The world froze, a virtual whiteout. No sound. No color. No air as Paula waited, stunned, unable to move. Colt’s left leg jutted out at an unnatural angle. People did not die of broken legs. The thought flew through her mind. But it seemed a lifetime before Colt stirred. That small movement sent her scrambling to her feet. A sob in her throat, she stumbled the few yards to his right side. What little she knew about simple first aid came into play: “Lie still, Colt! Don’t move!”
Colt opened dazed eyes and gazed past her. His expression was so placid, so peaceful, she looked over her shoulder to see what had wrought such an expression. There was nothing to see. He began to struggle.
“You have to lie still! Help’s on the way!” Arms splayed, Paula planted her hands on either side of his head to keep him from moving.
A shudder worked through him. His lashes fell, closing her out. A trembling hand muffled Paula’s despairing moan. She could see his chest moving. He was still breathing. But the September sunlight couldn’t hold back the encroaching darkness of a time before. The screaming tires of the sedan finding asphalt, the sirens of help wailing to the scene faded to the black vortex of a rainy night thirteen years in the past and the head-on collision that shattered Paula’s white-picket-fence world. One car carried her parents to their death. The second, moving a little too fast for conditions, was driven by a man who gave and broke vows in heart-jerking succession and went away without warning or explanation. It was the man whose head now rested in her lap.
Paula’s eyes filled. How could there, after all these years, be tears left for him? She struggled to stem the tide and pull herself together as sirens heralded arriving emergency vehicles. Care was administered to Colt in a calm, professional, painstaking way that made moments stretch like weeks.
Paula couldn’t stop shaking. She couldn’t stop crying. Dimly she was aware that the young off-duty officer was now joined by uniformed men. It was surreal, the blood, the flashing lights, the EMT’s modulated voices dropping like petals into the tumult of her mind. She moved aside as they loaded Colt for transport.
“We don’t want him getting agitated. Talk to him, Mrs. Blake.” An EMT helped her in after them. “Help him stay calm. Take his hand.”
Paula had forgotten what a broad hand it was. But not the shape and texture of his fingers, or the familiarity of them curling around hers. She lowered her face to his with a hushed and urgent, “Dear God, help him!”
Colt stirred, struggling to open his eyes. “Am I dying?”
“Don’t say that!” She brushed grass clippings from Colt’s scarred jaw, a gesture as spontaneous as hugging a wounded child. “You’re in good hands. God’s hands.”
“I can’t get my breath,” he rasped.
“Lord, fill his lungs,” prayed Paula. “Give him air. Help us, Lord.” Her voice broke. Fresh tears splashed on their entwined fingers.
Colt squeezed her hand. “You left the water running…get a washer for that spigot….”
He trailed off. His hand went limp in hers. Paula lifted fear-filled eyes to the middle-aged EMT.
“Fade out on you again?” he said soothingly. “Just keep praying. Don’t fold on us now. Hospital’s just two minutes away.”
Paula saw the color seep from Colt’s face until his scarred skin went from ashen to almost transparent. Parted for all these years, only to be brought together for—
She wrested the thought from her mind. Colt’s breath came shallow and labored. Time was compressed into an undulating ambulance scream. And then they were there.
Hospital personnel ushered Paula to one side and gave her papers to sign even as Colt was rolled into emergency. Paula didn’t impede progress with explanations of their thirteen-year estrangement. She gripped the pen in cold fingers and scanned the rigid print, looking for the dotted line.
A police detective introduced himself as Detective Scott Browning. He said that Paula’s assailant, an ex-convict by the name of Hunter Cates, was in custody, but that the hit-and-run driver was still at large.
“Traffic was blocked. The sidewalk was the only escape route. I don’t know if the guy just panicked, or if he didn’t care who got in the way, just so long as he escaped.” Paula gave her account of what had happened.
“If I’d only reacted more quickly! Colt saw me freeze. If it weren’t for him…” The knot grew too large for her throat and found release in fresh tears.
Detective Browning gave her time to collect her composure, then asked, “Tell me what you recall about the driver.”
“I didn’t really see him. He stayed in the car.”
“He didn’t participate in the fight at all?”
“No, thank God! That thug didn’t need any help. I thought he’d kill Colt!” Paula shuddered.
Detective Browning pressed for details. Paula spilled the whole story about being in Monique’s apartment with Colt, about the gunfire, hiding beneath the house as the men tramped through, searching, and how she and Colt fled without talking to the police to mail a postcard.
“What postcard?”
Unclear on the details, Paula repeated to the best of her memory what Colt had said about the postcard disproving Burwell’s alibi in regard to a murder, the particulars of which she had no clue.
“And your husband mailed it to whom?”
“I don’t know, he didn’t say.”
“But the card belonged to Mrs. Burwell?” asked the detective.
“Burwell, Lockwood, whatever her name is,” said Paula.
She repeated Colt’s explanation for fleeing the scene, and what little she knew about his assignment for Profile Magazine.
“That’s all I know,” Paula said. “Maybe if you could reach Monique…or Colt’s publisher… Someone must be familiar with his assignment.”
A physician stepped into the waiting room to say that Colt had multiple injuries, including a bruised lung and that he had lost a good deal of blood from a chest puncture—he had landed on a lot pin protruding from the ground. His left leg, which had not healed properly from a previous break, needed immediate attention. Dimly, Paula heard him say that he would take bone from another part of Colt’s body in hopes that it would reknit itself and mend properly this time, correcting his limp.
Detective Browning accompanied Paula to the surgical wing, then gave her his pager number should she remember anything else that might be helpful.
“We retrieved this from Cates.” Detective Browning withdrew Paula’s cell phone from his pocket.
Paula thanked him, and when he had gone, tried to call Jake at Shelby’s apartment. But the battery was dead. She found a pay phone, got in touch with Jake, explained what had happened and asked him to pick up her car from the garage where it had been towed.
“You want me to bring Joy to the hospital?” Jake offered.
“No, not yet. They’re taking him into surgery now. His left leg is broken, his chest is punctured and he has lung injuries. I don’t know how long they’ll be.”
“I’ll drop your car by, and wait with you,” offered Jake.
“That’s not necessary,” Paula protested out of a sense of indebtedness to Jake, who was always there when she needed someone to lean on. “Just take my car to Shelby’s. Break the news to Joy. Tell her I’ll call as soon as I know more.”
“You don’t have to stay. You don’t owe the guy a thing,” Jake reasoned.
“I know,” Paula sniffed.
“So why are you crying?”
“Emotional whiplash. My eyes started dripping this morning when I realized Joy was missing, and I can’t seem to get them to stop. I’m out of change, I have to go.”
Paula retreated to the rest room to wash her aching eyes. Her suit was wrinkled and smudged. The knees of her nylons were shredded. And her hair was riotous. She tamed her flaming tresses, peeled off her ruined hosiery and smoothed her clothes as best she could, giving thanks all the while for Jake.
Over the years, as she raised Joy and shared the family sign business, Jake was her safety net. Now Shelby was the light of his life. There was no reason for him to come to the hospital and await word on the condition of a man the Jackson family had written off a long time ago. Herself included.
Or at least she thought she had. Tears welled. Take the fear. Take the confusion. Oh God, hold my hand.
The plea brought to mind a favorite hymn, which had been penned by the songwriter in the shadow of death. For the believer, death was just a shadow. Her hope in the living light that lay beyond the shadows had comforted her greatly following the loss of her devout parents. Joy had recently accused her of blaming Colt for their deaths. That wasn’t true. Shamed by the extremes it took to stir her to pray for Colt, and not just about him and the brokenness he had left behind, Paula found her way to the hospital chapel. The words of the ministering hand-holding lyrics flowed from her heart and mind, a prayer to the throne of God.
Visiting hours came and went as soft-footed as the handful of people who slipped in and out of the hushed chapel. Petition gave way to simple worship.
A hospital volunteer sought her out to say that Colt’s surgeon would meet her in the lounge adjoining the intensive care unit. Once there, Paula learned from Dr. Sandrelli that Colt had come through surgery well. He would spend a few hours in ICU where he could be closely monitored.
“He’s going to make it, then?” Paula asked.
“Barring unforeseen circumstances, yes, I expect him to make a full recovery. Better than new, provided the leg surgery is successful,” replied Dr. Sandrelli. “Come, you can see him a moment.”
He ushered Paula into intensive care and to Colt’s bedside. One glimpse, and Paula’s eyes filled again. Colt’s leg was wrapped, braced and elevated. The top of his hospital gown was folded forward at the waist, exposing a bandaged chest. As she absorbed the bruises and scrapes and cuts and tubes and monitors recording she wasn’t sure what, there rose from the dust of crucified memory a specter of a golden-haired, gray-eyed handsome young man who had life by the tail.
Paula had been a senior in high school, working part-time for the family sign business and saving for college when Colt showed up in Liberty Flats, asking questions about a recent train derailment and a resulting chemical spill, the cleanup of which created a controversy.
Dr. Sandrelli lifted one of Colt’s eyelids. Looking on, Paula recalled in vivid detail the light dancing in those same gray eyes the morning she stepped out on the front porch in response to the bell. She remembered, too, her astonishment and how she had gawked and blurted, “The Voyager! I’m gonna faint.”
She didn’t. But she did have a hard time understanding why a rising star in the advertising world would want to moonlight as a freelance writer.
From that moment forward, she was captivated by the romantic fantasy of Colt stepping down off his billboard to rescue her from a commonplace future with her family’s struggling business in their sleepy little farming community.
In those bygone days, Paula was as headstrong as Joy ever thought of being. She ignored the cautionary counsel of her parents to rest on the decision and give the relationship time to grow before committing herself to Colt for life. She skipped college, and on the heels of a whirlwind romance wed the prince of bill board and moved with him to Chicago. But her expectations of an idyllic marriage ended on the dark rainy night that she lost both her parents.
Ironically, the mundane life, the town she had been so eager to escape turned out to be the catch net when the three people she loved most were abruptly gone, one by choice.
Why had he left?
She had an illogical impulse to touch Colt’s cheek, as if the mystery lay in unraveling the maze of scars. She fought it, hands clenched at her sides, and backed away.
The doctor took it as a cue. He ushered her out of ICU and patted her shoulder. “He’s heavily sedated. Why don’t you go home and get some sleep? I’ll leave word that you’re to be called, should he awaken and ask for you.”
Paula knew that wouldn’t happen, but it was easier to leave her number than to explain. She phoned Shelby’s apartment, hoping to catch Jake before he left for the motel where he was staying the night. But Paula had already missed him.
“Spend the night here,” Shelby invited.
“Are you sure? I hate to impose,” hedged Paula.
“Nonsense. It’s the least I can do for family.”
Family? “So Jake popped the question and you said yes? Oh, Shelby! That’s terrific! Jake must be over the moon!” Paula struggled to rise to the occasion on the heels of a day that defied description.
“I hope so. I know I am. I’ll tell you all about it when you get here,” said Shelby. “Hold on, don’t hang up. Joy wants to talk to you.”
“Mom?” Joy’s anxious voice filled her ears. “How’s Dad?”
Paula related Dr. Sandrelli’s words as best she could.
“Can I come see him?” Joy pleaded.
“He’s sleeping, Joy. Anyway, we need to talk first. What you did was irresponsible and dangerous.” Paula took her daughter gently but firmly to task.
“I just wanted to see Dad. What’s so wrong about that?” whined Joy.
“It’s the way you went about it that was wrong,” said Paula.
“I was careful. I sat right behind the bus driver,” reasoned Joy. “I didn’t talk to any strangers. And when things didn’t work out, I looked up Shelby. Nothing bad happened.”
“To you. Nothing bad happened to you,” Paula said quietly.
“It’s my fault, isn’t it?” Abruptly Joy’s self-defense gave way to tears. “Daddy wouldn’t be hurt now if I hadn’t come looking for him.”
“That’s not what I meant,” protested Paula, stricken by Joy’s guilt. “I’ll see you in a little bit and we’ll talk it over, okay?”
“You’re leaving Dad there all by himself?”
“There’s nothing more I can do for him. He’s getting excellent care,” reasoned Paula.
“I wouldn’t want to be left at the hospital without any family. Would you?” asked Joy in reproach.
Why was it that lately she could never find the right words to explain herself to Joy? Weary to the bone, Paula’s resolve crumbled. “All right, then. If it’s important to you, I’ll stay.”
“Thanks, Mom. I heard Shelby tell you that she and Uncle Jake are getting married,” said Joy.
“Yes.” Encouraged that Joy should bring it up, she said, “I hope you can be happy for Jake. He’s waited a long time for the right woman.”
“Shelby’s okay, I guess. Did she tell you she gave me her story?”
“The one you hacked into? Oh, Joy! You can’t keep it! It wouldn’t be right.”
“You’re not listening, Mom. She couldn’t finish it. She wants me to. It isn’t like I asked,” said Joy indignantly.
“That’s very gracious of her,” began Paula. “But I really think you should return it.”
“And say what? That I don’t want it? That would be kind of rude, don’t you think?” Joy countered.
Head throbbing, Paula felt incapable of further thought. It was no time to be making decisions, anyway. “I’ll rest on it. You’d better, too,” she added.
“Whatever,” said Joy.
“I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Paula hung up feeling emotionally tattered. But, there was one positive note—Joy seemed to being getting past her fear of losing her standing with Jake. Or was she simply looking ahead, making room for Colt?
The thought caught Paula off guard. She hadn’t consciously made the decision to yield to Colt any rights, paternal or otherwise. What had changed? Nothing, except that he wasn’t a homeless derelict. Which in no way recommended him as a father.
At midnight a nurse came with pillows for the handful of people keeping an overnight vigil in ICU’s visitor’s lounge. Paula tried to shut down the mental treadmill and get some sleep. At length, exhaustion proved her friend. She dozed until morning.
Gritty-eyed and sluggish, Paula made her way to the ladies’ room. A long look in a short mirror did little for her intestinal fortitude. She splashed water on her face, tamed her bright hair with a comb and damp fingers and fished through her purse for the toothbrush she had received following her dentist appointment last week.
Upon her return, a nurse beckoned Paula to Colt’s bedside. “He had a good night,” she said, and pulled a curtain.
It was a token gesture. There was no shutting out the sterile scents and unnerving sounds of human frailties and electronic wizardry within the glass-and-stainless-steel world of ICU.
Colt’s eyes were closed and underscored by bruises. His face was puffy. A shave would be a painstaking process, dodging his scrapes and cuts. His nose was swollen. His split lip was puffy too. Then there was the matter of his leg. But at least his color was better. His slate-gray eyes fluttered open.
Ill at ease with the role thrust upon her just by virtue of having kept the vigil, Paula asked, “How are you feeling?”
“Rough,” he said, his voice a husky whisper. “You’re here about Joy. Or did we already have that talk?”
“No, it can wait until you’re feeling better.”
“Did they catch the guy?”
“The driver?” Encouraged by his clarity of thought, Paula said, “No. Not the last I heard.”
“Burwell’s behind it.”
While his mental capabilities seemed unhampered, his voice was a slender thread. Taking care not to bump the bed, Paula leaned closer, straining to catch his soft words: “He wants the card.”
“You mean the postcard you mailed? I told Detective Browning about that, and what little else I knew,” said Paula.
“Card is on the book cover…graphics cover the postmark. But the original is valuable evidence.”
His words faded in and out. Paula wasn’t certain she understood him correctly. “Did you say book cover?”
“Wish You Were Here. It’s a travel book. Parnell Press. Jake’s girlfriend edited it.”
“You mean Shelby?”
Colt nodded, a barely perceptible motion that dulled his eyes with pain. “She’ll have copies. Bring one,” he said, his voice down to a thread.
“You know Shelby?”
“No.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will.”
Her ear was just inches from his mouth and still, Paula wasn’t certain she had heard him correctly. Sandpaper whiskers snagged a loose tendril of her hair. Discomfited, she tucked the red strand behind her ears, and thought once again of Joy.
“I know I said we should work through some things first. Concerning Joy, I mean. But she’s eager to see you, and very worried. It’s going to be difficult to put her off. So let me know when you feel up to a visit.”
“Right away,” he urged in a spent whisper. “Hurry back.”
Paula swung around as the curtain was whisked open and the nurse stepped into view.
“Doctor is here to see Mr. Blake.” She arched a professional smile in Paula’s direction and added kindly, “We’ll be moving your husband into a private room shortly and you can have a real visit.”