The one without a name yelled, “What are you doing? You weren’t supposed to kill him!”
“Shut up,” Hernandez said, indifferent to both the living and the dead. He rifled through the pockets of my jean jacket and pulled out my keys.
“Someone’s coming,” the other man shouted. His eyes darted back and forth from the mesa to the highway.
“Not done yet.”
I looked down at my shirt filling with red blood. Hernandez kicked sand on the fire pit, stuck the key in the Harley, and gave the starter a kick.
“You just gonna leave him here?”
Carlos Hernandez didn’t say a word. He walked back to me, lowered his face over mine, burning it into my memory. His eyes were unflinching. He pressed the steel barrel of the gun to the center of my forehead, looked into my eyes, and for a second time that morning, pulled the trigger.
The next few hours or days were captured only in snapshots. Snippets of memories interrupted by blank spaces.
Being dragged by my feet.
An arm over my shoulder.
A thin woman, black hair. Bald man, older.
“It’s all right, it’s all right. Everything’s going to be fine.”
“Sorry.” My voice, but it was unrecognizable.
Feeling sick. Immobilized.
Panic.
A woman peering back at me. I’m in a car?
“Jim, his eyes are open! Go faster!”
“You may not know who I am … You may not know the tears I’ve cried.”
A white room. Bright lights.
“Or the prayers I’ve prayed.”
“Can you hear me?”
Eyes closed.
ER commands … skilled responses … background questions.
“What’s your name?”
“Who was driving the car?”
“He came in without identification. Single GSW to the chest …”
“No one will ever love you as much as I’ve loved you …”
“Two pints of O positive. Chest X-ray. Get him prepped for surgery.”
“Do you remember that football, Mitch?”
“Page the OR. We’re taking him up right now!”
“It’s all right, Mitch. We’re almost home.”
“Code Red! Lost the pulse! Get him on the table, now!”
“Time.”
~ THIRTY-ONE ~
If you’re lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you, I’ll be waiting
Time after time.
—Cyndi Lauper
“Time after Time”
“Well, hello there. It’s good to see those eyes open. Can you tell me how you’re feeling today? You had us all worried for a while.”
“Your heart is beating better, but I’m going to need you to start talking pretty soon, or I’m not going to know what to call you. Can you tell me your name?”
No talk. Tired.
“The doctor will be in to see you later this morning. I’m going to open this shade and let a little sunlight in. Maybe this will help.”
“And here he is again. I told you his eyes opened this morning. How are you doing? We know you can get lots of sleep, but we need you to show us you can wake up and talk. Can you do that? You don’t want us to have to make up your name, do ya?”
“Where am I?” I asked. My voice crackled.
“He speaks! You’re in the Albuquerque Medical Center in New Mexico. I don’t suppose you know how you got here, do you?” They waited for an answer, but I wasn’t fast enough. “Can you tell us your name?”
“Jack. I’m Jack Clayton.”
“Welcome to Albuquerque, Jack. We were hoping you’d join us. I’m going to sit you up in bed and let you talk to us a little bit.”
Two nurses raised my bed and pulled me upright by my armpits. It felt like they were tearing muscles away from my bones. They ignored my cries, puffing pillows, propping me up.
“That’s better.”
“I was shot,” I said.
“Yes, that’s right. You were brought in a week ago. You were lucky the bullet missed your heart. You might not be here right now.”
“How did I get here?”
“Somebody saw you lying on the side of the road. A couple on vacation. Apparently you crawled to the highway. You lost a lot of blood out there.”
I raised my hand to touch my neck and felt a neck brace. “Your neck was sprained, but it’s not broken. You’re going to have to wear the brace for a while. Somebody must have been pretty upset with you.”
The bullet missed my heart.
After two weeks I was released. In what some of the hospital staff referred to as a miraculous feat, I walked out the front door of the hospital on foot. The bus terminal was four blocks away. As I lowered myself slowly onto the vinyl bus seat, I started to think about what had happened. My bike was gone, my wallet was gone, a Timex watch I’d had since I was twelve was gone, and so was a gold cross necklace Jenny had given me for Christmas.
The Albuquerque police department had interviewed me in the hospital and asked for a description of the men, but I was of little help. I described a face, a name the police thought was fake, and where I’d been camping in the desert as near as I could recall. I told them about the gun being pressed against my head, how I’d heard the cylinder turn and click. The luck of an empty chamber.
Marianne wired money to the hospital, not for my medical bills, which were astronomical, but for a bus ticket back to Overton.
“Where ya going?” the Greyhound clerk asked from behind the ticket window.
“Des Moines,” I told him, though if he’d meant in life, I was clueless.
“Eighty-one dollars and thirty-nine cents.”
I had twenty hours to think things over, but it took only minutes to come to the conclusion that everything dear to me was gone.
~ THIRTY-TWO ~
I thought that pain and truth were things that really mattered
But you can’t stay here with every single hope you had shattered.
—Big Country
“In a Big Country”
As I pulled the Jeep into the long driveway, I could see Christmas lights shining silver and blue through the living-room window. I hoped she’d have a fire going. The Jeep’s heater had conked out at the Iowa state line.
It was the first time I’d seen her in two years. When she opened the door, we both stood there, motionless.
“Come on in, Jack.”
Marianne made way for her cold middle-aged son and his overnight bag, and I stepped into a warm and welcoming house. After a hug that was longer than expected, we decided to make it an early night and do our catching up in the morning. I climbed into my old bed and drifted off quickly to a long and dreamless sleep.
The next morning, before I came down to breakfast, I put on a sleeveless V-neck sweater over my Oxford, because it was a special morning.
“Merry Christmas, Mom.”
“Merry Christmas, Jack.”
I poured a cup of coffee and went into the living room to see how much the place had changed. New carpeting, furniture, no dog. My mother was still a thin, angular woman with a bold streak of silver in her hair.
“Things look different around here.”
“Things are different around here, Jack. I had all the carpets replaced in August when I came back from vacation, had new linoleum installed in the kitchen, and I bought a Cadillac.”
“I’m impressed.”
I joined her at the kitchen table. “What else is going on? It sounds like there are more things happening around here than home improvements.”
“There are a few things. For one, I’m retiring this summer.” Her announcement caught me off guard.
“Really?”
“Well, I’ve been there almost thirty years, Jack. They’ve offered me early retirement, and I’m taking them up on it.”
Thirty years …
“When is your
last day?”
“May first. Then I’m taking a cruise to Cancun.”
I laughed. “You’re kidding.”
“What’s so funny about that?”
“Nothing. You just don’t seem the cruise type.”
“How would you know what type I am?”
I didn’t know.
“I’m taking a cruise in June because I’m getting married. You can close your mouth now, Jack.” She got up for the Mr. Coffee pot and refilled both our cups. “It’s not going to be a huge deal. Frank and I—I’ll tell you about him in a second—are getting married by the ship’s captain in Miami, and then we’ll cruise on to Cancun for the honeymoon.”
“Congratulations,” I said.
I’d never thought about my mother remarrying. She’d been divorced for thirty years. Single all that time. Marianne deserved more than what she’d gotten out of life. The loss of a daughter, abandonment from a husband, estrangement from a son. I was happy for her. “Tell me about Frank.”
“He’s good to me.” She blew across her coffee. “We met bowling. I suppose that’s another new thing around here. I’ve been in a bowling league for years.”
“I didn’t know.”
She nodded and went on. “They started a company bowling league four years ago. At first I just went to cheer everybody on, but then I started playing too.” She waved her hand like it wasn’t worth making a big deal over. “It’s a lot of fun. Anyway, Frank plays for Davenport Hardware. He’s played all over the state. We met bowling and have pretty much been together ever since.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“My life hasn’t been easy, Jack. But I’ve worked hard, and it’s turned out okay. You’re the last family I have, along with your Aunt Nancy. But then I’m all you’ve got too, and when I’m gone, you’ll really be on your own.”
Part of me wanted to tell her I’d been on my own since the tenth grade, but that wasn’t exactly true, and this wasn’t the time to bring it up. What was my role in all this living and dying and falling apart, and learning how to live again? God was working everything out in His own way, in His own timing. I didn’t feel sorry for myself anymore, and not because Marianne had suffered too, but because the time had come to put everything right again. Every day, a new chapter in a book.
“After we’re back from the honeymoon, I’m putting the house up for sale and moving to Davenport. I guess you can tell why I wanted to see you. I wanted you to know what’s going on around here. I’d hate to have you show up out of the blue one day and find someone else sleeping in your room.” She laughed. “So what’s new with you?”
“I’m writing … again. A book my publisher wants me to write.”
“Oh,” she said. “Do you think it will do as well as the last one?”
“I hope not. Actually, I shouldn’t say that. I don’t care how it does. It’s not up to me.”
“Well, they can’t all be best sellers Jack. You’ve got to take the good with the bad.”
Eighteen million copies, Mom. There’s no “bad” after that.
“I’m okay with whatever it does,” I told her.
“What else? I mean, don’t you ever get lonely? Don’t you ever think about getting married?”
“Yes to both.”
“So why don’t you do something about it? You’re young. And if I can do it, so can you.”
“I just go where God tells me as fast as He allows. I’m right where I need to be.”
“You don’t have what it takes to be single for the rest of your life. You may think you’ve done pretty well on your own so far, but is that really true? I’ll bet everybody can tell you’re lonely. You lost that pretty little girl from college … What was her name again?”
“You tell me.”
“Oh, you know. You lost her, and now you think you’re better off alone. But time marches on. You’ll be set in your ways before you know it and wish you had somebody.”
“Maybe.” I poured down the last sip of my coffee. “Why don’t we go into Davenport and get breakfast somewhere?”
“If we can find something open on Christmas Day. Wait … There is a Chinese-food buffet open.”
“Perfect.”
We cleared up the kitchen and rolled the new white Cadillac out for a Christmas-morning drive and a Chinese brunch. Fresh snow had fallen overnight. There was smoke coming from farmhouse chimneys, and the only other automobile on the road was an old red truck loaded up with packages and driven by a beaming grandfather, his equally happy wife leaning into him with a look of contentment that seemed to underline what Marianne had been saying.
“When I called your office, they said you weren’t there anymore.”
“They gave me a leave of absence to write the book.”
“Are they trying to give you early retirement?”
“No, that’s not it. The book is about me, my life. Everyone thinks it’s a good idea to take time off and reflect. Think over things … like marriage, I’m sure.”
“Don’t laugh. They probably see the same things I see. You’re moody, always have been, I think. You were touchy in high school. Then you had all that trouble.”
All that trouble. Was that what had happened to me? Had I just run into a bad patch of ice on the highway of life, slipped, and gone into the ditch?
“I’m sure they only want what’s best for me.”
“Maybe they want you to do something with your life. I mean something for you.”
“I believe that expectation is reserved for mothers.”
“But aren’t you hiding, Jack? Hiding behind those good deeds of yours?”
“I’m doing exactly what I should be doing. I’m trying to follow God, His ways, His plan.”
“And what will you do if He’s planned happiness for you? Are you gonna be able to handle that?”
We pulled into the half-full parking lot of the Canton Buffet. The smiling owner greeted us wearing a red and white Santa Claus hat and shouting “Merry Christmas.”
We filled our plates at the buffet, and after thanking the Lord for the food and Christmas Day, dug in.
“Do you ever hear from Dad?”
“No. He’s still married to Clarice, which surprises me. I hate to say it, but it does. Have you heard from him?”
“He sent me a telegram, of all things, after Laborers became a best seller.”
“That’s George. What did he say?”
“Congratulations, mainly.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t ask you to invest in something.”
“He did that, too.”
“Doesn’t surprise me.”
I watched Marianne from the other side of the white-linen tablecloth, our plates full of unfamiliar foods. Our conversation full of unfamiliar words.
“You know, you’ve made a good life considering the cards you were dealt,” I said to Marianne as she lifted her ice tea.
She tipped the glass to me on the way up, a sort of knock-on-wood gesture. “Jack, when your father said he was seeing someone else—”
“Wait a minute. What do you mean, ‘seeing someone else’? I thought you never heard from him after he left.”
“No, no. I mean before he left us. A long time ago.”
This was new information for me. A broadside. “I didn’t know he’d been seeing someone else. I thought—”
Marianne shook her head. “He was having an affair with a woman in Coldside. That’s what crippled our marriage. It didn’t go on for long, I guess, but after I found out about it, he wanted a divorce.”
“And then he moved to California.”
“Right. You were too young to know, but your dad hated being married to me, and he didn’t like family life much either.”
I thought it best to change the subject.
“Tell me more about Frank.”
“He’s nice, low key, friendly. He has a good sense of humor, which I really need at this time in my life. I’m not looking for someone to pool finances with or build
a family with. I’m just looking for companionship. That’s what he’s looking for too.”
“Any chance I’ll get to meet him?”
“Depends on how long you’re staying around.”
“Not long.”
“Jack, what’s going on? Is there something you want to tell me?”
I put my knife and fork across my plate and looked up at her, wondering if she would see through my answer to the truth.
“There isn’t. But if there were, I wouldn’t know how to put it into words.”
“Some writer you are.”
After lunch we drove back home, and I made a couple of phone calls. One to the office telling Bud I would be sending him some cassette tapes to transcribe; another to Peter just to catch up.
“So, I take it you haven’t moved to the Bahamas yet?” he asked.
“No, but it grows more tempting each day.”
“When I told you to stop moping around CMO, I didn’t mean we should never hear from you again.”
“I’ve been in Chicago. You know the guy who wrote that article telling the world I was living off the poor in my own penthouse palace? I hired him to help me write my story.”
“So I’d heard.”
“From who? Arthur? I try to keep my worlds divided, Peter.”
“I gave him a call to track you down. I’ve never heard anyone so full of energy. What’s his secret?”
“Enslave best-selling authors. Make them write against their will.”
“You’re not still singing the ‘Woe is me; I have to write my auto bio’ song, are you? There are thousands of writers who’d shave off their eyebrows to get published, and I’m just talking about the guys.”
“No, I’m past that.”
“Good. Because Arthur wanted me to tell you he hopes you’re writing over Christmas while he’s off enjoying the holiday!” Peter laughed.
Providence: Once Upon a Second Chance Page 21
