54

WHEN FIELDING OPENED HIS EYES IT WAS TO A PRETTY NURSE with dark brown hair and eyes the color of almonds.

Good morning, she said. Nice to see those eyes open for a change.

Fielding’s voice croaked. He cleared his throat. He tried again.

Where am I?

St Peter’s.

Did I die?

The nurse smiled.

You tried to, she said.

But yeh wouldn’t let me.

A few of us wouldn’t let you.

He looked out the hospital window. It was sunny and the sky was blue. Seagulls wheeling about in all that blue like scraps of bleached paper. There was water in the distance and beyond that mountains the color of coal.

So where is St Peter’s?

Seattle, the nurse said.

How’d I get to Seattle?

An ambulance.

She was going about her tasks. Talking as she worked. She changed a bag of clear liquid in his IV drip.

What’s that yer givin me?

Morphine.

It’s doin the trick.

No pain?

Fielding shook his head.

Floatin on air, sweetheart.

Good.

What’s yer name?

Maddie.

That’s a nice name.

My parents think so too.

How old are yeh?

Twenty-four.

Twenty-four.

Yes sir.

That’s young.

She gave him a look.

I didn’t mean too young, he said. I didn’t mean to imply yeh don’t know what yer doin.

She smiled. Her smile was warm. When she looked at him the whites of her eyes reminded him of the moon and how bright the moon looks when it comes out from behind a cloud.

So you’re the one to thank, she said.

Thank? Thank for what?

You put an end to it all? That’s what they’re saying anyway.

Not me.

But you had a part in it.

I wouldn’t say that either.

What would you say then?

I would say I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

If that’s true then he’d still be out there. Thank you, she said. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say.

Can I tell yeh somethin?

Sure.

My wife and I were married for forty-nine years.

That’s a long time.

Yes it is, Fielding said. Not long enough though.

That’s sweet.

Yeh married?

No.

Got a sweetheart?

Yeah.

What’s he do?

He wants to be a writer.

A writer?

Uh-huh.

He any good?

Yeah.

Not much money in that.

That doesn’t matter.

Yes it does.

No it doesn’t.

Why not?

Because he loves me.

That makes sense. Yeh say that yet? The words.

The I love you words?

All three of em.

Yeah.

Yeh mean it?

Yeah. We mean it.

That’s nice. It’s the only thing that’s really worth a damn.

What was your wife’s name?

Sara.

I like that name.

So do I.

They heard a knock at the door. A soft tapping. They turned to look. It was Wilson. Wilson smiled as though he was unsure if he should even be smiling. He entered the room. The nurse said, I’ll be right outside if you need me.

Wilson nodded at her as she passed him. He stepped toward the bed.

How you doing?

I don’t know yet, Fielding said.

I spoke with the doctor.

What’d the doc have to say?

Says you’re recovering well.

What does that mean?

Means you’re recovering well.

How about Thompson? Dee? How they doin?

Fine, Wilson said. Both are fine. The girl’s going to have a long road, but at least she’s safe.

Doesn’t seem real, does it.

No, Wilson said. Rarely does.

Thanks for comin when yeh did.

I tried to get there sooner.

Fielding shrugged.

How’d yeh even know where to go?

That tape. Watched it till I nearly wore it out. Then I went to talk to Dee about it. His wife was there and told me you and him went down south together. So I got in the car.

You were there on a hunch?

Yes.

And all them officers?

Hunch.

Good hunch.

Got Price in on it too.

The chief?

Yes. He was all tangled up in it. He was trafficking minors for this Noon guy. Found him dead in his house. Self-inflicted gunshot wound.

Shot himself?

Yeah.

I’ll be danged.

Yeah.

How about them three in the cellar? Fielding asked. What was with all that?

Distraction, Wilson said. A game for him.

To throw us off?

No, Wilson said. Just a game. Pure amusement.

Shoulda told yeh about that tape sooner, Fielding said. Sorry about that.

That’s okay. I pieced things together. It worked out. That’s all that matters now.

Fielding turned his head to the window. Looked out at all the blue sky. He said, Wish I could unsee it all. Every little piece of it. Just wipe it clean. But yeh can’t do that, can yeh?

No you can’t.

Fielding turned back and Wilson held out his hand and Fielding shook it.

For the sake of the world, Wilson said, I hope this is goodbye.

Yeah, Fielding said. Let’s stay strangers for a while.

Wilson nodded and left the room and Fielding knew he would never see him again. The nurse came back in. She said, Friend of yours?

Yeah, Fielding said. Barely even know the guy.

She came over and checked his vitals.

This drip stand have wheels? Fielding asked.

Wheels?

Yeh mind if we go for a little walk?

You feel up to it?

Yeh’ll be the second to know if I ain’t.

She helped him out of the bed. He put his feet into a cheap pair of hospital slippers. He held the drip stand for balance.

Okay? she asked.

Think so.

They walked slowly out of the room. Down the hall. They passed open doors with patients watching television. Patients asleep. Passed patients in the hall stretching their legs just like him. He was reading the names on the doors. When he got to BATEY he stopped. The door was open a crack. Fielding knocked on it.

It’s open, Batey called.

He turned when Fielding entered and just sat there shaking his head. Fielding found a chair near the bed.

I’ll give you boys some time, the nurse said.

When she left Batey and Fielding stared at each other for a long time. Then Fielding nodded and shuffled over to the window.

Wilson come to see yeh?

Batey nodded. You?

Yeah.

It’s over, isn’t it?

Yeah, Fielding said. It’s over.

I don’t remember any of it, Batey said.

Wilson said yeh wouldn’t.

He started to tell me, Batey said, but I stopped him. Told him so long as the girl was okay and healthy and nothing happened to her then I don’t want to know.

Fielding nodded.

How are you? Batey asked.

Fielding shrugged.

I feel like I’ve just woken up from a dream. Like all the rain and darkness and all of it was just a dream.

He looked out the window.

Has the sun ever looked this bright to yeh? he asked.

Mighty bright.

What do yeh think is over those mountains there? Fielding said.

I suspect the Pacific Ocean.

And what’s after that?

After the Pacific?

Yeah.

I suppose it’s Asia.

And then what?

After Asia?

Yeah.

Is this a geography lesson?

What’s after Asia?

Europe, I guess.

And then the Atlantic, Fielding said.

Then the Atlantic.

Then yeh hit America again.

The Big Apple, Batey said.

Yeah, Fielding said. And past New York is Pennsylvania and Ohio and then Indiana and Illinois. And then yer back to Iowa.

You can see all that out that window?

I came out here because all I could see back there was Sara. All I wanted to do was run away from it all. Sara’s memory. That whole life. But that’s just it, partner. There’s too much of her back there. There’s too much I left behind. I left because everything I saw or heard or did reminded me of her and to be reminded like that, that intensely, every second of every day felt like too much. But now I realize that’s not a thing. Being reminded too much. If it’s a toss-up between being constantly reminded or forgettin her altogether, I’ll take the misery of rememberin. The memory of her might as well be that sun. Shines that bright.

Fielding pointed a weary finger. He squinted one eye. Tapped the tip of his finger against the plate glass several times.

And without the sun, he said, yeh ain’t got a thing.

We’d hate to see you go, Batey said. If that’s what you’re getting at.

I ain’t goin, Fielding said. Not really. No one is ever really gone.

Batey watched Fielding’s back. Out beyond the window seagulls were cast about. Watercolor images of the birds on a stretched blue sheet of cotton.