A Field of Poppies (7 page)

“
I’m so cold.”

Mike gave her a quick glance as he sped over the bridge. That she finally spoke was reassuring. He tried not to think about the blue tinge around her lips or the fact that she was shaking so hard she couldn’t sit still.

“
We’re almost home. Just hang on a couple more minutes.”

She didn’t think about how he’d found her. She was too grateful to be out of the rain to care.

Mike turned off the siren as he came off the bridge and when he turned down her street he killed the lights. No need advertising their arrival and sparking a string of visitors she wasn’t ready to face. He pulled up in the driveway as close to the house as he could get then killed the engine.

“
Sit tight a sec.” He jumped out and rounded the car to help her out. “Easy does it,” he said, but when she stepped out, she staggered.

He slid an arm around her waist to steady her as they splashed through the rain and puddles, and wound up all but dragging her onto the porch. The moment they were beneath the roof he heard her sigh. That he understood. This was sanctuary.

She was trying to find her keys, but her fingers were trembling too hard to find them in the depths of her purse.

“
May I?”

She handed him the purse and within moments he had the keys in his hand.

“
Blue cap,” she mumbled, pointing at the color-coded keys.

Mike opened the door then paused to drop his raincoat and step out of his shoes.

“
No need making a bigger mess than I have to,” he said. “Here, let me help you with yours.”

Before she knew it, her raincoat was off and he was on his knees helping her out of her shoes. When he started to bring them inside, she shook her head.

“
Leave them, they’re ruined,” she said, and then stumbled as she took another step.

Again, Mike steadied her as they entered the house. The warmth enveloped them as he closed the door. Then he took her by the shoulders - scanning her eyes – taking note of her breathing - checking for anything that would indicate a serious problem while she kept swaying and stumbling in his grasp.

“
Are you dizzy, Miss Sadler?”

Poppy was physically and emotionally numb. It took her a few moments to even process the question.

“
Um...no. It’s my feet. I can’t really feel them.”

She heard him curse beneath his breath and then once again she was in his arms.

“
Where’s your bathroom?”

“
What... uh... down the hall, first door on the left.”

“
You need to get warm. Quickest way is in a bathtub.”

Poppy panicked, thinking he intended to strip her. “I’ll do it. I don’t need help.”

His eyes smiled before his lips, but for some reason it was all the reassurance she needed.

“
I don’t intend to give you a bath. I just want to make sure you and the tub are in the same room before I leave.”

She noticed a drop of water running out of his hair and down behind his ear as he carried her down the hall. It was a nice ear, as Mama would have said - lying flat against his head. His hair looked black. She didn’t remember it being that dark this morning, but of course now it was wet.

Mike sat her down on the toilet seat and then turned around to start the water. As the tub was filling, he backed up to the door.

“
I came to tell you that we found your father’s car. It was parked at a gas station over on Nichols Avenue. Do you know anyone up that way?”

Poppy was surprised. All along she’d been expecting them to tell her they’d found it stripped and burned, or that they would eventually pull it out of the Little Man. Parked hadn’t been part of the scenarios.

“
Parked? Really? Was it... could you tell if-“

“
It was locked. We towed it in. The crime lab will go over it, but at first glance I’d say that’s not where he died.”

The hot water was making steam, fogging up the mirror and warming the room even more. There was a sense of relief and at the same time, even more confusion for Poppy. If her daddy hadn’t been killed there, then where? Now there was a whole new set of questions without answers.

“
When can I have it back?”

“
Not sure, but I’ll hurry up the process as fast as I can. Do you have other family? Or some friends that you can call on to help you until we can release the car?”

She shrugged. “I have a brother. I’ll call his cell. He might answer. He might not.”

“
Aren’t you two on speaking terms?”

Poppy thought how odd it was that she was sitting on the closed lid of her toilet, having this conversation with a cop who’d just run her bathwater. Then she realized he was waiting for an answer.

“
It’s not that. He couldn’t face watching our mother die, so he left. I can’t imagine what he’s going to do or say when he finds out about all this.”

“
That’s tough. People take death and show grief in all kinds of ways,” Mike said, then glanced behind him. “Looks like your tub’s about full. You still have my card. Feel free to call if you need anything.”

“
I haven’t thanked you for bringing me home.”

Mike turned off the bath water then turned to face her. There was a question that had been bugging him ever since he’d talked to Vic.

“
Why didn’t you let Vic bring you home when he offered?”

A frown creased her forehead. “I have no idea. I don’t even remember leaving the restaurant.”

He sighed. It was just as he’d thought. Delayed shock from the whole fucking day.

“
I’ll lock the front door on my way out. When you get warmed up, get something warm in your belly as well.”

“
I will. Thank you, again.”

“
You’re very welcome, Miss Sadler. I’ll be in touch.”

He closed the bathroom door behind him.

She heard his footsteps as he walked up the hall. Once she heard the car driving away, she stripped and stepped into the tub, groaning softly as the hot, steamy water rose around her.

The warmth was painful, but as she soaked, full circulation slowly returned. It wasn’t until she could feel her fingers and her toes again that she began to cry.

But it wasn’t the primal scream from before - just the first welling of true grief for the acceptance of what she’d lost, coupled with a good dose of fear that the worst wasn’t over yet.

****

Amelia Caulfield wiped her eyes as she exited her granddaughter’s room. The nurse had come in to change IV bags and take Callie’s vitals. She’d used her appearance as an excuse to go to the waiting room to get a cold drink, when in truth she just needed a moment to compose herself. With every passing day, she was more convinced they weren’t aiding in Callie’s recovery, and that she was, instead, witnessing a slow, miserable death.

She and her husband, Adam, had only had the one child, their son, Justin. And Justin and Deborah had only had the one child before Justin developed an infection that left him sterile.

All of a sudden, the Caulfield dynasty that had been a strong and thriving bloodline for so many generations had been relegated to one last child and a girl at that. There were no more males to continue the family name.

She’d grieved with Justin when Deborah died in a fiery car crash, but she’d never heard him as devastated as he’d been when he’d called to tell her about Callie.

While she’d been horrified and then saddened beyond measure as she’d heard the news, there had been a selfish moment when she’d resented being asked to come back to West Virginia to help. She’d nursed Adam through seven long years of diminishing sanity before he’d finally died from Alzheimer’s disease and it had nearly killed her. To get away from the bad memories, she’d moved away from West Virginia to Florida, and over a period of years finally made a new life for herself. It wasn’t perfect, but it was peaceful.

And then Justin called, and guilt and duty brought her back just to watch it happen all over again. She wondered from time to time what it was the Caulfield family had done that was so awful they would be punished in such a way, and then reminded herself that isn’t the way God worked. They had made a good run of it for over a century. Maybe their time was just running out. She patted her pocket to see if she had money then started down the hall.

****

It was after five p.m. before Justin could get away from the office to go to Saint Anne’s to see Callie. The worst of the thunderstorm had passed, although it continued to drizzle. It was too damn cold for September. At any time if felt as if that drizzle could turn to snow.

His mother had been at the hospital most of the day, sending him hourly updates of Callie’s condition either by phone or by texts.

Over the past few days he began to realize they were measuring the failure of Callie’s body in the same increments as they’d measured her progress in infancy. Now they marked her deterioration by whether or not she was able to eat - how much pain meds she’d had to have – and if the bleeding in her lungs was any better than it had been the day before, just as they had marked her progress as a baby by the first burp, her first smile, and how many ounces of formula she got down in a single feeding. How could God give you a child and then take her back just like that and make her suffer in the process?

It was fucking obscene.

By the time he got parked he had control of his emotions. The last thing he wanted was for Callie to sense how he felt. If she knew how tenuous her condition really was, she might quit fighting.

Almost every day he brought Callie a treat. Sometimes it was a flower, sometimes a book she’d wanted to read. Today it was an angel - a small porcelain figurine with wings outspread, hands folded and head bowed, as if in prayer. The word FAITH was written in gold script on the hem of the gown. Callie collected angels, so he knew it would be a hit.

He strode through the lobby, nodding courteously to the employees and staff that he passed. They were all used to seeing him here on a daily basis, and more than one called out a greeting and to tell Callie they said hello. He waved and smiled and kept on walking, when in truth he resented them all. They went home to their families and had dinner and went to bed, confident that when they woke, their world would still be in order. He wanted to tell them all it was a façade; that life was just waiting for them to be really happy before it threw them for a loop, but he didn’t. He was Justin Caulfield and therefore always circumspect.

As he exited the elevator onto the third floor he saw his mother emerge from Callie’s room and pause in the hall with a tissue in her hands. It occurred to him then how elegant she appeared despite her seventy-plus years. She was tall and slender in dark slacks and a yellow blouse, set off by her crown of snow-white hair, although he remembered that same hair had been dark – almost black – when he was a boy.

And then he saw that she was crying. His heart dropped. God in heaven! Was it over? Had Callie taken a turn for the worse and died before he could even say goodbye?

Before he could react, he saw Oral Newton, his mother’s driver, jump out of a chair down the hall and head for Amelia at a fast clip.

Back when Adam Caulfield had been alive, Oral Newton had been Amelia Caulfield’s personal chauffeur/bodyguard. His devotion to her stemmed from more than thirty years of service to the family, and when she’d come back from Florida to help care for Callie, he’d taken himself out of retirement and come back to the family residence to make certain she was not inconvenienced in any way by her daily visits to Saint Anne’s. Newton’s expression of empathy on seeing Amelia’s tears only added to Justin’s panic as he lengthened his stride.

****

Oral caught up with Amelia before she reached the waiting room, ever ready to serve her in any way she needed.

“
Can I get you anything, Mrs. Caulfield?”

Amelia smiled. “I was going to get myself a cold drink.”

“
I’ll get it for you, ma’am. Seven-up or Sprite?”

She smiled. “I can’t believe you still remember what I like to drink. Yes, please.”

As Oral stepped into the waiting room where the snack machines were located, someone grabbed her by the arm.

“
Mother! What’s wrong? Why are you crying? Has something happened to Callie?”

“
Nothing is wrong. You’re hurting me, Justin. Calm down.”

Her dismissive tone was a slap in the face. After the crap he’d been dealing with at the office and Callie’s situation, he didn’t need to be talked to as if he was a child.

“
Calm down? How do you calm down, Mother? Tell me, because I haven’t been able to do that. My child is dying and no one, including that damned God you pray to, seems inclined to stop the process.”

Amelia frowned. “Don’t blaspheme. I raised you better than that.” Then she slipped a hand over his arm and gave it a quick squeeze. “Let’s don’t take our fears out on each other, dear. We’re both worried sick and we’re tired. But it’s Callie we have to focus on, not ourselves.”

Justin had always disliked the fact that she rarely showed emotion. Even in the face of discord, she never raised her voice. But she was right. Fighting solved nothing.