CHAPTER

35

IT WAS GOING TO SNOW. Of that there was no doubt. The sky was a ghostly off-white, still and heavy. David studied it as he drove back to Slut’s Hole from his weekly visit to the rest area. He stopped in at Joshua Lowe’s place. Lowe was shoveling out stalls in one of the smaller stables.

“Joshua,” said David.

Lowe stood, arched his back in a stretch. “Howdo.”

David grabbed a pitchfork that was leaning against the wall and started to help.

“I guess you heard,” said Lowe.

“Heard what?”

“Quinn’s been put on reduced duty.”

“Suspended?”

“No. He said they’re calling it a routine rotation. They put him behind a desk.” He emptied his shovel into the wheelbarrow and looked down the corridor and outside. “It’s snowing.”

“They didn’t say anything to him about Patrick?”

Lowe shook his head.

Butch was in the living room when David entered the house. It was clear that she had been waiting for him. She took his sleeve and led him into the kitchen. Sixbury was lying face down on the floor. David felt dizzy, as if he had been hit in the back of his head. He dropped to her side and turned her over. She was breathing. She had thrown up several feet away. He was afraid to move her. He ran to the phone.

Doctor Hesseman came out of the hospital room and closed the door. He looked at David, leaned against the wall, and rubbed his eyes. “She’s had a cerebrovascular accident.” He paused. “A stroke.”

“Oh, my God.” David looked down the hallway at the child sleeping in a chair in the waiting area.

“It was a bad one, but it could have been worse. It’s affected the right side of her body.”

“That’s her good leg. Do you know what this will do to her?”

“In time she may regain control, but it’s not likely.”

“Is she awake?”

Hesseman nodded. “Just a few minutes.”

“How long is she going to have to stay here? She’ll want to know.”

“We’ll have to see. There’s a danger of pneumonia. We have to bring her temperature down.”

David stepped into the room. The right side of the old woman’s face sagged visibly. She looked at him with her same eyes, solid and constant.

“Hey there, gal,” he said, walking around to her left side and touching her hand.

“Where’s Butch?” she mumbled. Aside from her paralysis, respiratory tubes in her nostrils impeded her speech.

“Out in the waiting area. She’s asleep.”

She nodded.

“Doc says you’re going to be fine.”

“I can’t move on one side.”

“Yeah.”

She closed her eyes.

“Well, you get some rest.”

He left the room, took the child, and instead of driving all the way from Casper back to the ranch, he took a room at a motel near the hospital. Once checked in, he called Joshua Lowe and asked him to feed the animals in the morning. He wanted to go back to the hospital, to sit by Sixbury, but Butch couldn’t be left alone. She had already stretched out across the bed and gone to sleep. He undressed her and slid her under the covers. He sat in the chair by the window and watched the snow float.

He looked at Butch and realized that he had just undressed her, that she hadn’t recoiled, that he hadn’t thought twice. She had even given him a hug before settling back to sleep.

He was up at six. He showered and put the same clothes back on. He took Butch down to the restaurant and ordered breakfast. The girl said nothing from the time she woke up to the time the food came. David found he had a hearty appetite; he tore into his meal as if he hadn’t eaten for days. Butch poked at her scrambled egg.

“Eat,” said David.

“Is Six dead?”

He put down his fork, sipped his coffee. “No, she’s not dead. She’s very sick, though. She’s had a stroke.”

“She’s real sick.”

“Yes, and she needs us right now.”

Butch nodded and took a bite of toast.

They arrived at the hospital at seven. The floor nurse told David that Sixbury was still sleeping, so he and the child went to the waiting area. He looked up from his newspaper a half-hour later to see Mandy Lowe and Emma Gerlach stepping from the elevator.

“Hello, David,” said Mandy. “We stopped by Sixbury’s and picked up changes of clothes for you two.”

“Thank you,” he said.

Emma sat beside Butch and held up a small paper sack. “We brought you some cookies.” She looked at David. “How is she?”

“Not so good,” he said. “Her right side is paralyzed.”

“Oh, my,” muttered Mandy. “Is she awake?”

“I don’t think so. I talked to her briefly last night.”

“And?”

“She was Sixbury.”

Emma stood up and smoothed out her skirt. “What’s the doctor say?”

“Well, he says she has to stay here for a while. She probably won’t regain use of that side.”

The expressions of the women were unwavering, stern. David studied them, wondering if the gravity of it all might pull them down, but of course he knew it wouldn’t. They sat and waited. Mandy Lowe pulled a paperback novel from her bag and read while Emma knitted.

Doc Hesseman arrived at the hospital at eight-thirty. He stepped out of the elevator and waved at them from down the hall, then walked into Sixbury’s room. While he was inside, Howard showed up.

“Joshua Lowe told me,” Howard said.

“Thanks for coming,” said David.

Howard nodded to the women. “Ladies.”

David went to the window and looked down at the cars below.

“How is she?” asked Howard.

“Doc’s in there right now.”

“How are you and the kid holding up?”

“I’m fine. I don’t know how much of this Butch really understands. I feel so goddamn helpless.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Don’t you have to work?”

“I’ve got a monopoly; I can put things off.”

The doctor came out and joined them in the waiting area. “She’s doing all right.”

“Can we see her?” David asked.

“Not all at once. No more than three at a time.”

David couldn’t pinpoint a reasonable basis for his decision to keep Butch out of the room, but he intuited to that end; to let the child see Sixbury like this seemed unwise. And so Howard remained in the waiting area with the child while David and the women went in.

“Well, Chloë, how are you doing?” asked Emma.

“Terrific,” mumbled Sixbury.

“We’re here to put an end to all that,” said Mandy.

Sixbury strained a slight laugh.

The nurse came into the room. “Good morning, Mrs. Sixbury.” She took the chart that hung at the foot of the bed and studied it, then checked the intravenous bottle. “You folks have about five minutes.”

“Why?” asked Sixbury.

“We’re going to have to catheterize you.”

Sixbury rolled her head away from the nurse. “Shit.”

David drove back to the ranch that evening. The rush of events was catching up with him. He fought to keep awake. For Butch the car was a magical place of immediate slumber. Her feet were in David’s lap and her head was pressed against the armrest on the door. He reached across and locked her door, turned the heat up, and cracked his window. At home, he remembered that he’d made plans with Katy for Thursday night. He called to cancel and told her about Sixbury.

“And so I have to take care of little Butch and the animals,” he said.

“Who’s Butch?”

“Well,” he said and stopped, looking for a way to say it. “You might say she’s my kid.”

“Oh?”

“Not actually mine. She was abandoned and we took her in. She’s seven. We think she’s seven.”

“I see. Of course, you know I’d be happy to help in any way I can. I could babysit.”

Her voice was pleasant. It didn’t matter what she was saying; her tone was soothing. “That would be very helpful,” he said.

“You must be a wreck. Why don’t I drive out there tomorrow and fix dinner for the two of you.”

“We’re going to the hospital, but we should be back by five. We’ll be coming right by your place. Should I pick you up?”

“Why don’t you stop by and I’ll follow you.”

“You bet.”

“I’ll take care of the groceries.”

“This is really fine. I don’t know what to say.”

“See you tomorrow.”

He put the child to bed and built a fire. He sat in Sixbury’s rocker and watched the flames. He closed his eyes and listened to the popping and hissing. He rocked gently; then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t jump. He just looked at the hand.

“Why didn’t you answer the door?” Howard asked.

“Didn’t hear you.”

“How’s Sixbury?”

David nodded.

Howard walked to the hearth and rested a hand on the mantel, looked down at the fire.

“How are you?” David asked.

“I’m all right.”

“Can I ask you a straight question?”

“Shoot.”

“What did you tell the police?”

“I called them and told them what might have happened. I didn’t tell them who I was, just that I was there.” “What do you mean?”

“I told them who might have been there: Howard Dale, Quinn, David Larson, Lowe, and Hraboy.”

David leaned back and closed his eyes. “Maybe you’ve done a good thing. Maybe I wish I’d done it.”

The doctor leaned back in a chair in the waiting area and stretched. He lit a cigarette and looked at David seated next to him. “Terrible habit,” he said, holding out his cigarette. “You smoke?”

“Sometimes.”

He took a long drag. “How’re you holding up?”

“I’m okay.”

“She won’t be walking; you know that.”

“Yep.”

“There’s a slim chance she’ll regain some movement, but I doubt she’ll walk again. Still, you’ll have to massage her leg and arm several times daily.”

“Is there any chance at all?”

Doc Hesseman sighed and shook his head.

“What do we tell her?”

He put his cigarette out. “You think you can lie to her? I know I can’t.”

“Me neither.”

“I’ll tell her. I guess you can take her home on Monday. There’s nothing to do here.” The doctor stood. “You’ll need a wheelchair.”

“Already ordered.”

“Good. Where’s the girl?”

“She’s down the hall with one of the nurses.”

“Think you’ll be able to manage?”

“I’ll have to.”

Doc Hesseman looked at him for a long, silent second. “You’re a good man. I’ll help you as much as I can.” With that he walked away.

David leaned his head back and looked at the ceiling, then snapped to his feet. He walked to the door of Sixbury’s room, paused, entered. He stepped to her side and picked up her hand. She looked at him.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” he asked.

“No, I was asleep anyway.”

He chuckled softly. “I just wanted to tell you something.”

“What’s that?”

“I wanted to tell you that I love you.”

She squeezed his fingers. “I love you, too.”

The meal was simple, basic, not exceptional, but much needed and much appreciated. Katy sat opposite Butch at the kitchen table. Sixbury’s chair was empty. David spooned the last of the mashed potatoes onto his plate.

“This has been a wonderful meal,” he said.

“Thank you.”

He turned to Butch. “It’s about bedtime for you.”

“It’s early yet,” said Katy.

“Well, she didn’t have a nap today. Go on, Butch.”

The child left the kitchen.

“You can read to her if you like,” David said.

“What does she like?”

“Walt Kelly. Pogo.” He shouted for Butch. When she came into the kitchen he had her stand beside him. “‘Rabbits are rounder,’” he said.

“‘Than bandicoots Sam,’” said the child.

“‘And bunnies abounder.’”

“‘In old Alabam’.’”

“‘Thus is the Thistle.’”

“‘The thrush of the thick.’”

“‘And wet is the whistle.’”

“‘That winnows the wick.’”

Katy applauded and smiled with delight. “I’m not sure I understand it,” she said.

“There’s not much to be sure you understand. Butch likes the sounds.” He looked at the girl. “Go get ready for bed.” He stood and began clearing the table.

“Do you feel trapped?” Katy said.

He placed the dishes beside the sink.

“I mean, I’ve been trying to put your situation together.”

“In a way, I do feel trapped. Maybe stranded is a better word. At least, I used to feel that way. This is my home. I sincerely believe that.”

There was a long silence as Katy poked at the veneer of the table with her thumbnail.

David said, “I’m going to put a lift along the wall up the stairs. A wheelchair upstairs and one down here.” He turned on the water. “I guess that’ll work out.”

“I’ll get the dishes,” she said.

“No, you go check on Butch. I’ll take care of these.” David watched as she left the kitchen, and his chest felt empty and he found himself taking deep breaths. He was falling.

Katy came back just as he was finishing the cleanup. “She’s so lovely.”

“She’s a good kid, all right.” He dried his hands and leaned against the counter. “So she’s put down.”

“Yep.”

“It’s getting late,” he said, looking at the clock.

“I guess it is,” she said.

“Yep.”

She stepped toward him. He put the towel down and let his arms drop by his sides. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she raised up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. He felt a chill on the back of his neck; his knees broke slightly. She pulled away and looked into his eyes.

“You going to be okay driving back?” he asked.

She nodded.