Lucky Stiff (29 page)

Inch by inch, I work her pant leg up, until I have all of the injured area exposed. It’s a bad break—two of them, in fact, as her ankle appears to be broken, too—but the skin is intact, warm, and pink.

I wiggle my way back to a sitting position just as Hurley returns.

“Did you ask the trucker to call for help?”

“He already had, but they told him it might take a while for anyone to get here. Fortunately, none of the folks up there on the road have anything more than minor injuries.”

“She’s in an awful lot of pain,” I say, nodding toward Candy. “I think her left leg is pinned.”

“Is she going to be okay?”

“I think so. The leg seems to be the only injury, but she’s in a lot of pain.”

“What can we do?”

“We need to make sure she stays warm and doesn’t go into shock. Get some clothes out of the suitcases so we can use them to cover her.”

Hurley does as instructed, while I zip Candy’s jacket back up. Candy moans, and then I remember the Vicodin prescription I have. I climb into the backseat, find my purse on the floor, and dig out the bottle of pills. There is also a bottle of water on the floor, so I grab that, too. When Hurley returns with his arms full of stuff from the suitcases, we wrap Candy up in a clothing burrito. I give her two of the Vicodin pills with some water to wash them down. Then we do the only other thing we can. We wait.

Hurley climbs into the backseat, leaving me in the front next to Candy. Minutes turn into half an hour, then an hour, then two. The pain pills kick in and Candy stops moaning, but they also make her drowsy. I have to check her pulse and shake her every so often to make sure she’s still okay. The weather outside continues its furious assault; up on the road, everyone is inside their vehicles, huddled against the maelstrom. I keep rousting Candy and reassessing her situation every ten minutes. So far, she’s proving to be a trouper by maintaining a positive attitude, but her growing lethargy worries me. I feel a twinge of guilt for all the mean thoughts I’ve had about her.

Fear, cold, and desperation color my thoughts, and I find myself going off on weird tangents. How long might we be stranded here? Could it stretch into days? Is there a chance Candy might die? My stomach growls hungrily, but I’m not very worried for myself. I figure I can outlast a lot of other folks based on reserves alone. My fat will not only provide extra insulation against the cold, but it will provide a source of nourishment for my body for a good while before I start seriously digesting myself. Then I start thinking about the rugby team whose plane crashed in the Andes years ago, forcing them to cannibalize the dead passengers. I look over at Candy and figure we’re screwed. She’s much too skinny to sustain us for long.

I give myself a mental shake, chastising myself for such idiotic thoughts and wondering if I’m losing my mind. When I see a flashing light up on the road, I’m not sure if it’s real or if my mind conjured it up out of hope.

But then Hurley sees it, too, and he’s out of the car and climbing up to the road. Moments later, he returns with a police officer in tow; the two of them skid and slide their way down to our car.

“Help is here,” I tell Candy. “Hang in there.” I get out of the car and brace myself against the howling wind and snow, yelling over the top of the car to the policeman. “We need to get her to a hospital right away. She’s pinned inside and has multiple leg fractures.”

The officer nods and yells back, “Fire and rescue are on the way! We’ll get on it as soon as they get here.”

I nod my understanding and get back inside the car with Candy as Hurley climbs back up to the road with the policeman. “We’re going to get you out of here,” I tell Candy. “Just a little bit longer.”

She nods weakly and turns her head to look at me. “Thank you for helping me.”

“I haven’t really done anything.”

She reaches over and takes my hand, giving it a little squeeze. “But you have. You made me feel safe,” she says. “And you helped me deal with the pain.”

The guilt her words trigger is so overwhelming that I’m about to confess that I was not only eyeing her like a rib roast a short while ago, but I also found her lacking. I’m saved from myself when I see men dressed in snow gear sliding down the hill toward us and carrying the “Jaws of Life.”

By ten
P
.
M
.
, Hurley and I are warm, fed, perked up with coffee, and sitting in a hospital waiting room. I put in a call to Izzy to let him know what’s going on; he updates me on our cases, telling me that the tox screen on Donald Strommen is still pending and that the cops haven’t found Catherine.

I hang up, and as I’m sharing this information with Hurley, an ER nurse comes out to us and says, “Your friend is fine. She has a comminuted tib-fib fracture and a dislocated ankle, but we’ve made her comfortable and we’re prepping her for surgery. You can go in and see her, if you like.”

We find Candy propped up on a hospital stretcher with her leg splinted, IVs snaking into her arms, and a glazed look in her eyes. “Hey, guys,” she says with a slightly slurred voice. “It looks like I’m going to be here awhile.”

“Looks that way,” I say. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better.” She flashes us a goofy smile and rubs her palm over her nose. “The meds they gave me are good ones. I don’t have any pain anymore, but my face itches like crazy.”

“That’s the narcotics,” I tell her. “They trigger a release of histamine.”

“You guys might as well head on home,” Candy says. “I’ll be fine. I called my family and they’re flying in from California as soon as the weather clears.”

“We’ll stay long enough to make sure your surgery goes okay,” Hurley says. “It’s going to take a while, anyway, for the weather to clear, plus I’ve got to rent another car and file a claim for the wrecked one. And I think we can all use a good night’s rest.”

A few minutes later, the nurses whisk Candy off to surgery, and Hurley and I head back to the waiting area. After an hour with a phone book and our cell phones, it becomes clear that there isn’t a motel within a twenty-five-mile radius of the hospital that has a vacancy, thanks to the weather. But a kindly registration person who overhears our dilemma comes up with a solution by calling the hospital supervisor, who arranges for us to sleep in an unused patient room, a semi-private with two beds in it.

Hurley and I kill time reading magazines, pacing, and drinking hospital coffee. By the time we are notified that Candy is in recovery, it’s after two in the morning. We head for the patient room, which has been so kindly offered to us, and drop, fully clothed, into our separate beds. I’m so exhausted I barely have time to register the fact that I’m sleeping in the same room with Hurley. I fall instantly into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Chapter 26

It’s noon the next day before Hurley and I manage to get ourselves up and going, check on Candy, take care of the car issues, and get back on the road. The storm has blown through, leaving behind a winter wonderland of bright sunshine and sparkling snow. The remainder of our trip is uneventful and largely silent, and we are able to drop off the rental car at the Milwaukee airport and retrieve Hurley’s a little before eleven at night. By the time we arrive at my cottage, it’s after midnight.

The place is dark and, with the curtains all pulled closed, it looks empty and abandoned. I unlock the door and flip on the lights, but it does little to dispel my feelings of isolation and loneliness. Hurley carries my suitcase inside, drops it in the living room, and looks around the cottage expectantly. I guess what he’s thinking.

“Hoover is probably over at Izzy’s,” I say. “Dom took care of him while I was gone.”

Hurley looks disappointed, and I have to say I’m feeling a bit letdown as well. There’s something about that wagging tail and warm nose rushing to greet you when you come in the door that’s kind of nice. I don’t know if dogs really are man’s best friend, but Hoover is definitely mine. He’s always happy to see me; he doesn’t care if I don’t shave my legs; plus he’s the only living creature I know who likes my cooking.

On the heels of our trip and my close proximity with death—twice—I feel an overwhelming need for company, affection, and an affirmation of life. Suddenly I’m dreading being here alone, and then I feel sorry for myself when I realize that Hoover is the closest companion I have in my life right now. It all seems rather pathetic.

My pity party is interrupted when Rubbish saunters out of the bedroom, eyes the two of us, and then sits and starts to groom himself. I walk over and pick him up, holding his soft, purring body close to my chest. It’s a comfort, but not much of one.

“I guess I should feed the beast,” I say to Hurley, carrying Rubbish into the kitchen. I set the cat down on the floor and take a can of cat food out of the cupboard. Rubbish weaves himself in and around my feet as I dish up his food. But as soon as the bowl is on the floor, he’s on it, his affection for me forgotten.

When I turn around, I’m startled to see that Hurley has followed me into the kitchen. He’s leaning against the doorjamb, watching me.

“It was a hell of a trip, Winston, wasn’t it?”

“I’ll say.”

“Funny, even with all my years as a cop, this trip may be the closest I’ve ever come to dying.”

“Me too.”

“I don’t know what scared me more—the thought of dying, or the thought of losing you.”

I’m not sure what to say to this, so I just stand there, looking back at him. Emotions well up inside me and I feel the sting of tears in my eyes. Embarrassed, I look down at the floor and try to make a hasty retreat from the kitchen. But Hurley grabs my arm and stops me when I try to walk past him. Against my better judgment, I look up at him.

“Look, Mattie, I know you’ve made it clear that there can’t be anything between us, but damn it, I can’t help what I feel. I’ve been trying to ignore it, but this trip and all the close calls we had made me realize just how much I want to be with you.”

“But you
are
with me, nearly every day.”

Hurley’s eyes darken. “You know what I mean.”

Boy, do I.

Hurley gently turns me so I’m facing him, but he does nothing more. I know he’s waiting for me to make the next move, to close the gap between us. And every inch of my being wants to, but I keep thinking back to my talks with Izzy, and the ramifications there might be if Hurley and I get together. One of us would have to quit our jobs, and it seems obvious that it would have to be me. There isn’t much else Hurley could do here in Sorenson, but I have options. I could go back to work at the hospital, though I don’t want to. I know I’d be the subject of pointed stares and whispered gossip, and I don’t want the humiliation. And while I couldn’t have anticipated how much I’d like my new job, the fact is, I do like it. A lot. And I’m good at it.

As I weigh all these options in my mind, we stand there, mere inches apart, staring at one another with a soul-exploring intensity. Hurley finally breaks the spell by swallowing hard, releasing my arm, and diverting his gaze.

“Okay,” he says, sounding resigned.

I want to shout out that it’s not okay, but the words stick in my throat.

After a few seconds, he looks at me again and smiles warmly. “I’m glad you’re all right, Winston. Get some sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that, he leans down and kisses me on the forehead. I close my eyes, resigned to our status and relishing his touch as a confirmation of life, our friendship, and our basic humanity. But then his kiss becomes something more when his lips linger a little longer than necessary. Eventually he pulls away, but not very far; I can feel the warmth of his breath on my face.

It’s a pivotal moment, and some distant part of my mind recognizes this and warns me to back away. But the majority of my mind is still recalling how close we both came to dying, and my body is overcome by a need for closeness—a yearning for touch—that affirmation of life.

Our hands touch, and I’m not sure which one of us made the move. Maybe we both did. Whichever it is, it’s enough to push me over the edge.

“Stay with me,” I whisper, my eyes still closed.

I hear a hitch in his breath, and he says, “I don’t think I can without taking this thing to the next level.”

“I know,” I whisper.

His breathing speeds up and his fingers lace themselves with mine. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice low.

I open my eyes then and look deep into his, knowing this is my last chance to back out. But I get lost in the dark blue depths of his eyes and my own burning need. “I’m sure.”

He needs no further coaxing. His lips descend on mine, soft yet crushing in his need. He pulls my body into his and wraps his arms around me. One hand cradles the back of my head as his tongue gently parts my lips and traces over my teeth. My loins are on fire, and not in a bad, fire ant way. I grind my hips against him in feverish need, feeling the hardness of him.

Our lips part and Hurley backs up enough to undo my jacket and slip it off. I do the same with his, and we let them fall to the floor. We start sidling our way toward my bedroom as Hurley grabs the bottom of my sweater and pulls it over my head. He tosses it aside as I attack the buttons on his shirt.