Lenny wasted no time in asking me about John’s condition and I told him what Conway had told me, which wasn’t much. The big picture was unchanged: The preacher would live or die and all the doctor could do was buy him time to see which it would be. This information didn’t seem to do much for Lenny. It didn’t do much for me either. The only difference between Lenny and me was I had built a small business out of buying people time while they waited and I’d pretty much given up on the idea of caring too much—at least when I could help it. Of course, sometimes, especially since Claire died, I had trouble shaking the notion that my customers and me were one and the same.
“You aren’t really going to try and get back to Price tonight, are you? That’s over a hundred miles.”
“I am,” I said. No one knew better than I did how far it was or the potential risks involved. “John needs more saline bags.” I thought about the kids. “And I need to get the cargo door on my trailer fixed.” I decided that moment I also just wanted to get the hell out of Rockmuse. There was a certain claustrophobic desperation floating around town along with the bad weather and it was a toss-up which one unsettled me more.
My stated reasons for hitting the road didn’t seem to sit any better with Lenny than the news about John. “You could stay the night with us. The sofa is pretty comfortable. The weather could be better tomorrow.”
“Or it could be worse. But thanks all the same.”
My truck was backed up to the loading dock of the Mercantile. Ordinarily I didn’t like anyone driving my truck. Under the circumstances it didn’t seem worth mentioning, not that I liked it any better. I opened the door to the pickup and Lenny caught my arm.
“I offloaded everything except the water containers. I couldn’t budge them, not even with the hydraulic dolly. Sorry.”
I responded with a shrug. “Check in on the preacher as often as you can,” I said. “I think Ginger will take good care of him but she’ll need a break now and then. I’ll get back as soon as I can. Don’t bother the doctor if you can help it. He’s—” I thought about how to describe him and said, “unpredictable. Letting him be might be considered a healthy choice.”
Lenny nodded his agreement and said, “What if you don’t get back?”
“Then you and Ginger and the town can switch to plan B.”
“What’s plan B?”
“Same as plan A,” I said, “only with more enthusiasm.” I slapped him on the shoulder. “Do the best you can with what you’ve got. Keep calling Life Flight.”
Phyllis was standing on her porch waiting for me by the time I got down her long driveway. I’d been gone a hell of a lot longer than the couple hours I’d told her. She wasn’t smiling and her arms were folded. The moment my boots hit the gravel I launched into my explanation about John getting hit and was starting on my apology.
She cut me off. “I know. I had to go into town to the Mercantile to get more formula for the baby. No need to apologize. How’s the preacher doing?”
I hit the high points, which were actually the low points, all without mentioning the doctor, as I followed her inside. Neither the girl nor the baby was anywhere to be seen or heard and the big house was quiet except for the wind.
She got right to the point: “I know you’re going back to Price. I’m begging you, Ben, please leave the children with me. I promise you I’ll take good care of them for as long as necessary.”
I hadn’t wanted to ask her and now that she was offering—insisting—I considered how Ginny would react if I showed up without her baby. I didn’t know a lot about mothers, or fathers for that matter, though it seemed safe to assume the babysitter should be able to produce the kid when the mother showed up. It was small comfort that I had warned Ginny that morning about forcing Annabelle on me for a bad day of driving 117. As for the girl, that decision was easier. I didn’t even know her father’s last name or how to reach him except for asking Cecil at the truck stop. I had a choice to make a smart decision and I was sure enough going to make it.
“Okay,” I said. The single phone lines from Rockmuse, which for some reason hugged the base of the mesa for two hundred miles instead of following 117, often went down during the winter. The phones went out during the summer too. “Is your phone working?”
Phyllis nodded. “It was an hour ago.”
I asked for a piece of paper and a pen. “I’m going to give you Ginny’s cell phone number. Soon as my taillights hit the end of your driveway, give her a call and tell her who you are, that you’re keeping her baby safe, and I’m on my way back.”
Phyllis rolled her blue eyes. The sternness in her face evaporated into a toothy, wry smile. “Why, Ben Jones,” she said, “you are a coward!”
I hadn’t thought about it that way. Maybe I didn’t know much about mothers, but I damn sure knew Ginny. “Yes, ma’am,” I said, “I am. Nothing brings out a cowardly streak in a man like anticipating the wrath of a woman.”
Phyllis produced the paper and pen and went into the kitchen. When she returned she held a thermos and a large sack she said contained sandwiches. “It might be a long trip.”
There was something else on her mind and I was willing to let it remain there and get on my way. I had my hand on the doorknob when she said, “How well do you know that girl’s father?”
I’d decided to try out the name I’d given her. “You mean Manita?”
Phyllis smiled. “Yes,” she said. “Manita.”
“Hardly at all,” I said, hoping that would be all there was to it. It wasn’t.
She touched my arm and lowered her voice. “Have you ever heard the saying ‘old soul’?”
I had heard it.
“But it’s more than that. It’s way more than that. She hasn’t said a word the whole afternoon. Hasn’t tried to communicate verbally or otherwise with me at all. She was wearing clean new clothes but she was filthy beyond description so I gave her a bath. You said you thought she and her father were in the country illegally—maybe that’s what it is but…” As eager as I was to leave, I waited for her to continue. “Do you know why I was sent to prison?”
“You kidnapped your grandchildren.”
“Do you know why?”
“I guess you had your reasons and I always guessed they were damn good reasons.”
“I thought so. Still do. Both my grandson and granddaughter were being abused. My daughter had her trust fund and all the drugs and the life that went with it. She still fought me in the courts and finally just taking them was all I could do to protect them. She never married their fathers and neither one was ever in their lives or wanted to be. Some men die in childbirth. There was no way to know who in Sheila’s sick little entourage was hurting her children. She died of a drug overdose when I was in prison and I brought them with me back here when I got out.”
“Are you saying you think she’s being abused?”
“Maybe. I’m over sixty and when I look into her eyes I get this feeling. It’s hard to explain. That child knows more and has seen more than I can imagine. Maybe more than I could stand to imagine.”
“What do you want me to do?” I asked. “If I don’t get her back to her father the INS will probably deport her. Or at best she’ll end up with Social Services. Maybe, if she’s lucky, in a foster home for a while. I didn’t want to take her in the first place. I had to get on the road this morning and I didn’t have time to call the cops. It’s none of my business.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “For right now just let her stay with me as long as you can. And don’t be in a hurry to return her to her father. After all, he dumped her on you, practically a stranger, at a truck stop.”
“And your husband?” I asked. “Did he die in childbirth too?”
“No,” Phyllis said. “He couldn’t wait that long.”
She followed me out onto the porch. “I’ll keep the dog too.”
I’d forgotten all about the dog. “Thanks.”
“No choice. That dog isn’t going anywhere without the girl. I have always loved dogs and I’ve had a few over the years. I like cats but I love dogs. If you have a dog you have company. With a cat you’re still alone. I can only guess about the girl.” She corrected herself. “Manita. The dog on the other hand is an open book. You try to separate him from the girl and that book will turn you into raw meat.”
“You’re not wrong,” I said. “And thank you again.” I leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Make that call, please. If I had to choose between crossing that dog and crossing Ginny I’d choose the dog. When the blood and crying were done there’d be a sight more left of me.”
“You know, Ben, you can explain all day about why you took that little girl this morning. I think you’re full of it. I think you took her because you just couldn’t bring yourself to leave her there.”
When I didn’t respond Phyllis returned inside and closed the door. The click of the deadbolt being turned hit me like a slap and left me nowhere to go but out on 117. Even with what I knew was waiting for me in the desert, there was no escaping the truth: I was filled with a guilty joy to get behind the wheel again and just drive.