Slate (Rebel Wayfarers MC) (2 page)

Medical equipment surrounded the head of the bed, each wavering control screen adding a green or blue hue to the light in the room. The oxygen machine created a humming noise, not unlike the slushy machine in the Stop-n-Go in town. The cannula—he’d been learning all the right words to describe the equipment, so he could more easily explain to someone over the phone when something was malfunctioning—was in position on Daddy’s face. His eyes swept to the next machine and he saw the problem; the IV had stopped dripping.

Picking up his dad’s arm, he saw the large, swollen spot that told him the intravenous needle had slipped free of the vein in his arm, depositing the necessary medicines and fluid into the muscle, instead of the more readily absorbed blood vein. “Mom, can you get another IV kit? This vein has blown,” he said over his shoulder as he approached the bed. Picking up a small notebook that had a pen attached by a string, he made a note of the problem in their logbook.

Peeling back the tape from the existing needle site, he shut off the medicine and carefully removed the needle from his dad’s arm. Dropping the used tubing into the trash, he put the needle part into the special container—the Sharps container—which protected them from accidently getting stuck by used needles. After seeing what hepatitis had done to his dad, he sure didn’t want it, and was always careful with things that needed to go in that container.

“Hey, Daddy, how you doin’ this mornin’?” he asked as he worked. “You gonna let me know if I hurt you, right?” He always asked that and Daddy never said ‘boo’, so like every other time, he kept working on the task at hand. “Sunrise was pretty today; the sky was all pinks and oranges. Sure was nice. We’ve got a dozen head that went up the hill to old Mr. Jenison’s place, so we’ll have to be bringing them back home.” He continued quietly, “Nash and I will go. We’re gonna have to take the rifles; there have been varmints around lately, and I don’t want to mess with them.”

He paused,
and then asked, “Mom, can you open—thanks.” Interrupting himself, he’d looked over mid-statement and saw she’d opened the package and had everything he needed ready. Looking for a better place to start the next IV, Andy ran his fingers gently up and down his dad’s arms, pausing at a place on the back of his wrist. “We haven’t used this spot for more than a week, Daddy.” He checked the logbook to make sure, with a quick-spoken, “Whacha think?”

When it came, the response was in a voice so gravelly with disuse it startled him, “Looks good, son.”

Making quick work of cleaning the spot with an alcohol pad, Andy tenderly used the rubber tourniquet like the nurses had showed him, and deftly inserted the needle. He set it at the proper depth, anchoring it with strips of tape his mom had already torn off. Using a syringe of sterile liquid
to flush the line, Andy made sure he had a good stick—that’s what the nurses called it, a ‘good stick’—and then he connected the tubing. Checking the logbook again, he set the machine to the correct dosage, made a note of what he’d done, and put the logbook back down on the table.

“Mom, what time is the ambulance coming to pick you guys up today?” he asked over his shoulder. Watching his dad’s face, he asked, “Need to go pot, Daddy?” When his dad nodded, he moved the bedpan into position and effortlessly lifted his dad’s wasted body onto it. “Pee, too?” His dad shook his head. “Dokies, I’m right here,” he said, and he turned his back on his dad, giving him the illusion of privacy.

Andy realized his mom hadn’t answered him, and he looked into her face, “What time, Mom? I want to make sure I’ll be back before you leave.” She shook her head at him, whispering, “No ambulance, Andy. We’re staying here. Doctor said it won’t be long enough to warrant the pain he would feel if we moved him.”

His knees went weak and he took in a deep breath, blowing it out in a quavering rush. Another deep breath, he held it for a secon
d or two as his eyes closed then blew it out steadily. Opening his eyes, he looked at his mother standing helplessly in the middle of the room. “What do you need me to do, Mom?”

***

Andy stood with his head bowed against the wind, his hand securing his hat in place. His other hand was cradling Ben’s head against his hip, holding him tightly. The wind was fierce today, gusting across the open spaces; the clouds were gray and dense, streamers of darkness crawling across the sky.

Benny’s form was swallowed up by an old suit of Andy’s, the shoulders of the jacket draping across his body and the arms way too long. Andy had on one of his father’s suits; the cuffs showed inches of sleeve, and were frayed and worn, while the shoulders were too tight across his back, causing the lapels to gape.

His mom stood on his other side, her arms wrapping around herself, fingernails clutching at her dark dress. Some of her hair had escaped the pins that held it in a bun at the back of her head, and wisps and strands whipped around her face wildly in the wind. She never looked at the preacher who was reading his dad’s obituary, but stared stoically at the casket sitting in front of them.

Andy looked around, seeing the ranchers who had come to pay respect to Allen Jones and his widow, Susan. All their old hands were there too, hats in hand, listening to the preacher talk. Andy reached up and took off his hat, belatedly taking his cue from Nash, who was standing right behind him. Nash had been running things for the past couple of days since Daddy passed.

Ben’s shoulders started to hitch, and Andy pulled him in front of him, turning him against his legs so Ben couldn’t see the coffin any longer. He held him like that for the rest of the service, and then helped him pick up a handful of wet dirt to drop it into the hole after the funeral home people had lowered the casket.

Nash was there with a damp bandana to help clean up Ben’s hands. Andy shook his head; he hadn’t thought about that, but what kid wants to keep his daddy’s funeral dirt on their hands? He needed to take better care of his brother.

Andy waited for his mom by the truck, letting her say her ‘goodbyes’ and ‘thank yous’ to the folks standing around in the cemetery. He’d boosted Ben up into the seat and was watching the shrimp lose his battle with sleep. His brother’s eyes were drooping, and his head had nearly fallen over on his slender neck stalk, like a flower in heavy rain.

A warm hand clamped down on his shoulder, and Andy turned to see Nash holding him at arm’s length. “You doin’ okay, Andy?” he asked.

Andy nodded. “Well, as can be expected, I think. Momma coming?”

Nash shook his head. “She’s headed over to your GeeMa and GeePa’s place with them. I came to help get you home, but we need to drop Benny off with them first.”

Andy nodded and opened the door to clamber across Ben and into the cab, leaving the keys in the ignition. “Would you drive, Nash? I don’t wanna today.” Sitting with his arm around his brother, looking out the window past the mirror, Andy bounced and swayed easily with the motion of the vehicle as they jounced through the ruts in the road.

“Nash, you gonna stay on with the new owners of the ranch?” Andy asked, turning and looking at him. He’d asked this question every day for two weeks, and the answer had been noncommittal each time. “I just wanna know if you’re gonna be there, if you can stay.”

Nash nodded. “Yeah, Andy, I’m staying.”

Turning back to the window, Andy replied absently, “Good. That’s good, Nash. I’m glad you’ll still be on the place.”

They pulled up in front of his dad’s parents’ house, and he saw GeeMa was waiting on the porch. Opening the door, he slid out of the truck, reaching back in for Ben. Draping his little brother’s sleeping body across his chest, he had one arm around Ben’s back and one around his hips, carrying the child like a sack of potatoes. GeeMa looked past him to Nash, asking, “Where is she, son?”

Andy looked from his grandmother to his mentor; something was going on, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to be happy about it. “Where is who, GeeMa?”

“Your momma, Andy, she was supposed to ride with you,” she said tartly.

“Nash said she was riding with you and GeePa,” he said. He hitched Ben’s body up because he’d lost his hold a little; his arms were beginning to get tired. “Let me lay Benny down; I’ll be right back out.”

He came out and the truck was gone, Nash with it. Standing in the front yard, he looked left and then right, thinking maybe Nash had parked the truck somewhere. Nope, Nash was gone. “GeeMa, where did Nash go? I have chores to get done before dark.”

She came up behind him, rubbing his shoulders lightly. “Nash is taking care of your chores tonight; he’ll be back in the morning to pick you up.”

“Oh, okay.” He chewed on his lip, looking at the ground. “Where’s Momma?”

“She’s visiting with some friends, Andy; she’ll be along directly,” his grandmother said as she turned away from him.

He stayed like that for a minute, looking down at the rocky soil of the yard. Nodding his head, he took one stiff step, and then another unbending one towards the house. Slowly following his grandmother inside, he looked around, and then lifted his head to ask, “GeeMa, what do you need me to do?”

2 -
   
Susan’s journey

Eighteen
years ago

“Andy, I’m dropping her off in ten minutes, son,” came through the phone as soon as he answered.

“Thanks,” was all he said in response, severing the connection quickly. A few minutes later, Andy walked outside and stood on the small back stoop of their rental house, watching his mom weave her way up the driveway. Her shoes were in one hand, her purse in the other, and Andy could see the smeared lipstick on her face. He waved at Nash idling in the street, and watched him drive away.

Andy stepped off the stoop and met her halfway, holding up his hand to halt her progress towards the house. “Benny’s sleeping, Mom. You’re gonna need to keep it quiet so he can sleep. He’s got a test tomorrow,” he said, shaking his head.

Susan Jones stood swaying in the driveway, her feet betraying her with a sideways step occasionally, trying to find an elusive balance, even though she was no longer walking. “Benny won’t mind if I wake him up for a kiss,” she said with a smile. “He loves his Momma.”

Andy closed his eyes, blowing his breath out through tensed lips. “Mom, he’s sleeping and needs his rest. Here, gimme your shoes and I’ll carry ‘em.” Looking down and chewing on his lip, he asked, “Who’d you go out with tonight?”

She gave another one of those little sideways steps, and he reached out to grip her arm and keep her upright. “Nash took me home, Andy.” Frustrated, he shook his head. “Yeah, he called; I know he brought you home, but who were you with?”

She looked at him puzzled and he shook his head. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. Is Nash still working on the ranch?”

“I think so. We don’t talk much about that,” she muttered, continuing her weaving walk towards the house.

“I picked up a job at the feed mill, second shift.” He had her shoes now, and tucked her hand into his elbow, helping her walk more confidently.

“That’s good, Andy,” she replied, but she seemed puzzled. “I thought you worked at the school and the grocery store?” Looking into his face, she asked, “You quitting one of those?”

“Naw, the other two are just part-time. I can work their hours around what’s needed at the feed mill,” he lied, knowing that he’d get caught out eventually, but she was pretty blotto tonight, so she might not even remember.

He guided her through the house, attempting to reduce the noise she made. Once in her bedroom, Andy undressed his mother and pulled a nightshirt over her head. He got her into bed, and then tucked her in, kissing her forehead before he turned off the light. Seven-year-old Ben slept through it all, thankfully.

Andy’s alarm went off to wake Ben for breakfast and school, and he had started the coffee and oatmeal before he roused his brother. Up and awake, they chatted through their morning ritual, Andy reminding him to gather his homework as he finished packing his book bag for the bus. Walking to the bus stop, Andy looked over at the tarp-covered dirt bike leaning against the shed in the backyard. He hadn’t been able to ride it for a long time, and he wondered if maybe it was finally time to sell the bike. They could use the money, for sure.

Not long before his shift at the grocery store, Nash and GeeMa showed up at the house. It felt like an ambush, because they said they didn’t want to see his mom—they wanted to talk to Andy. This scared him, because he thought he’d been doing a great job of keeping everything together. The house was clean, there was food in the pantry, and it had been months since their electricity had been turned off. He was taking care of his family, even if he’d had to quit high school so he could work and bring in money to keep them fed and clothed. He sat anxiously, waiting to find out what they wanted.

Nash pulled up a chair to the kitchen table and sat silently, tapping on the tabletop nervously. “Andy, you understand what a tough time your momma’s having,” GeeMa began, “but she’s crossed a line now. I don’t want you to be mad, but I think your brother should come live with me and GeePa.”

“What did she do, GeeMa?” he looked at her, but she pursed her lips and looked away, so he turned to look at the man sitting at the table, “Nash, what happened?”

“Betty, the boy deserves to know,” Nash growled, and Andy watched his grandmother nod sadly. Nash said, “Son, you stopped giving her money for drinking like we talked about, didn’t you?”