Page 2

CHAPTER TWO

Vincenti had an easy manner with a layer of charm. She tried not to think how his adorable—obviously skilled—hands had been inside her chest cavity.

He checked her chart, then her wounds.

He had black hair, perfectly styled in a brush back, heavy-lidded deep brown eyes in a face tanned golden, and a voice she thought hit both soft and lyrical.

“Thank you for saving my life.”

“Your partner began that very important job. He made the most out of those five platinum minutes. Applying pressure, talking to you, keeping you focused.”

“You had to bring me back.”

“We did, and here you are. And healing well. I’m going to remove your catheter, and Angie here will go with you for a short walk. You’re not yet to get out of bed on your own.”

He pointed at her. “I see in your eyes what your family told me. Therefore, I will be direct. A fall will set back your process, cause complications. So you’ll be smart, and call for the nurse when you want or need to get up.”

“When can I go home?”

His smile only bumped up the charm ratio.

“You know, it should hurt my feelings no one wants to stay in our fine facility.”

“Maybe because it’s full of sick people?”

“And we work to get them well enough to leave. We’ll see where we are in twenty-four hours. You had a major trauma, and major surgery.”

She tried a smile of her own. “But you’re a highly skilled surgeon, and I’m young, strong, and healthy.”

“I am highly skilled, and you’re young, strong, healthy. But you won’t bounce back in a matter of days. You will come back, with time, effort, patience, and persistence.”

“It seems like being stuck in bed just makes me tired and weaker.”

“Today, you’ll get up, move a little. Several times. You’ll start physical therapy, and we can decrease the pain medication. Soft foods for another day or two, then we’ll see.”

He changed her dressing himself, and when he moved to take out the catheter, she just stared at the ceiling.

Whatever sound she made brought a smile to his face. “That’s a relief, right?”

“A big one. I… I had to pee. A Dr Pepper for Joel, and he’d gas up the truck. I went in to pee and get drinks. That’s why I went into the mini-mart. I remember that now.”

“You may have some blank spots. Nothing to worry about.”

She lifted a hand to her forehead. “It could’ve been worse.”

Now he didn’t smile. “It often is. I’ll check in on you later.”

“We’re going to get you up slowly,” Angie told her. “You’re going to feel light-headed, and you want to wait for that to pass. Your gown crosses in the front for access, so your butt’s covered.”

“Good to know.”

It took longer than she imagined just to get on her feet, and to discover her feet didn’t feel connected to the legs that felt like overcooked spaghetti.

But she made it to the door, dragging the IV pole, then a few steps beyond into the hall, where Drea waited with a wheelchair.

“I’m backup.”

The bitchiness rushed back. “I don’t want that. I don’t need that.”

But in the end, she did need it, and had to bite down on the anger that streamed up from her gut.

“You’re frustrated,” Angie said, “but you’re wrong. You walked for just over two minutes. This afternoon, you’ll walk again. And this evening, again.”

“You may be top bitch,” Drea said as she pushed the wheelchair, “but you’re no quitter.”

Damn right. So for the next three, endless days, she walked. Two minutes, three, then five at a time. She did the prescribed breathing exercises every hour of the day and whenever she woke at night.

She didn’t bring up the nightmares that woke her. They were her business, and she determined they’d fade away. Reliving the moment the shooter had turned, had fired, struck her as normal.

And she’d get through it. She had a goal, and that was discharge.

When that day came, it brought joy, then shock and a low-simmering anger.

She sat in one of the chairs—a relief, and progress. Vincenti sat in the other.

“Your healing’s progressing very well. Your appetite isn’t.”

“Could it possibly be hospital food?”

“You think I don’t know they brought you in your grandmother’s chicken soup—very tasty, by the way—a cheeseburger and fries from McDonald’s, pulled pork and roasted potatoes your mother made. She’s sent the recipe to my wife, at my request. I’m a lousy cook.”

“Nothing gets by you.”

“It didn’t get by me you barely ate any of it. You’ve lost eleven pounds since you were admitted. This isn’t unusual, but it’s something we need to correct.”

“I’ll work on it.”

“When we do our follow-up in two weeks, I’d like to see at least three pounds gained.”

“Two weeks? But—”

“Follow-up,” he interrupted. “I’m discharging you in the morning.” He held up a hand. “There are conditions.”

“I’ll meet them.”

“You can’t live alone. We can reevaluate that in two weeks. Your apartment is on the third floor, no elevator. That won’t do for now. Your parents assure me you can live with them at home until you’re fully recovered.”

“I’m stationed in Stevensville, and my family lives in Heron’s Rest. That’s almost four hours’ distance.”

“You’ll remain on medical leave, Sloan. You need another thirty days. And you’re not to drive until after I see you again. The breathing exercises are important. Continue those. Continue walking. No strenuous exercises, no lifting anything over five pounds. Angie will show you again how to apply clean dressings, and you’ll monitor your chest wound for any signs of redness or swelling. Any sign, Sloan, you contact me.”

Reading her face, he sat back. “Those are the conditions, and I’ll have your word on them.”

“Fine.” Just two weeks, she thought, and not here. Two weeks with family, in her childhood home. How could she complain?

“Now, a strong suggestion. You’re having some nightmares.”

She opened her mouth, but she valued truth. So she shrugged. “It’s not unusual. I looked it up.”

“If you did, then you’d have also read to tell your doctor, which you didn’t. We’ll let that go. It would also have said, no doubt, there are treatments available.”

“I don’t need a shrink.”

His wonderfully patient eyes held hers.

“So says most everyone who could use some therapy. You were shot, and you were clinically dead for over two minutes. You’ve had physical, emotional, and mental trauma. My impression of you is while you’re stubborn enough to resist getting help, you’re smart enough to know when you need it. So think about it.”

“All right, I will think about it. I want to get back to my life. I want to get back to work. I didn’t die, so I want to live.”

“Good attitude. Meet the conditions, consider the suggestion. Go live. I do good work, so don’t screw it up.”

She’d talked herself into believing it all not so bad, when her captain came in and made it worse.

After he left, she sat, brooding, until Joel came in. He took one look, gave her one of sympathy.

“Captain lowered the boom?”

“Not only thirty more days’ medical leave, but another two after that of desk duty. Then I have to get cleared by a medical doctor and the department shrink for active. What the fuck, Joel.”

“I’m sorry, sis, sincerely, but I can’t disagree with any of that. Getting out of here’s the next step. You’ve got to take the one after that, then the one after that.”

“I can’t even go back to my own place. How would you feel if you had to go back and live in your childhood bedroom?”

“As long as Sari’s with me, I’d be fine with that. My mama’s a damn fine cook. In fact, she sent you her chicken and dumplings. They’re going to warm it up for you.”

People cared, she reminded herself. They helped.

Brooding, bitching, whining didn’t.

“I appreciate that.”

“Sis, you gotta eat better than you have been. You know that.”

“I do, I swear. It’s… Knowing and doing aren’t always the same. I get hungry, then almost as soon as I start to eat, I’m just not. Maybe if I could move again. I mean really move. I need something else to think about. I need work, and I’m doing crossword puzzles and watching Netflix.”

“Some pretty good shit on there.”

She shoved a hand at her hair, and tried not to remember she’d needed help to wash it.

“I’m tired of myself, Joel, and that’s the truth. Tired of being inside my own head. Tired of not being able to walk ten minutes without feeling like I’ve run a couple miles. Tired of being poked and prodded. I annoy the crap out of myself.”

“Good thing I’m a more tolerant type.” He sat, then pulled a picture out of his pocket. “Want to see my baby girl?”

“What? Jesus, give it!” After snatching the ultrasound photo, she stared, turned it the other way. “Where is she?”

“They had to show me, too, but I got it now.” Leaning over, he traced.

“Okay, one more time.” Then she nodded, grinned, and meant it. “I see her! Wow. And she’s beautiful.”

She handed it back.

“I’m getting her a pink stuffed animal. I’ll know what kind when I see it. Thanks for sharing something happy.”

“Happy’s the best thing to share.”

“I’ve got one, and it turns out it qualifies. Matias sent me a breakup text.”

“Fucker.”

“No, really, more of a weak coward. No, wait. A weak, cowardly fucker. He said, basically, he couldn’t handle it. Seeing me in the hospital that way made him realize we just weren’t meant to be. Then he asked that I send back the things he had at my place. And he was sending any of my stuff to my parents’ address, since he didn’t know when I’d get back. He topped it off by wishing me all the best.”

“And how’s that happy?”

“I’d planned to see him after I got out of here, tell him we were done, since he was too much of a selfish asshole to spend more than two minutes with me when I was hurt. He saved me the trouble.”

“Give me a list, sis.”

“Joel, I can handle it.”

“Nope. Give me a list of that asshole’s stuff, and I’ll get it to him. I’ll go over with your sister or whoever’s getting what you want to pack up for the couple weeks in Heron’s Rest.”

“I can get all that. They don’t have to—”

“Can’t drive yet, right?”

Annoyed with herself again, she heaved out a sigh.

“No.”

“So why have somebody haul you over there, take the time to get what you need, spend even five minutes on the jerk, when you can get the hell out of here and go home with your family?

“Sometimes you have to let people take care of you, sis.”

“Everyone has been, and I swear under the whining, I really appreciate it.”

“You’re going to have to appreciate it a little while longer. Give me a list.”

“It’s not that much, really. He’s got some clothes in the bedroom closet, and in the top left drawer of the dresser. He’s got a quart of oat milk and some tofu in the fridge. The milk’s probably gone over by now. I didn’t think of it before.”

“So I’ll dump it. What else?”

As she ran down the list, it occurred to her how completely he’d kept his things—what there were of them—separated from hers. Why hadn’t she noticed that before?

Didn’t matter now, she decided. Chapter closed.

“How about what you want? I can pass it on to your folks.”

“It’s a longer list.”

“I got the time.”

When she finished, she walked Joel to the elevator, then did a circuit of the floor. Maybe she moved slow, but she could celebrate the fact that she moved, and without any real pain.

Discomfort, fatigue, she could handle. Would handle, she promised herself, and made a second promise.

Stop whining.

She slept poorly her last night in the hospital as the dreams dogged her.

When she crossed from the gas pumps to the mini-mart, the wind began to kick and moan. Leaves, shredded from trees, skittered and scraped across the pavement. The lights of the mart glared, almost burned her eyes. Through the glass she could see nothing but that violent light.

When she opened the door, the hinges shrieked, and the air inside went thick and hot.

When she saw, through that hard light, the man with his back to her, her heart began to thump, bringing pain to her chest. Breath, thin and weak, began to whistle through her throat as she laid a hand on her weapon.

Her mind screamed: Run!

But he turned. He had no face, just a skeletal mask inside a black hood. When he swung out, and the scythe he carried struck her chest, she reared up in bed, gasping.

She pressed her hands to her galloping heart, felt blood pouring through her fingers.

But when she looked down, panicked, her hands were dry. Trembling, but dry.

Struggling to breathe through it, she lay back down. For a moment, she saw herself floating above, as she had when her heart had stopped beating.

Her own voice sounded in her head.

Sometimes, dying’s easier than living.

Maybe, she thought. Maybe. But she’d live. The dreams would pass, and she’d live.

Her whole family arrived at noon, with her father leading the way.

“You’re all checked out, bags are in the car. Ready to get out of this joint?”

“More than.”

Her sister, once again, pushed a wheelchair.

“I can walk. They want me to walk.”

“This is the way out. Hospital policy.”

No whining, she reminded herself. And settled into the wheelchair.

They stopped by the nurse’s station to say goodbye, and say thanks.

“You’ve come a long way in a short time,” Angie told her. “The mark of a good patient.”

Sloan let out a laugh. “A good patient? Me?”

“Yes, actually a very good patient. You followed instructions, even when you didn’t want to. Now keep doing that.”

“We’ll make sure she does,” her mother said. “We’ll never be able to thank you enough, you and everyone, for taking such good care of our girl.”

“It’s what we do. You’ve got a real nice family, Sloan. That’s going to help you the rest of the way.”

Drea wheeled her into the elevator. Not for another X-ray, another test, but to go home.

Outside, she drew in the chilly air like perfume.

“No hospital smell! Just air, cold fall air.”

Getting to her feet, she did a happy dance in her head. Drea wheeled the chair back in while her father went to get the car. Her mother stood, an arm around her.

“I could walk to the car.”

“It’s cold, baby. Indulge us a little this first day. I know you have to push some, and I promise we won’t let you slack off. But we’ve all been waiting for this day, too. You’re coming home.”

“If I promise not to push harder than I can handle, you have to promise back you won’t let work slide, you won’t worry and hover.”

“There isn’t a parent in the world who can promise not to worry and mean it. But we’re going to try really hard not to hover.”

“Fair.”

As Drea came out, the car pulled up.

“You get in the front.”

“No way. We’re not breaking traditions. Parents in the front, kids in the back.”

“Fair.” Her mother kissed her cheek.

“Everybody in?” Her dad rubbed his hands together. “Let’s rock and roll.”

It made her laugh—another tradition. He’d said the same anytime the family took a road trip.

So off they went with the radio playing her father’s favored classic rock.

“So how are the fall rentals?” Sloan began.

“Full up.” Her mother shifted to look over her shoulder. “The Bensons are coming in Tuesday for their Thanksgiving week. Two more grandchildren came along this year, so they’ve booked two cabins. They’ll do some skiing, but some of the older kids want to try snowshoeing. We’ve booked that.”

She remembered the Bensons, as they’d been coming to the Rest since she’d been a kid herself. Renting a cabin in the fall and again in the summer. Skiing or hiking in the fall, a boat rental in the summer.

The family business, All the Rest—in its third generation with Drea on board—maintained and rented cabins, cottages and lake houses, boats—motor, sail—kayaks, canoes, and paddleboards.

They booked white-water rafting excursions, winter skiing, snowboarding, snowshoes, arranged guided hikes.

Heron’s Rest, deep in the mountains and centered by Mirror Lake, didn’t pull them in like Deep Creek and the resorts, but it appealed to those who wanted a quieter, more intimate stay.

And it offered what the tourists wanted in four distinct seasons. All four, Sloan thought, with their own beauty and appeal.

She couldn’t go to her own place for a while, Sloan thought, but she could, and would, take short hikes on familiar trails, long walks on the lake path. She’d build up her strength and endurance again.

The route north and west was also familiar. The endless highway that took long, long curves through the mountains, and the mountains that became more serious as the miles passed.

They’d left the hospital in the chilly but dry, but as those miles passed, snow spread over hills and fields. It iced the peaks, ran down the valleys. It clung to the branches of pines and denuded hardwoods so everything looked like an old-fashioned Christmas card.

She loved the look of it, the feel of it, the smell of it when she walked through those deep woods. That appeal had been one of the reasons she’d chosen her career.

She knew the beauty of nature—and its dangers, its capriciousness. And she’d felt, always, a strong need to protect and preserve it.

She dozed off, then surfaced, irritated with herself. Like a child, she thought, or an old lady, unable to stay awake for a couple of hours in a moving car.

No whining, she reminded herself. A nap just made the ride go faster.

And besides, they were nearly home.

The car rolled off the highway now where the road wound and climbed up, snaked and rolled down. Thick woods of green and white, icy rocks, deep seas of snow, the rise of the Alleghenies dominated, as if highways didn’t exist.

She glanced over to see Drea scowling at her phone.

“Problem?”

“Hmm? No, not really. Why does it always get me that there’s no service on this mile-and-a-half stretch?”

“I bet whatever’s on the other end of the phone can wait the three or four minutes until we’re through the gap.”

“It can wait longer.” Still, she frowned at the phone. “Everything’s fine. I just hate not being connected. And I know that’s a little bit sick. Maybe I like being a little bit sick.”

“Maybe you should just hot-glue the phone to your hand.”

“I’ve considered it. Anyway, I need to be connected to work—just like you.”

“I hope I remember how to work.”

“As if.” Drea turned the phone screen down on her thigh. “What kind of shoes is Dad wearing?”

“Boots. Timberland, dark brown. That’s not a stretch. It’s pretty usual.”

“Don’t look down and tell me what shoes I’m wearing.”

“Black boots, over the ankle, black-and-white-checked laces.” Sloan squeezed her eyes shut. “They’re Uggs. Nice, look new.”

“They are nice and new. Don’t even think about borrowing them.”

Typical, Sloan thought. “I can get my own Uggs.”

“You should. They’re terrific. You see, you absorb, you remember. I wish I was half as good at it.”

God, she was tired. Unbelievably tired, and fought to stay awake, stay aware.

“It’s just paying attention.”

“No, it’s not,” Drea countered.

Either way, Sloan thought, she’d use that particular skill, keep it sharp. Keep her mind sharp.

And surely her body would follow suit.

Connections. She’d taken some yoga classes with an instructor who talked (a little too much) about the mind/body/spirit connection.

She’d use that now and work on all three.

She caught a glimpse of the lake, just a flash as the sun struck water. Then another turn, one more, and there it was, spread as blue as the sky with the mountains, the folds and peaks of them, the brown and white and pine green of the season reflected on the surface.

Her spirits lifted.

She watched a family of swans—mom, dad, and the six nearly adult kids sailing together. They’d migrate soon, and the parents, at least, would return to mate again, to glide the lake with their cygnets.

Another few weeks, she thought, if the weather held, the lake would freeze solid for skating, ice fishing.

Trails cut through the mountains, and skiers, small with distance, swished down.

She saw the trails of smoke from cabin and cottage chimneys tucked into the brown and green, and the lovely lakefront houses.

And in the sun, the glint of glass from her childhood home around the lake.

The tug, a hard one with the strong pull of sentiment, surprised her. She visited at least once a month, stayed the occasional weekend when work allowed.

But this was different, she realized. A different kind of homecoming.

And she found it soothed both mind and spirit.

Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how much she’d needed to come home.

She wanted to sit, bundled up by the firepit, and watch the sunset, mirrored in the lake. She wanted to hear the loons, watch the heron’s flight, bask in the sight of the majestic bald eagle.

She could catch a glimpse of the bay from her apartment window in Annapolis, but no, she thought. Not the same.

And for now, at least for now, she finally understood she needed the same.

She needed the old two-story house with its working shutters, its generous decks, its big eat-in kitchen, its sit-and-stay-awhile front porch.

She wanted her view of the trees climbing up the mountains outside her bedroom window. She wanted the comfort and the quiet as much as she wanted to feel like Sloan again.

Her father pulled the car into the garage with its apartment above. He shut the car off, turned to smile at her.

“Welcome home.”