Cure (30 page)
“Are you all right?” Penny came out from behind a large, green dumpster, the inverted lid propped against the building providing her minimal and temporary shelter. The rain melted the blood on her pants into tie-dye like rings, a badge of honor in a war she was too young to fight.
She’d miscarried
.
Thank God
. She had been the hardest for him to see on the ward. Shame descended and it was hard to look her in her dimmed blue eyes—eyes that reminded him of Allison’s. He watched Scott comforting Miranda, a new beginning forming between them.
“Where’s Foster?” Zach asked.
Penny pointed over her shoulder at the Black Grand Cherokee pulling up to them. “There was no van when we came out.”
Foster rolled down his window and adjusted his dark glasses. “Who’s ready to get out of here?”
Zach wiped his eyes, put the remains of his phone in his pocket, and climbed in the passenger’s side without saying a word. The others climbed into the back seat. Scott settled next to Miranda and placed his hand gently over hers on her belly.
Zach waited for the inevitable confrontation, a verbal thrashing because of the fire, but his paranoia was a product of guilt.
Scott reached around the seat and patted his shoulder. “We’ll get her back,” he said. “What you risked for Miranda, I’d give my life to help you.”
He didn’t know how to respond.
Foster pressed down on the accelerator and the Jeep lunged forward.
Zach kept an eye on the side view mirror, part of him fearing what might escape from the ashes. The center grew smaller, and just before it vanished, the roll-up door opened and an injured Reid crawled through it.
58
.
Frank peeled off his blood-spattered flannel and tucked the gun beneath the driver’s seat. His eyes appeared empty.
“You did what you had to,” Carlene said, imagining how hard it was for him after what Scott did to Holly.
“At least it stopped the infection from spreading.”
John remained silent, his head hung low.
Frank’s lip quivered and he wiped his nose with his palm. He turned on the radio and lit a cigarette. Merle Haggard played through the crackling speakers.
Carlene coughed and rolled down her window to let out the smoke.
“So, what now?” John asked.
Frank kept both hands on the wheel and dangled the cigarette from his lip. “We go home. All of us. And I bury my daughter.”
Carlene debated telling Frank how much Holly cared about him, how she had begged Nixon to let her go, crying every night for her father until she was sedated, but it would only make burying her harder. She leaned into the door and basked in the early rays of sunlight. The radiant warmth comforted her, but it couldn’t completely shake the sadness.
Frank pulled into the driveway of the white ranch house she hadn’t seen in months.
The house she’d been so proud to be able to afford on her own.
She cupped her hands over her nose and mouth and cried. Tulips decorated the neatly mulched gardens and bright green grass grew where once it had been yellow and patchy. A fresh coat of paint on the porch made the house look new again.
“How…?” She was too choked up to speak.
Frank smiled and a tear dripped from his chin. “Kurt’s been working on it,” he said. “He knew you’d come home.”
Home.
She couldn’t believe she
had
made it.
“Are you positive you don’t want us to come in with you?” John asked.
She sniffled. “I’m sure. Thank you--all of you--for everything.”
She stepped out of the van, leaving behind the weight of Holly’s death and Frank’s sadness. There were things to be thankful for.
People who loved her.
A father who had kept the home fires burning in her absence. The moist grass tickled her feet as she made her way up the lawn. She reached for the spare key under the mat and the infant growing inside of her kicked.
* * * * *
It’s for your own good.
Amy read the words scrawled in Billy’s sloppy handwriting on the bathroom vanity in toothpaste.
Where had he gone?
She didn’t even remember getting back to the cabin.
A sharp, needle stick pain had begun in her chest. She peeled off her soiled gown and examined the bull’s eye rash above her left breast. A tiny scab had formed over the pinhole in the center and it itched furiously.
Where had it come from?
Her stomach clenched and she flung open the toilet seat, the underside of which was blood spattered and foul. She hit her knees and vomited. The walls pulsed and closed in. The sour, yellow fluid burned her throat.
She howled in pain as the force ruptured another stitch.
What was happening?
“Billy,” she called out for help.
He had to be somewhere.
She took several slow breaths, inhaling deeply and holding her hand on her wound. Her hand contracted and her ragged nails dug into her broken-down skin. She wailed, tears springing forth from the agony.
She staggered into the living room. Her vision clouded and she knelt in front of the crucifix hanging on the wall.
“Someone, please help me,” she whispered, sensing it was already too late.
59
.
Yellow ribbons circled every tree leading down the long, gravel drive to the tidy double-wide trailer. A thin man in bibbed overalls wrenched on a tractor in the yard, ignorant of the mud left by the storm. His hands and gentle, gaunt face were smeared with grease and his knees caked with dark sludge. He didn’t immediately look up, but Miranda could see the weariness about him.
A preoccupation befitting someone missing a loved one.
She’d fallen into that trance herself from time to time.
“Dad.” Penny nearly jumped out of the moving Jeep.
Miranda reached across Scott to grab Penny’s hand. “I told you we’d get you home.”
Foster parked and the thin man’s jaw fell open. “Beth! Beth, get out here!” He shouted.
Penny flung open the door and ambled as quickly as she could toward him, almost knocking him over with a crushing hug.
Beth, Penny’s heavy-set mother, stepped out on the porch, moving slowly at first, as though she couldn’t believe her eyes. “Penny? Oh my God, Penny.” She wobbled, leaning on a cane she hadn’t been using when Miranda saw her at Porter’s, and then moving quicker until her arms wrapped around her weeping family.
Miranda squeezed her lips tight together, tears welling up.
She’d returned their child home.
Scott pulled her close and the car fell silent. Everyone watched the tearful reunion. Foster sniffled and cleaned his glasses.
Miranda drank in the sweetness, the gathering obscuring the pain she’d carried with her since losing her daughter.
“I have to say goodbye.” She opened her door and slowly approached the crying family.
“Thank you. Thank you, so much.” Beth pulled Miranda into the fold, holding her tight.
She couldn’t hold back the joyous tears.
“Are you hurt?” Penny’s father was the first to pull away, staring at the blood covering Penny’s damp pants.
“Come inside, sit down,” Beth said. “You, too.” She insisted Miranda join them.
Miranda waved the others in and followed the Hammonds inside. All but Zach complied.
An artificial Christmas tree remained in the corner of the living room, presents wrapped and waiting. Glimmering red bows caught the sunlight and the packages were dust-free.
Her mother must have cleaned them daily.
Penny’s father draped a thick quilt around her and settled in next to her on the couch.
Beth opened the warm oven and the smell of chocolate cake filled the small space. Miranda’s stomach growled in response. Beth didn’t wait for it to cool to cut it and extended the first piece to Penny.
“Here.” Penny handed the plate to Miranda, her expression hinting sadness about Miranda’s pregnancy.
As much as Miranda wanted to stay, to savor the food she craved and needed, the baby caused unsettling tension.
“You know, I think we should be going,” she said. “You have so much to catch up on.”
“Miranda, please stay. I didn’t…”
Miranda interrupted.
She couldn’t talk about it.
“Promise me you’ll keep in touch.” She made a writing motion with her hand and looked for a piece of paper. Beth handed her a small notepad from next to the corded kitchen phone and she nodded thanks. “Make sure you call me because I want to know all of the wonderful things you’re doing.” Penny stood up and Miranda gave her a hug. “It’s a fresh start,” she said. “Take advantage.”
Foster said goodbye next and held Penny long enough for Miranda to notice. He smiled, adjusted his glasses, and sniffled. “If you ever need anything—a bodyguard or a rescuing—you let me know.”
“I will,” she said, a red blush painting her cheeks.
“Thank you, again, for bringing her home.” Penny’s father put his grease-covered hand out and Foster shook it.
Beth hobbled to dole out another round of hugs and pulled Penny under her arm.
“Take care of yourself,” Miranda said and followed Scott outside.
Penny waved from the window more at Foster, who was easing back into the driver’s seat, than anyone.
Scott stopped midway to the Jeep and reached for Miranda’s hand. His wedding band rubbed against her finger and she turned her head to hide her blushing. Zach, red-face from crying, watched them through the windshield.
Not everyone got a second chance.
She took a deep breath and met Scott’s gaze, nervously letting her guard down.
“What do we do now?” Scott asked.
“The same as everyone else.” She shrugged. “We go
home
.”
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