Bitter Brew

by G. A. McKevett

No man.

  Certainly not her Dirk.

  Whatever that phone call she had overheard might have meant, there had to be an innocent explanation.

  She would ask him for it, somehow, some way. But when she did, it wouldn’t be an accusation, because now, in her heart, she knew he was still hers—body, heart, and soul.

  She was reaching for the jeans, when suddenly, the phone rang. It startled her so badly that she dropped it.

  Fortunately, it landed on the quilt Granny had given them for their wedding.

  She snatched it up off the bed and started to turn it off. Then she recognized the ring tone. It was one of Dolly Parton’s old tunes named “Dumb Blonde,” a song whose lyrics contradicted the offensive title. Dirk had chosen it long ago for Tammy.

  Torn, Savannah hesitated, reluctant to turn the phone off, as planned. The call might be important. An emergency even. She couldn’t ignore it, even if it meant her getting caught.

  “Hi, Tams,” she said, keeping her voice low.

  “Savannah? Oh, I thought it would be Dirk.”

  “He’s in the shower, sugar. What’s up?”

  To her dismay, she could hear Tammy start crying on the other end. “It’s Waycross.”

  Savannah’s heart sank. She fought the urge to panic. Whatever was wrong, it would require a calm mind and spirit. “Okay, honey. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I don’t even know. It’s as if he’s gone crazy or something. He’s not even . . . him!”

  “I hear you. Now, take a deep breath and tell me exactly what’s happening.”

  “A few minutes ago, he found out that I’d sent the baby over to your house, so you and Granny could take care of her, and he just flew into a rage about it.”

  A rage? Savannah thought. Waycross?

  She could count on one hand the times she had ever seen her brother mildly annoyed. He was the calmest, most peace-loving person she had ever had the pleasure of knowing.

  “Did you explain to him that we just wanted to keep the baby from catching his flu?” Savannah asked.

  “I tried to. But he seemed to think that we thought he was an unfit father, not capable of taking care of his own child. He says you and Dirk are trying to take her from him, like a custody thing, permanently.”

  “What on earth would make him think such a thing?”

  “I’m afraid he’s got a fever, and it’s addled his brain or something. I’m telling you, he’s just not himself. Something’s badly wrong with him. I’m starting to think he had a stroke or—”

  “Put him on the phone,” Savannah told her. “Let me talk to him. I’m his big sister. He’ll listen to me.”

  “That’s just the problem. He’s not here.”

  “Not there? Where is he?”

  “He took off. Drove out of here like a bat out of hell a few minutes ago. I tried to stop him from getting into the car, but he shoved me to the ground!”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No, but he’s never, ever done anything even close to that!”

  “Did he say where he was headed?”

  “That’s the craziest part of all. He said he’s going to your house to get his baby and bring her back home where she belongs.” Tammy’s voice was getting higher, more frantic by the moment. “Savannah,” she said, “I’m so afraid. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I honestly don’t know what Waycross is capable of right now.”

  “Try to calm down, sweetie. I can tell you one thing that’s not going to happen. He’s not going to get anywhere near this baby in the state he’s in. We’re not going to allow that. You know we won’t let any harm come to either one of them.”

  Tammy’s weeping subsided a bit as she said, “I know you won’t. But I don’t want you or Dirk to get hurt either.”

  “We won’t. I promise you. Nothing bad is going to happen to anybody you love. I won’t let it.”

  “Thank you, Savannah. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, sweetcheeks.” Savannah heard Dirk turn the shower off in the room next door. “I know you can’t help it but try really hard not to worry.”

  “Okay” was the weak, unconvincing reply.

  “I’m going to tell Granny to bring the baby upstairs and keep her here in our bedroom. Dirk and I will go out on the front porch and wait for Waycross. We’ll deal with him.”

  “Be gentle with him, please. You know something’s got to be wrong with him. Our Waycross . . . he’s not like this. He’s the sweetest—”

  Her voice broke, and she couldn’t continue.

  “You know we wouldn’t hurt him for the world. We’ll take good care of him and get him to a doctor, I promise. All will be well, honey. I give you my word. I’ll call you as soon as things settle down, and we know what’s going on.”

  “Maybe I should come over there myself.”

  “No, you stay there in case he comes to his senses and goes back home.”

  “Okay. Keep me posted. Please.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  As soon as Tammy ended the call, Savannah shoved the phone back into Dirk’s jeans and ran out of the bedroom.

  She pounded on the bathroom door. “Dirk, you’ve gotta come out, darlin’.”

  He didn’t open it fast enough, so she barged in, to find him wrapping a towel around his waist.

  He took one look at her face and said, “What’s wrong?”

  “Tammy just called, all upset, crying. Waycross has plum lost leave of his senses. He roared out of the house, knocked Tammy to the ground, said he was driving over here to get his baby. He claims she belongs at home with him, and that we’re trying to take custody of her.”

  “Damn.”

  “Where would he even get a stupid idea like that?”

  Instead of answering, he pushed past her and hurried into the bedroom. She followed him and, as he pulled on some underwear and a T-shirt, she said, “I told Tammy we’ll take care of the situation once he gets here. I promised her that we’d make sure he comes to no harm. I said we’d bring Gran upstairs with the baby, then wait for him on the front porch.”

  “Good,” he said, sliding into his jeans. “Go get them. Now.”

  “Okay.”

  She turned to rush out the door, but as she did, she heard the phone in his pocket ring once again. As he answered it, she waited anxiously to see if it was an update from Tammy.

  “Yeah, Coulter here,” he said.

  Almost instantly, a deadly serious expression crossed his face . . . one that chilled her heart. Then he sent her an alarmed look that she could feel through her entire being.

  “Okay,” he said. “Where?”

  The other person spoke. She could hear the voice enough to know it was a male, but not Waycross.

  She felt slightly relieved.

  “Right,” Dirk replied. “Thanks.”

  He hung up, and for what seemed like forever, she hesitated, wanting to know what had been said and why her husband’s tanned face had turned several shades lighter but feeling the urgency to get on with her task at hand.

  “Whatever that was, I’ve got to get Granny and the baby upstairs,” she said, more to herself than to Dirk.

  “No, you don’t,” Dirk said, his voice flat, as though he was stunned into an emotional numbness.

  “But Waycross . . .”

  “He’s not coming.”

  Time slowed for Savannah. What felt like an eternity passed as she listened to Granny talking to Vanna downstairs and the baby jabbering sweetly in return.

  “He went back home?” Savannah asked, knowing that her words weren’t logical. It hadn’t been Tammy who called. The male hadn’t been Waycross. There had been no soft, Southern drawl. Why would someone, whose voice she didn’t recognize, call to tell them that Waycross had returned to Tammy and was perfectly safe and sound?

  “That was the dispatcher. He told me my brother-in-law’s been in an accident.”

  Savannah felt a flood of adrenaline hit her bloodstream, turning her
insides to quivering jelly. “Where?”

  “ ’Bout a half mile from their house.”

  “How . . . how bad?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Dirk reached for her, pulled her into his arms, and held her tightly against his chest. Too tightly. She could feel his heart pounding and his breath coming as fast and hard as hers was.

  But the embrace was only for a moment.

  He released her, grabbed her hand, and headed for the door. “Come on, babe,” he said. “Let’s go see for ourselves.”

  Chapter 17

  “Let him be okay. Please, please, please. Let Waycross be okay.” Savannah whispered the heartfelt prayer as she yanked the cruiser’s door open and slid onto the passenger’s seat.

  Dirk had gotten in seconds before her, and even before she could get her door closed, he punched the gas and sent the powerful vehicle hurtling out of the driveway and down the street.

  “He’s okay,” he told her. “He’ll be all right.”

  She thought of all the times she had uttered those empty, worthless words to people fearing the worst, and a sense of desperate anger rose, hot and spirit-scalding inside her.

  “You’re just saying that to make me feel better. You don’t know it’s true,” she shot back. “For all you know, he could be—”

  “He’s not dead. He’s fine!” was Dirk’s equally emotional reply.

  “Until we find out he’s not,” she said, fighting back tears.

  “Yes.” Dirk’s tone softened as he reached over and patted her thigh. “Unless and until we know he’s not . . . he’s okay. Okay?”

  Once they were a few blocks away from the house, Dirk flipped on the patrol car’s siren and lights and increased his speed.

  Savannah knew he had waited because he didn’t want Granny to hear the siren and become any more alarmed than she already was.

  “I think you did the right thing, babe, not telling your grandma,” he said. “There’s no point in her being worried sick until we know, well . . . what we’re dealing with.”

  “She knew something was wrong. She’s a smart cookie, and the two of us came tearing down the stairs and out the door with nothing but a ‘We gotta go. See ya later.’ Of course, she’s worried.”

  “But not nearly as worried as she’d be if she knew what’s actually happened.”

  “True. No point in her being all upset until she has to be.”

  “She may not have to be.”

  “From your mouth to God’s ears.”

  He took a hard turn onto Seaview and headed toward the beach, squealing the tires and running a red light.

  Savannah held on to the armrest with her right hand and the console with her left.

  This was hardly her first wild ride with Dirk at the wheel of a squad car. He was a skilled driver, and she wasn’t worried about him wrecking it. But not all members of the public respected the sound of a siren and pulled over as they were supposed to. She knew more than one cop who had been injured, or worse, when T-boned at intersections by impatient drivers who were determined to take their supposed right of way, no matter what the cost.

  “Should I call Tammy?” she said, thinking aloud. “I told her I’d let her know when things had settled down.”

  “We will. When things have settled down. Once we know what’s going on, we’ll call her.”

  “Or go over there in person if the news is . . .” A hard knot formed in Savannah’s throat, and she couldn’t finish the statement.

  He finished it for her. “Yes, we’ll probably wind up going there in person.”

  When she gave him a horrified look, he quickly added, “When we need to give Waycross a lift back home.”

  Again, he squeezed her thigh. “Relax, darlin’. We ain’t gonna be doin’ no notifications today. It’s a wreck. Just a plain ol’ 11-79. We used to answer those calls a dozen times a day.”

  Her anxiety level soared. “An 11-79? Not an 11-78? You didn’t tell me an ambulance was sent!”

  “Probably just a precaution,” he added quickly. “Or maybe for somebody in the other vehicle. Please, sugar, don’t borrow trouble. We’ll be there in less than a minute. Just hang on and try not to torture yourself with worst-case scenarios. Okay?”

  The hot tears that had been forming in her eyes spilled down her cheeks as she grabbed his hand, which was still resting reassuringly on her thigh, and squeezed it between both of hers.

  “What would I do without you?” she said.

  He gave her a quick look, filled with love, as he reluctantly pulled his hand back and used it to squeal around another corner, taking them onto Anchors Way.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “You won’t ever have to find out what you’d do if I wasn’t around. I’ll always be here. You’re stuck with me, kid. This marriage thing—for us, it’s a life sentence.”

  “One I want to serve. Every day.”

  She thought of his cell phone, the picture of her and the kitties sleeping, and she felt ashamed of herself for doubting him.

  Unfortunately, she hadn’t had time to savor the feeling of relief. Tammy’s call had come too quickly on the heels of her comforting reassurance, turning her world upside down all over again.

  Now, instead of experiencing a sense of blissful respite at having solved a potentially disastrous problem, she was imagining paramedics doing CPR on her little brother as they loaded him into the back of an ambulance.

  Then, she didn’t have to imagine it anymore.

  They turned the corner onto Pelican Lane, and she saw it. Thankfully, minus the CPR.

  Ambulance attendants were, indeed, strapping her brother to a gurney. She was grateful to see that he was conscious, though flailing about as they secured him.

  No doubt, that was the reason for the restraints.

  Nearby, his beautifully restored old Charger was a mess, its front half on the sidewalk, its left fender crushed. Beneath its crooked tire lay the sad, blue remains of what had once been the corner mailbox.

  Envelopes of various sizes and colors floated down the street, riding the early-evening sea breeze.

  “Looks like the only fatality was the United States Postal Service,” Dirk said.

  “Thank goodness,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  He had barely brought the cruiser to a stop when Savannah threw open her door and jumped out.

  She ran to the gurney and, much to the male and female attendees’ surprise, pushed them aside to get to her brother.

  “Waycross, darlin’, are you all right?”

  He looked up at her with wild, unfocused eyes.

  Grabbing his hand, she squeezed it and said, “It’s me, honey. It’s Savannah. Don’t you worry. Everything’s okay now. The worst is over. You’re gonna be all right.”

  She turned to the paramedic whom she had just shoved, an enormous black man with a round face and kind eyes. His name tag identified him as Glenn Hodges. She whispered to him, “He is going to be all right, huh?”

  He didn’t answer her at first. Then Dirk, standing behind her, flashed his badge and said, “She’s his sister. His older sister.”

  Glenn smiled knowingly and patted Savannah on the back with his big hand so hard that he nearly knocked her down. “Aww. You’re the Big Sis. I should’ve known. I’ve got a few of those myself.”

  He grabbed the end of the gurney and began to pull it toward the back of the ambulance.

  Before the petite female EMT, standing nearby, could offer assistance, Dirk grabbed the other end and started to push.

  As they slid the stretcher into the vehicle, Glenn told Savannah, “Your little brother’s bum leg needs to be checked, just in case it got re-injured. Plus, his heart rate’s elevated.”

  “Probably from the adrenaline, right?” she asked hopefully. “After all, he was just in an accident so you’d expect his pulse to be—”

  “Higher than that. Plus, arrhythmia.” He paused for a moment, and when she didn’t reply,
he added, “That’s an irregular heartbeat.”

  “I know what arrhythmia is,” Savannah said. “Thank you.”

  “Does he have any heart disease?”

  “He’s as healthy as Farmer Doolittle’s best plow mule.”

  “What? Whose what?”

  Dirk translated. “No diseases. Heart or otherwise.”

  “Oh, okay. Good. But he still has to be checked out.”

  With the gurney inside and secured, Savannah got ready to climb inside with her brother.

  “Wait a minute,” she heard Dirk say.

  Assuming that he was talking to her, she turned around, ready to give him an argument about why she should accompany Waycross to the hospital. But instead, she saw him reach out and grab the paramedic’s burly arm. She realized Dirk was speaking to him.

  “Before you go,” he continued, “there’s something you need to know. They’ll need to be informed at the ER, too.”

  “Okay. What’s that?” Glenn asked.

  Dirk gave Savannah one of his now all-too-familiar, guilty looks. Then he said, “He has another medical issue going on. He—”

  “Oh, yeah!” Savannah interrupted. “He has the flu. Really bad. The one that’s been going around. That might be what’s causing his arrhythmia. My husband’s right. The ER needs to be aware of that.”

  Dirk reached over and put his arm around Savannah’s shoulder. He hugged her tightly against his side.

  “He doesn’t have the flu,” he said softly. “He’s going through opioid withdrawal. A pretty severe case of it. Cold turkey, I suspect. Be sure to tell them that at the hospital.”

  The paramedic didn’t look particularly surprised. But if Dirk hadn’t been supporting her, Savannah was pretty sure she would have hit the ground, like a weeping willow struck by an F-5 tornado.

  “Opioid withdrawal?” she shouted. “What the hell are you talking about?” She shook off Dirk’s arm and pushed him away from her. “What are you saying? My brother’s no drug addict! He’s as clean as they come. Hardly even drinks. Why would you accuse him of—?”

  Even though she resisted, he pulled her back into his embrace and said, “I’m not accusing anybody of anything, Van. It’s just a fact, and they need to know it. You get in the ambulance and ride with him. I’ll follow along. We’ll talk about it once we get him checked out and settled in.”