him. “Is it so bad that I felt sorry for you that day at the hardware store?”

  “No.” He moved his shoulders in a way that betrayed an uneasiness unusual for him. “I wish I’d met you some other way, that’s all.”

  Was he saying he would have approached her if he’d already had a job when they met? The possibility made her pulse speed. They stared at each other, Erin finding it hard to draw a full breath.

  “I shouldn’t have said what I did,” he added, his voice rough. “About payback. I do owe you, but leaning on you like that...” Either to avoid her eyes, or because of his constant vigilance, his gaze followed an orderly passing with a trolley that rattled. “I don’t like seeing you hurting yourself. Didn’t seem like you have anyone else to call you on it, so...” Another jerk of his powerful shoulders.

  Erin swallowed the lump in her throat. “You gave me stuff to think about. So...thank you.”

  His surprise was evident, but they were interrupted by Mrs. Zatloka calling them.

  * * *

  COLE MOWED THE Zatlokas’ lawn as soon as they got the old lady in the house. She had admitted to often napping, but decided to watch her soaps instead.

  Erin returned to her gardening, promising to bring dinner to Mrs. Zatloka. Fortunately, she had homemade spaghetti sauce in the freezer, and had bought French bread the last time she was at the store. To feed Cole, she realized now. Wishful thinking.

  She set out the roses and shrubs first, still in their pots, followed by perennials. Somewhere she’d read that they looked best in “drifts,” giving the impression they’d spread on their own, she supposed.

  Studying the results, she saw an awful lot of bare soil in between puny plants. When she heard footsteps, she turned. Wiping sweat from his forehead with his forearm, Cole stopped at her side and studied her effort.

  “Looks good.”

  “I don’t know,” she said doubtfully. “I guess I can buy some annuals to fill in the gaps.”

  “Things’ll grow faster than you expect.” What might have been a smile lifted his mouth. “Think about grass. And blackberries.”

  Erin made a face. “You have a point.”

  “I’ll get back to work.”

  “I wonder if Mr. Zatloka will be willing to give up maintaining the yard on his own after this.”

  “I don’t know.” Cole frowned. “Place could use some work. Is their money tight?”

  “I have no idea. A lot of the houses in the neighborhood are getting shabby. The owners are all elderly.”

  “They’re living on Medicare?”

  “Maybe. But Nanna and Grandpa had investments and his retirement income. She could have hired help. She just didn’t.” Erin sighed. “Maybe she didn’t notice that the place was deteriorating. It could be the same with the others.”

  He grunted, but more as if he was thinking than rejecting what she’d said. “Mrs. Zatloka will be in a wheelchair soon. Even with the walker, she’d do better if they had a ramp.”

  “That’s true.” Which gave her an idea. She hesitated, then decided not to say anything.

  “I’ll build it for them if they can buy the lumber,” he said.

  “That’s nice of you.” She tried for matter-of-fact. “Will you join us for dinner?”

  A struggle showed on his face. “I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.”

  Erin gaped at him. “For heaven’s sake! I’m pretty sure she thinks you walk on water. I know she kept looking to you, not me.”

  Was that embarrassment burnishing his angular cheeks?

  “Yeah, I’ll have dinner with you,” he muttered, and left her, going around the house and out of sight. A moment later, the buzz of the small engine began again.

  You can run, but you can’t hide, she thought, feeling...exhilarated.

  * * *

  MR. ZATLOKA CAME home the next day, complaining nonstop about how ridiculous it had been to call an ambulance or for that foolish doctor to think he needed something as fancy and expensive as an MRI.

  That tiny dimple showed in Erin’s cheek as she s
uppressed a smile.

  “We didn’t know what had happened,” Cole said mildly, getting out of the Cherokee in the driveway to help the old guy down from the back seat.

  “And keeping me overnight!” Mr. Zatloka exclaimed. “It’s just greed, that’s what it is. Do you know what they charge for a hospital bed these days?”

  “No idea,” Cole admitted. He didn’t like to think these bills were going to put an old couple like this in a hole financially.

  The neighbor scowled. “Well, we won’t be paying for it, but I see what things cost. It’s greed, that’s all.”

  Erin laughed. “You know better than that, Mr. Zatloka. It’s not the bed or clean sheets you’re paying for. It’s the building and all that high-tech stuff that beeps, and the nurses and doctors and aides. Dieticians and a kitchen and meals delivered three times a day. They took good care of you, didn’t they?”

  “I suppose,” he said grudgingly. Looking at his yard, he said, “You mowed for me again.”

  “And didn’t mind doing it,” Cole agreed.

  From the front seat, Erin said, “We were wondering if you should have a ramp from the house. I worry about Mrs. Zatloka.”

  The old man was nodding. “I been thinking about it. The wife says she’s fine, doesn’t need anything like that, but walking is getting harder for her. Just wasn’t sure whether I needed to call a decking company or what.”

  Cole frowned at Erin. She frowned back, looking annoyed, but shut her mouth.

  Mr. Zatloka turned watery, faded eyes on Cole. “I’ve seen what you’re doing over there for Ms. Parrish. Looks like you can do just about anything. Any chance you could build a ramp?”

  “I can. If you’ll buy the lumber, I’ll be happy to—”

  “No, no! ’Course we’ll pay you. You just let me know when you’re free to take on another job.”

  Cole glanced at Erin, then said, “I can do it anytime, Mr. Zatloka. I’m still doing bits and pieces for Ms. Parrish, but I’ll fit this job in.”