Dorothy Garlock - [Tucker Family] (13 page)

“We need to get you inside so we can get you cleaned up,” Christina said determinedly, taking him by the elbow and insistently leading him back toward the house.

“I don’t think that’s necessary…”

“Come with me,” she ordered.

Once Dr. Barlow got moving, he leaned almost all of his considerable weight against Christina, forcing her to struggle to keep him upright. Though it was a strain, she never allowed him to slow down, keeping their pace steady. While they walked, he kept on complaining.

“Hold on, hold on, hold on,” he repeated. “We’re forgetting my instruments. They shouldn’t be…shouldn’t be left outside where someone…someone…,” but he couldn’t speak further.

“I’ll get them later,” she reassured him.

“Can’t let anyone know…”

Will I
ever
have a normal day in Longstock?
Christina thought.

From a pot on the stove Christina poured another steaming cup of black coffee and placed it on the kitchen table in front of Dr. Barlow. He was hunched over, clutching his throbbing head between his hands, his elbows on the tabletop. Slowly, he picked up the cup and took a careful sip.

“Drink as much of that as you can,” Christina said. “It’s about the only thing besides time that will make you feel better.”

The only response she got was a groan.

Several long hours had passed since Christina had managed to lead Dr. Barlow from his backyard and into the house. After dropping hard into a chair just inside the side door, he’d kept trying to get back to his feet, but every time he only wobbled for a second before collapsing, the morphine’s hold on him strong. When she’d returned from fetching his leather strap, syringe, and mostly empty bottle of morphine, he’d watched her with hooded eyes, his mouth partly open; at first, she wondered if he hadn’t fallen asleep, but when she poured the morphine down the sink drain he’d moaned, mumbling an incoherent complaint.

Christina knew how powerful of an addiction morphine could be. During her time at the Army hospital, she’d met several soldiers who had been unable to resist its lure. It was a powerful drug, alleviating all of its user’s troubles in a haze of bliss. But using it over and over made its taker dependent, and it required more and more morphine to produce the same effect. If the body didn’t get what it craved, the side effects could be debilitating; cramps, shaking, diarrhea, and vomiting were just some of the symptoms. She’d seen men who were addicts, normally the kindest of people, attack doctors just to get their hands on more. She was determined to find out just how big an addiction Dr. Barlow had.

After several cups of coffee, he’d eventually begun to regain his senses, but along with an improvement in clarity had come a splitting headache. Moaning and groaning, he’d shockingly uttered a few curses; he’d even apologized for a couple of them. All the while, Christina had wondered why he’d do such a thing to himself, especially because he was a doctor and should know better.

“Are you going to tell me why you were injecting yourself with morphine?” Christina asked.

The doctor was silent.

From the moment they’d entered the house, Christina had been repeating the same question, but she had yet to receive anything like a real answer; occasionally, he’d made a sound, but never anything she could understand. In the beginning, she’d assumed that he was too far under the morphine’s influence to reply clearly, but now she knew that he was purposefully ignoring her.

“I know that it’s not any of my business,” Christina began, careful not to overstep her place, “but I’m surprised to have found you this way.”

“It’s not.” Dr. Barlow coughed.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s not any of your business,” he repeated.

Frustration and anger raced through Christina at his harsh words. Everything she had been through was because she’d been worried about him. To be unappreciated, to be spoken to in such a way, was more than she could bear. Turning on her heel, she stalked toward the door, determined to leave him to his misery, but just as she was about to leave he called to her.

“Christina, wait.” Dr. Barlow tried to rise from his chair, but a wave of wobbliness washed over him, sending him back onto his rump in a hurry. “Understand that I didn’t mean for it to come out that harshly, it’s just…it’s hard for me to…aw, hell, there’re just some things that are too hard for me to explain. My reason for…for what I did this afternoon is one of them.”

Christina looked at him for a long while, the only sound the ticking of a clock in another room. She remembered the way he had looked that morning when he’d arrived at work, his clothing a disheveled mess; it was possible that he had fallen asleep after a night of shooting up morphine. How big a problem was she facing? “Is this something that you make a habit of?”

“This is the first time I’ve ever been found out,” he groaned miserably.

“I’m talking about your taking morphine,” she answered, unable to see any humor in what had happened.

Shame crept into his features. “It usually isn’t this bad…,” he said sheepishly.

Christina remembered the number of needle marks spotting his arm and winced. “It isn’t something that you should be doing at all,” she corrected him. “You should know much better. You’re a doctor!”

“I know, I know,” he groaned.

“You need to stop this right here and now,” she kept on, “because I don’t think that I could work for someone who made a habit of doing what you did today, especially someone responsible for the care of so many others.”

“You’re right, you’re right…”

“People in this town are depending on you.” She refused to let up. “They have to know that you’ll be there, and are sober, when they need you. Imagine what would happen if there was an emergency. If there were an accident where a doctor was needed, then—”

“I said you were right, damn it!” he shouted, the loudness of his own voice causing him to wince in pain. Immediately, he tempered his tone: “You’re right, Christina. There’s no excuse for my behavior.”

“Then why did you do it?” she asked yet again.

For a moment, Christina thought that he might open up whatever it was he was holding inside, but his eyes fell to the table, where they remained fixated on his shaking hands.

This time, when she got up to leave, he didn’t say anything to stop her.

Christina trudged up the steps to her apartment under the watchful gaze of the early moon as it rose in the eastern sky. Cicadas buzzed insistently and she glimpsed bats swooping for unwary insects in the fading light. She was exhausted, both physically and mentally, but happy that she was at the end of yet
another
eventful day in Longstock.

Dealing with Samuel Barlow had rattled her. The doctor had seemed so dependable, someone she could count on to be stable in an otherwise unstable place. But after the shock of seeing him under the influence of morphine, she knew that she would never look at him the same way. Her uncle Otis’s drunkenness had been one thing, but he hadn’t had any responsibilities to speak of, certainly not that of caring for an entire town. She could only hope that it would not affect their working relationship so badly that they could no longer do their jobs. Only time would tell. For now, she just needed to sleep.

At the top of the stairs, just in front of her door, Christina saw something sitting on the landing. Coming closer, she saw that it was a small bottle, about half the size of a canning jar. It was filled with something, a liquid.

“And just what might you be?” she said.

Picking up the jar, Christina held it up to the fading light of the sun. About all that she could tell was that it was golden in color and that when she tipped the bottle to the side it scarcely moved. When her curiosity finally got the better of her, she opened it and immediately knew what it contained by its smell.

It was honey.

Without a doubt, she knew that Tyler had left it for her as a gift. Looking around, she expected to see him watching her, but there was no one to be seen in the twilight. Butterflies filled her stomach at the thought that he had brought her a gift, especially one that she knew was so close to his heart.

“Maybe this place isn’t so bad after all…”

C
HRISTINA WAS WAKENED
by a creaking on her staircase. The sound had interrupted a pleasant dream of a summer day back home in Minnesota, of her mother’s delicious apple pie and the whistling of the wind through the reeds that ringed Lake Washington. Christina had been just about to step into the cool water when something intruded, pulling her awake. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she lay completely still in her bed, listening. At first there was only silence, but then she heard it again, clearly, a weight on the stairs, an unmistakable sound.

And I bet I know just who it is…

Christina had no idea what time of night it was, the sky outside her window was pitch-black except for a sprinkling of stars, but in her heart she knew that there was only one possible explanation for what she was hearing.

It was Tyler.

After the surprise of finding the jar of honey, it had taken several hours for her to calm down enough to sleep. Even though she’d been utterly exhausted by the ordeal at Dr. Barlow’s, she couldn’t help replaying her afternoon with Tyler over and over in her mind. She saw his smile, his laugh, and heard the words he had spoken. She was embarrassed by the way that she’d misjudged him. By the time they’d parted at the doctor’s office, she had understood that there was much more to Tyler Sutter than she’d originally thought; his gesture of a gift was more proof of that.

And now he’s come back…

Dressing quickly without turning on a light, Christina hurried to the door, pushed a few loose strands of hair from her eyes, and turned the knob.

Outside, the night air was cooler than she’d expected, immediately raising goose bumps on her arms. Crickets chirped their odd melody; the sound was steady, as rhythmic as the beating of her heart.

Christina was surprised to find that the landing and stairs were empty all the way down to the bakery. There was no one, not a sound, nothing.

For an instant, Christina wondered if she’d imagined the whole thing; maybe it had been a figment of her dream that had followed her into consciousness. But then she remembered how clear the sound on the stairs had been, how it had set her heart to beating.

“There was someone here,” she whispered. “I’m sure of it.”

Leaning against the railing of the landing, Christina looked out over the sleeping town. If whoever had been on the stairs
was
still around, perhaps she could still see him.

Only a couple of lights shone behind closed windows, but Christina was afforded a clear view of downtown by the soft glow of the heavens above. Main Street was empty except for a mangy dog wandering in search of a meal, companionship, or both. Certain that she was not alone, she surveyed the rooftops, finally stopping in front of Dr. Barlow’s office, and it was there that she saw
something
.

It wasn’t much, little more than a flutter of clothing or the passage of starlight over bare skin. But as Christina looked closer, she realized that someone was standing in the deep shadows beside the shoe-repair shop. She couldn’t be sure, but it looked as if it was a man. Regardless, the person was looking right at her; when he saw that she was just as intent in watching him, he stepped farther back until he was almost lost to sight.

“Tyler?” she muttered softly. “Is that you?”

Christina raised her hand and waved, but her gesture seemed to have the opposite effect from what she’d intended; now that the man had been noticed, he stepped back out onto the walk and hurried quickly away, his head down.

Beyond a shadow of doubt, Christina knew that the man had been the source of the noise on her steps. For whatever reason, he had been watching her. Stubbornly, she clung to the hope that it was Tyler; maybe he was rushing away because he hadn’t intended to wake her. Still, doubts nagged at her.

There was only one way to know the truth.

Christina knew that what she was considering was reckless, possibly even dangerous if she was wrong about the man’s identity; the safer decision was to go back inside and get some sleep. Instead, she found herself hurrying down the stairs and into the night.

Standing beneath the awning of the shoe-repair shop, Christina took a moment to get her bearings. Only a minute before, the man whose steps had been creaking upon her stairs had stood in this very spot. Looking up, she saw that the location offered a perfect view of her apartment; with the landing bathed in starlight, he would have had no trouble seeing her every move.

But now he was nowhere to be seen.

Rushing down the block in the direction he’d headed, Christina paused at the first street corner she reached. Up and down both roads she saw nothing. She’d hurried down the stairs as quickly as she could; surely he hadn’t had time to leave the street.

“Come on, come on,” she muttered. “Show yourself.”

It was a sound that finally grabbed her attention. From somewhere a block to the south came the clattering of a trash can. Without any hesitation, Christina raced in that direction; she would feel pretty silly if she were to find an alley cat digging through the trash in search of a midnight snack.

Halfway up the block, she stopped. There, down an alleyway that ran between two rows of houses, Christina saw a man running away.

Tyler’s name nearly burst from her lips, but she squelched the urge to shout, instead determined to catch him and find out why he had been watching her.

You’re not getting away from me
that
easily.

Hurrying down the alleyway, Christina desperately sought to cut the distance between them. Racing past cars, telephone poles, and even a startled orange cat, Christina leaped a fallen garbage can lying in the middle of her path; it had to have been the source of the sound that had alerted her. The clicking of her heels hitting the ground echoed off the surrounding buildings. On and on, she ran as fast as she could.

Ahead of her, the man looked back over his shoulder and, upon seeing her, increased his efforts to get away; he seemed as afraid of having his identity discovered as she was intent upon learning it. When he reached the end of the alley, he didn’t hesitate, crossing the street without pause and disappearing around the corner, out of sight. Christina followed, relentless.

For many long blocks, she managed to keep pace. Even when her legs began to burn from the strain and she pulled huge gulps of air into her heaving lungs, she refused to give up. Slowly but surely, the gap between them began to narrow. More and more often, the man looked back over his shoulder.

Why does he want so badly to get away from me?

Finally, Christina came so close that she knew the man wouldn’t be able to escape her. They were both slowing down, but his decline was clearly greater. For the first time, a question rose in her mind:
What happens when I
do
catch him?…What then?

“Stop!” she shouted breathlessly. “Stop running!”

Amazingly, the man did as she commanded, coming to an awkward, skidding stop in the middle of a block. Christina did the same. Both were completely exhausted, breathing hard and dripping sweat, standing only a couple of feet apart. Still, the man kept his back to her.

“Why…why were you…running away…from me…?” she asked.

The man did not answer, his hands on his knees.

“Who…who are you…?”

Slowly, the man straightened, squaring his shoulders and taking a long, deep breath; it was as if he was settling his nerves, resigning himself for what came next. When he turned around, revealing himself, Christina gasped, her heart nearly leaping from her chest in surprise.

It was Holden Sutter.

Never in the furthest reaches of her imagination would Christina have thought that the man she had been chasing down the streets of Longstock in the middle of the night was Tyler’s older brother. It was unbelievable! She had assumed that she had been following Tyler or, at the worst, a Peeping Tom who had been watching her for his own perverse entertainment. The truth proved far more shocking.

“Why…why are you here?” she asked breathlessly.

Holden made no response, choosing to stare at her, his chest heaving.

“Answer me!”

Still, he didn’t reply, though his eyes never left her.

Christina began to experience the same feelings she’d had in Holden’s room; there he had done everything he could to make her feel uncomfortable, out of place, as if she didn’t belong. It had been an infuriating, humiliating experience and had caused her to question whether she should remain in Longstock. But
that night
, they had been in
his
room, a sanctuary that she had been led to believe he never left.

Now
was different.

“They told me…that you never left your room,” she pressed, growing more impatient with every word by his failure to respond. “They said that you’d been there ever since returning from the war…”

Holden’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“Tell me!” Christina exploded, stepping toward him angrily. “I haven’t chased you all over town for nothing! I deserve an answer!”

Her words finally broke Holden’s silence, but not in a way she would have ever expected; instead of appearing chastised by what she’d said, he reacted furiously, exploding in anger. “How could you have been so foolish!” he shouted.

“Me?! What…what are you talking about?” she replied, completely taken aback by his outburst.

“What woman in her right mind follows a stranger through darkened streets? It’s the middle of the night! There’s no one around to help you if you needed it!”

“Why should I be afraid of someone who was running away from me?” Christina blurted, amazed by what Holden was saying.

“What if it had all been a plan to get you alone? What if I had led you down that alley and hidden, waiting for you to come by so that I could have my way with you? There’s nothing you could have done to stop it! Nothing!”

“I…I was just…,” she began, confused.

“It’s a good thing that you were never on a battlefield. With what passes for your common sense, you wouldn’t have lasted five minutes!”

On the evening that Christina had walked away from the Sutters’ home, she had been upset at the horrible things that Holden had said to her, but they were nothing in comparison to what he was saying to her now. He was the one who had started all of this. He was the one who had been watching her apartment in the middle of the night. He was the one who had led her on their ridiculous race through town. And now he was the one trying to make her feel bad about it.

“Now wait a minute!” she shouted at Holden, just as he was about to accuse her of another imaginary offense; he stopped suddenly, as if she’d struck him in the chest. “How dare you try to turn this on me! This isn’t
my
fault!
You
were the one lurking outside my room!
You
were the one who chose to run away from me! Don’t try to turn this against me just because you got caught!”

“That’s not what I—”

“And another thing,” she interrupted him, refusing to give him another opportunity to change the subject. “You haven’t answered my questions! I want to know why you’re out here tonight, out of the room that I had been told you never left, and I want to know right now! No more lying! No more changing the subject! Tell me the truth!”

Holden fell silent in the face of her outburst. For a long while, they stared at each other, neither of them saying a word. Because of the way she’d yelled at him, Christina expected there to be lights coming on in the houses around them, but she refused to look away from Holden.

Slowly, the tension that had filled him from the moment he’d stopped running began to leave him; his fists unclenched, his shoulders slumped, and the big crease that had furrowed his brow relaxed. In its place was a look of embarrassment at how he’d spoken to her.

Finally, Holden broke their silence. “I’m sorry…that I yelled at you the way I did,” he muttered.

“You should be,” she said, though her own anger was also lessened.

Christina was surprised by the breadth of change in Holden; though they’d only met twice, both times had been full of turmoil. As he was now, he was totally different.

“When I knew you’d seen me,” he explained, “I panicked. I didn’t want you to know who it was.”

“But
how
could it be you?” Christina asked. “Your uncle told me that you
never
leave your room.”

“That’s because no one knows I do this,” he finally said, his eyes finding hers and holding on with such intensity that she couldn’t have looked away even if she’d wanted to. “I’ve kept it a secret from everyone.”

“But why would you do such a thing? They’d be happy for you!”

“The last thing I want to do is give them false hope,” Holden said, gesturing wildly with his hands. “The more they believe I could get better, the greater disappointment when I fail in the end. I can at least spare them that.”

“If that’s what you truly believe, then you’ve failed before you even started,” Christina argued.

“It’s the truth!”

“Only because you
choose
to fail, not because of what’s truly inside you!”

“And I suppose you know what that is,” he said, annoyed.

“Do you want to know what I think?” she asked, stepping so close to him that he couldn’t help backing up. “I think that you
want
to return to the life you had. Longstock is still your home, just as it was before the war. You could have everything you’ve always wanted, but you won’t do the work, so instead you come out here to feel sorry for yourself, to feel
pity
, but that’s only because you don’t have the guts to fight for it!”

“That’s not it!” Holden shouted. “That’s not it at all!”

Christina didn’t truly believe what she was saying to Holden, not all of it. What she hoped was that he would be so shamed, so infuriated by what she said, that he would fight to throw off the shackles that bound him.

“Then why are you here?” she asked.

“Because if I spent the rest of my life in that room at my mother’s house I’d go crazy!” he said. “But I can’t go back to my old life! I just can’t!”