She hoped he’d needed a snack and got up to raid the cookie jar. Maybe they’d get a chance to talk. He’d returned from the barn too fatigued to do much more than lie down. He’d mentioned hoping to get to know her more in the morning, but if he was awake now, they could visit over a sandwich or popcorn. She could handle staring at him and being grateful for the chance to know him.
She turned the corner into the kitchen and gasped as her foot connected with something warm and wet. In the dim glow of the nightlight, she examined the liquid, her heart stopping when she recognized blood. Duane sat on the floor against the oven, facing her, but he didn’t look up from where he sawed at his wrist with her bread knife. He slammed the knife down after a few more cuts and swore at his wrist. She didn’t understand his words, didn’t know what she was seeing, but ran for help.
Thomas woke first. “What’s the matter?”
“Duane is cutting himself.” Her words tripped over her shaking lips. “We have to help him.”
Thomas shoved Paul who immediately woke. “Come on. Duane’s off his rocker and has a knife.”
Paul rubbed his face but jumped up. Both men, wearing only boxers, headed for the kitchen. Mary followed, terrified of the silence from Duane and still shaking in fear multiplied by three.
“Be careful,” she whispered. “We can get him help.”
Paul patted her arm. “Get my keys. We might have to get him to the hospital.”
With all the blood she’d seen, she’d believe it. Mary threw on jeans and grabbed her purse, tossing the men’s wallets next to the keys. She held her breath as Paul and Thomas rounded the island into the kitchen and knelt beside Duane. The wall blocked their deep voices as they spoke to Duane, but his shrill replies radiated through. He spoke in a different language and the sound of flesh on flesh rang out. Thomas and Paul yelled to one another but after a short while emerged with Duane locked between them in a hard hug.
“We need rope.” Thomas sniffed back blood from his nose. “There’s some in Paul’s truck.”
She ran for the truck, the cool night air snapping her cheeks as she pulled the heavy rope from the back box. When she returned the twins struggled with Duane who, despite being bloody and pale, fought like a soldier.
Paul held Duane while Thomas tied him up.
“Please be careful,” Mary whispered, not sure if she meant for Thomas to be careful of Duane’s violence or for him to be careful not to hurt Duane despite it.
After a grueling five minutes, Duane flopped around, trussed up like a bale of hay. The former soldier finally quieted enough for Mary to wrap both of his bloody wrists while Paul and Thomas dressed quickly.
“Oh, Duane, what did you do?”
He looked at her, his eyes the same wide, shocked expression he’d given her after the kiss at the base. “You’re too good for this. I’m broken. Nothing left to fix. Kill me.”
Despite the terror she’d felt earlier, she stroked his cheek, compassion overshadowing the fear. “We’re going to get you better. The boys may not have told you, but I grow things and nurture them—even the broken things. Fix them and love them and make them better. I think you should give me a chance.”
“I think you should kill me.” He closed his eyes and relaxed in the ropes.
Mary wanted him loose and started to say so, but he began fighting them again. It took both Paul and Thomas to get Duane into the backseat of the truck. They wrapped him in a blanket, again keeping it tight to prevent him from escaping before heading down the road. Mary looked to the backseat often as Duane intermittingly fought and begged them to kill him.
She bit her bottom lip to keep it from quivering. “Where do we take him?”
“I don’t know.” Paul’s grim voice did nothing to reassure her.
Thomas turned down the driveway and onto the black county road. “We’ll take him to Fort Harrison. There’s a VA there. They’ll know what to do.”
By the time they reached Fort Harrison the sun broke over the mountains. Mary fought to stay awake, fatigue from the last few days pulling her down as much as Duane’s plight had her worked up. They pulled into the emergency room parking lot and though the twins frowned, a certain relief settled over them when Paul headed inside the building.
“He’s a strong guy,” Thomas said quietly. “With a big heart. It doesn’t surprise me he’s been effected by the war. We’ll get him back on his feet. This violence doesn’t fit his personality. You have to know we’d never put you in danger, Mary.”
“I’m like my father,” Duane said dully. “The anger hit, the despair…I’d rather die than hurt anyone. You should let me die.”
“Your father was an ass,” Thomas snapped. “You’re just cracked from the goddamn war. We’re going to get you fixed, and you’re going to get past this. You wanted to be a doctor and you are one, remember? You’re going to use this to help other guys coming home from hell.”
“If I don’t kill them first.”
Cold chills ran up Mary’s back, but Thomas shook his head. Paul returned with two large men in blue scrubs. Both wore serious expressions and one carried handcuffs.
“Captain Paraby,” one of the nurses said. “I’m Sergeant Murphy and this is Private Anthony. We’re going to take you in to see the doctor.”
Duane seemed to snap out of his psychosis for a moment when the military formalness entered the equation. The nurses didn’t unwrap him from the blankets though, just lifted him on the gurney.
“His wrists are bleeding.” Mary choked on the words. “I did my best to wrap them up but I’m sure they need attention.”
“We’ll take good care of him, ma’am. It’ll be a few hours while we get him registered and settled. You folks go find yourselves some coffee. When you come back ask for Sergeant Murphy.”
Paul took Mary by the shoulders and ushered her back into the truck. She watched Duane until he disappeared into the building. “I should be with him.”
“No, you should be listening to the sergeant. Did you see that guy? Hell, I bet everyone listens to him. Let’s get some coffee.”
Mary smacked Paul’s chest. “How can you be so callous? He’s bleeding and depressed.”
“And there’s not a damn thing we can do,” Paul said gently. “It kills me that I can’t sew him up or put a bandage on what hurts. It’s killing you too, but this is beyond our control. Duane is strong and will come out of this, but he needs more help than we can give him.”
Thomas turned the key in the truck. “To give the help that we can, we’re going to need coffee and breakfast. Paul, tell me you grabbed your wallet.”
“Damn,” Paul muttered.
“Don’t worry, I remembered both of your wallets. I grabbed my purse too.”
Paul kissed her forehead. “You’re our rock, and if anyone can get us through this, it’s you.”
* * * *
Mary settled her head on the railing of Duane’s bed and watched him sleep. The doctor assured her they would get him on medication and in therapy groups. He’d been reassuring, kind, and more positive than she would have expected considering the gravity of the situation.
“You got him in early,” he said. “Some guys go months letting this stuff build and when it erupts… I’m glad you got him here when you did.”
She wished she could do more, but his wrists were well wrapped and he seemed calmed. He didn’t need her, she didn’t know how to help with a broken mind, so she sat.
Paul and Thomas stretched out in the room’s chairs. They’d changed their plans for the day to stay at Duane’s side. The other Paraby had a long road ahead, and Mary loved that the cousins stayed. They’d do what they could to help.
The nurse stepped in, another person with military training. The lockdown facility sported few comforts and the staff, though trained and efficient, didn’t offer any of the softness she wanted for him. She eased back, giving the nurse room. The fear of the night before still fresh, she held onto the practical side of the facility. D
uane was safe here until he could be safe in his own mind.
“Time for medication,” the nurse said, her no-nonsense tone unlike the sweet, gentle nursing staff Mary had seen at regular hospitals.
Duane’s eyes popped open, the lines of his face pulled tight, scowl fierce. “I don’t like the pills. They make me fuzzy.”
“Until you have other ways to cope with your rage and depression, fuzzy will keep you from trying to kill yourself.”
Mary fought a gasp. She had to be sensible, but the matter-of-fact reply hit her soul. Duane was new in her life, but part of her already loved him. Protective instincts roared to protect him from the harshness surrounding him, even from within.
Duane’s jaw tightened as he extended his hand for the pills. He threw them in his mouth and accepted the glass of water. The nurse kept her place, not saying a word. Mary looked back and forth between them as tension grew. Tears burned her nose as she prayed he wouldn’t make another scene. A moment later he opened his mouth for inspection.
“You have therapy later today,” the nurse said. “After the doctors have talked more with you they’ll make changes to your medication.”
Planning and looking toward the next thing would help them all through the journey. The nurse stepped out, closing the door behind her.
“Tell the guys to get you the fuck out of here,” he growled.
“No.”
He glared at the wall. “I don’t want you here. Hell, I don’t want to be here.”
“I’m so glad you are,” she replied. “I know this isn’t…ideal, but I’m grateful for the nurses and doctors. They’ll help.”
His strained laugh held no pleasure. “Help with what? I’m a doctor. I know what happens to the brain when it’s seen too much. It starts to shut down. I’m shutting down.”
“No you’re not.”
“How the fuck would you know? Keeping me drugged to the gills until I learn to cry is experimental bullshit. Bullshit I don’t need.”
“Well, you need something, don’t you? How about instead of being snarky you focus that energy on getting better so you can come home and get a job using all that doctor know-how you have?”
He finally looked her way. His narrowed eyes, dark smirk, and sneer might have drove her away if she wasn’t so invested. She scowled back. Being sweet didn’t get through, didn’t get a reaction so she’d followed the nurse’s tactic, being practical instead. She really wanted to make him a sandwich and feed him until the gaunt left his face, but tough love would see them through the day. She hoped.
“You don’t understand.”
“Of course I don’t,” she snapped. “How could I possibly when you haven’t said a word about what’s going on in your head? You just assume you can’t talk to me. I know we’re new together, but we’ve been sending letters for months. Talk to me. I might never understand, but I will listen, hold your hand, and I’ll make you brownies. It’s not going to do the things the doctors can, but I will absolutely do my part if you let me.”
“If I’m really broken, then what?” His gaze shot to the chairs where the twins continued snoring. “What if I’m perpetually suicidal for the rest of my life? You’re going to see I’m not the same in life as I am on paper. I’m opinionated and I’m usually right. That tends to piss people off.”
His fears put to words eased some of hers. He didn’t shy away because he didn’t care, he did it because he didn’t want her hurt. She’d already developed respect for the young man who’d enlisted in the Air Force and stayed in his full four years, mostly deployed to hell, but Duane in real life inspired her. He might feel cracked, might even be broken, but he was still hers.
“We’re going to take this one day at a time. The Parabys are my family, and I need you guys to love me as much as I need someone to love and care for. Besides, I’m always up for a good argument. You’ll find out soon enough that as far as ‘right’ goes, I’m usually on top.”
The anger faded in his eyes, easing the deep etched lines around them. She wasn’t sure if emotionally he’d gained more control or if the pills had taken charge. Either way he appeared calmer, and she hoped he would be able to focus on the afternoon ahead. If he would let her, she’d be at his side the whole way.
He squeezed her hand before turning toward the window. She thought he might say something, but when he remained quiet, she didn’t mind. They would have time to talk. At least she knew he was listening and thinking.
Chapter 19
Paul carried the basket through the tiny creamery aisles and grabbed a box of cereal. Mary sighed beside him, so he tossed it in without reading the back. He could do it over breakfast in the morning. She grabbed items quickly, obviously ill at ease being back in Morris. She’d wanted to go grocery shopping in Fort Harrison the day before, but Duane had a meltdown and she’d been upset, so he’d driven home without stopping. Going into Morris was a last resort.
The last few days at the hospital had given her anonymity and she’d flourished. Her confidence showed when she spoke to doctors, nurses, and to Duane. Now, back in the town they’d make their life in, she twitched.
The owner stepped out of the back room, a white apron over her pink polo shirt. “Well, hey there, Paul. How’s the ranch?”
“Good enough,” he replied, though he was really scrambling with the ranch and land closing, all while trying to support Mary. “How are things in town?”
Mary continued shopping, not making eye contact with the nice lady who’d owned the creamery for a decade. He didn’t think Rachel would be the kind to judge harshly, but Mary didn’t know that.
“Oh, you know, it’s town. I’m thinking of putting a little diner counter in here and a coffee pot so people can be comfortable as they gossip. I might as well make a few bucks if they’re going to stand around gabbing half the day.”
He laughed. “Yeah, good thinking. Have you met my wife? This is Mary. Mary, this is Rachel.”
Mary shot him a pained look, but smiled at Rachel. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too, hun,” Rachel said, as warmly as she’d spoke to him. “I understand you’re new in town. I hope our little community doesn’t leave you too…unimpressed. For all the gossips and cranks, there are just as many nice people who believe in personal freedom. You’re always welcome to stop in for groceries and a cup of coffee…you know, once I get my counter set up.”
Paul’s heart grew a special spot for Rachel when Mary gazed up at him with dim hope in her eyes. Mary had closed herself off to the town once the gossip started, and her focusing on Duane had helped her do it. Rachel gave her an opening for when she wanted to try again.
“Thanks, Rachel. I love this place. I didn’t realize how great a creamery could be. The ones back home aren’t nearly this nice or well stocked. Have you thought about yogurt?”
Paul tooled around for a bit as Mary and Rachel talked about bacteria cultures and organic milk. He looked out the front window of the small shop across to the grocery store where Sam stood at his window. Paul gave a small wave. The other man had tried to apologize for his sister when Paul canceled his food account, but it hadn’t been enough. When he’d called Rachel about being their supplier, she’d been thrilled. He’d made a lot of decisions in his life he felt good about, but this one ranked pretty high—higher even when Mary’s tinkling laugh filled the space.
“Paul, you have to bring Mary in more often.” Rachel began entering grocery prices in her old-fashioned cash register. “We’re going to talk yogurt and raw cheese—it’s not just for hippies anymore. I need some goat milk for a few new recipes. Do you think you could get some goats?”
“If Mary wants them, I’ll get them,” he said. “Thomas will hate it though. Goats and sheep freak him out.”
Mary frowned at him. “How in the world could he be freaked out by goats and sheep?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? He’s nuts.”
Rachel laughed. “Wow, Mary. You have your hands full. But hey, the u
pside has to be that even if one Paraby won’t help you with the animals, you have two others to help you wrangle them.”
Paul froze at the casual mention of their relationship and waited for Mary’s response. He honestly believed Rachel acted genuine, but he didn’t know how his wife would view it after being so on guard.
Mary laughed and elbowed him. “There’s another perk I hadn’t anticipated. I suppose I could even shear the sheep for wool with all the help I’ll have.”
Rachel chuckled. “Let me know when this event shall take place. I’ll stock up on baking goods. Men, in my experience at least, respond better when there are cupcakes involved in these types of missions.”
“Or brownies,” Mary added. “My guys go for brownies.”
The women talked about baking, but it wasn’t the words Paul noticed but Mary’s smile. She looked happy. The emotion had been absent in the last few weeks. She hadn’t been as down since Duane’s arrival home, for sure, but determination and nurturing weren’t the same as joy. This was. He wished he could have been the one to make her smile, but he’d take it any way he could get it. It was probably better that Mary had at least one female acquaintance, if not friend yet.
Paul toted the grocery bags to the truck and started the engine. The radio played a few songs before he checked his watch, wondering where she was. Figuring she’d found something more she needed, Paul started to kill the engine. Mary hustled out with a few slips of paper. She whipped open her door and jumped in before he could help her.
“Isn’t she a doll? I’m sorry it took an extra minute. She wrote out her cupcake recipe for me, so then I had to write out my brownie one.” Her eyes shined. “I really like her. Thanks for introducing us.”
“I wish I would have thought to sooner.” He pulled out of the parking lot. “She and her husband are nice people, laid back but hard workers. They mind their own business but have big hearts.”
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