First Night of Summer (32 page)

Tom quickly crossed the street and ran to Isaac’s side. A man of practicality, he didn’t bother asking the obvious questions. Instead, he whistled. “Damn, son. Where’s your shirt?”

Isaac raised his arm a few inches. The image spoke for itself. In addition to the saturated bandage, deep purple bruises colored the surrounding flesh.

Tom whistled again. “What happened?” He scrutinized the area with big eyes.

“Son of a bitch shot me.” Isaac kept moving, trying his best to put rubber back into his stride.

“So?” Tom was at his side, matching every step.

“What?”

He knew his son was in fair condition and didn’t bother with coddling because experience said it would do no good. But beyond the ludicrous story that Helen had shared, he was in the dark.

They stepped off the curb and onto the asphalt. Tom put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Did you get him?”

Isaac looked down and gave a curt nod.

“Good. Good.” He paused. “Is he alive? Where is he?”

He nodded again. “A deputy has him in custody. He used logging roads to access an abandoned cabin.” The picture was burned into his psyche and would remain that way for the rest of his life. “There’s an old silver mining ghost town a little further up the ridge. That’s where he took Josie.”

Isaac didn’t mention Ashley. He couldn’t shake the logic that he had been the one to kill her.

Tom didn’t know what to say. He sensed there was more to the story. “You okay?” The question did not imply Isaac’s physical well-being.

“Fine.” He grimaced as he stepped up the next curb.

“I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but we don’t have any word about Sarah. I spoke with Charlie a few minutes ago, and he’s still trying to run her down. None of the hospitals seem to know anything about her, and no one will pick up her cell phone.”

Almost to the front doors of the clinic—before Isaac could ask any questions—the sheriff came striding out. He was tall, dark-skinned, and in his mid-forties. A thick, neatly trimmed head of hair showed signs of gray around the ears.

“Mr. Snow,” he said in greeting, “my name is Roberto Gonzalez. I’m the sheriff.” Other than the pronunciation of his name, he had no accent, only a firm, decisive tone. “We’ll get you and your daughter treated immediately. Then, as you can imagine, I will need a statement.”

“I’ll give you whatever you want while I’m here, but I’m on the first ride to Albuquerque.”

Sheriff Gonzalez complied. “We are aware of the urgent matter pertaining to your wife. I want you to understand that we are here to help in any way possible.”

A nurse showed them through the emergency room to an examination station behind a curtain. Fresh paper covered the top of a patient table. “Please, sit.”

He climbed onto a stool, turned around, and gently eased his frame down. The paper sheet crunched under his weight.

A young, clean-cut doctor in a white, mid-length coat entered. Whereas Isaac had the look of a soldier who’d just been to hell and back, the physician’s button-tab collar and slacks were pressed to perfection. “Hello, Mr. Snow. I’m Dr. Alvarez.” The doctor leaned in close to analyze the gunshot wound. “Can you lift your arm for me?”

Isaac swallowed the discomfort and gently did as he was asked.

“You’re a very fortunate man. Another inch over and you’re looking at broken ribs or worse. When a bullet collides with bone, the results are rarely favorable.”

“How long is this going to take?”

Dr. Alvarez stopped his inspection and smirked. “Is there somewhere else you need to be?” Sarcastic humor filled the question. He pinched a piece of tape on the gauze, peeling it away from Isaac’s skin.

“As a matter of fact …” He clenched his teeth and let out a closed-mouth groan.

“Yeah.” Dr. Alvarez scrunched his nose as he meticulously removed the bandage. “This is going to be …” He enunciated the next words. “A little tender.”

Isaac shut his eyes and gritted his teeth to another long pull of tape. The adhesion stretched the skin away from his ribs with each tug. He huffed in irritation and referred to his previous question. “So? How long?”

The doctor came to eye level with Isaac. “Are you serious?” He looked to Tom and then the sheriff. “Is he serious?”

Sheriff Gonzalez interjected. “Look, Doc, his wife is in the hospital in Albuquerque. She’s been in an accident.” Conversation was casual. They clearly knew each other before this. “I know it’s not ideal, but we’re trying to get him there. Just do what you can, and they’ll take care of the rest in Albuquerque.”

“You want me to let him leave without fixing it?” He was stunned.

“I didn’t say that.”

“I don’t know if any of you are aware,” the doctor said tersely. “This is a
gunshot
. I have to sterilize it, assess the severity of the damage, and then …” He held up a single, rigid finger to make a point. “Stitch it up.” He put sarcasm back in his voice. “It takes more than hydrogen peroxide and a Band-Aid.”

Tom could see Isaac’s frustration building. Dr. Alvarez didn’t know that Sarah was, most likely, unconscious and unable to make decisions for herself.

“Doc,” Sheriff Gonzalez grumbled, “he’ll be at a hospital this afternoon. What can you do that’s quick?”

The doctor scurried out of the room, muttering something unintelligible. It was plain to see. He thought they were all fools not to allow him proper time with the injury.

Tom took the liberty of following and got his attention in the hallway. “Doctor Alvarez?”

He spun on his heel, stopped rambling, gave a snippy look, and waited to hear what Tom had to say.

“A car hit my daughter-in-law. When my son spoke with the ER doctor this morning, she was unconscious. He told him to get there as fast as he could because decisions regarding her treatment might need to be made. Her prognosis isn’t good.”

His perturbed face loosened perceptibly. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because we’re the only family she has. There is no one else. When …” Tom considered how to put it. “Everything went haywire this morning, it delayed us a bit to say the least.”

“I see.”

“If you would just do whatever you can to speed things along, we would all be very grateful.”

He acknowledged in understanding, but didn’t look too keen about sending a patient out the doors without proper care. In a moment, he returned with two syringes, each with measured amounts of liquid.

“What’s that?” Isaac scrutinized the counter where the injections waited.

“Morphine and antibiotics. If you’re determined to leave, no one can blame me if you get an infection.”

“Do I need the morphine?”

Dr. Alvarez made a quizzical expression. “Don’t you want it?” He shook his head, dumbfounded. “You’re either too tough for your own good or have a very high pain tolerance.”

“I’ll manage,” Isaac assured.

“I have no doubt. But it’s my job to treat the patient. I’m not giving you much. Only enough to make your ride to Albuquerque more comfortable.”

Tom’s cell phone rang. As he dug it from the case on his belt, he left the room.

Isaac shifted his attention to the sheriff. “How’s my girl doing?”

“Your mother is looking after her. I think she’s recovering nicely.”

“She is,” Dr. Alvarez chimed in. “I got a report from a nurse in the hall.”

“What was it?”

His head was almost in Isaac’s armpit, busily working. “She said there is heavy bruising and lacerations on both wrists and ankles. Nothing is torn or broken.”

He sighed with relief.

“Hope you’re not scared,” the doc teased and held the syringe in front of Isaac. “Relax your arm.”

He was just about to stick the needle in when Tom abruptly yanked the curtain aside. “Hold up a second.”

Dr. Alvarez rolled his eyes. “It’s just morphine, people,” he said, exasperated. “I swear. This is the first time I’ve had anyone with severe injuries that didn’t want my help.”

“It can wait.” The expression on Tom’s face was unreadable. “I think you should take this.” He handed the phone to Isaac.

Chapter Seventy-Six

I
saac’s heart pumped into overdrive. There was a gut feeling, something telling him that the call had to do with Sarah. The already tiny space shrunk to a fraction of its size. Claustrophobia enveloped him. His whole body thumped like one massive heartbeat, and he prayed.
I don’t know how much more I can take
.

“Hello?” It came out shaky and dry. He swallowed and tried again. “Hello?” he asked, more clearly this time.

Background noise filled the earpiece. There was a band playing or a radio. It sounded like a band. A man’s voice on a PA system called out names. Whoever was on the line was at some sort of party.

“Hello?” he repeated, trying to hear over the racket.

Finally, an answer. “Can you hear me? Honey?”

Even through the commotion, Sarah’s voice was unmistakable. It was her. Not a voice mail or recording, but truly her. Wherever she was, whatever she was doing, she sounded strong.

“Yes.” Isaac had no capacity for emotion left. His heart was full. His mind was full. There were questions, so very many questions he had no answers to. But they didn’t matter. Sarah was alive, and they were still a family.

“It’s me,” she came back. “Can you hear me okay? I just finished my walk. There’s a live band, and it’s really loud.” Her excitement of accomplishment was evident.

Isaac envisioned her. There in her workout gear, running shoes, and hair in a sweaty ponytail, he could see her. He had never been more proud or relieved. There were no words, only a picture of the woman he loved with every ounce of his being.

Eyes closed and through the lump in his throat, he replied simply, “I love you.”

Epilogue

L
eaves on the aspens trembled, and the poplars were deep green. The temperature stayed consistently warm enough that lawns required a weekly mowing. Shade was becoming a prized outdoor commodity, and the long awaited summer had everyone around town in a chipper mood. Ruidoso was alive.

Charlie pulled his police cruiser to a stop at the curb of Isaac and Sarah’s home. It was impossible to miss the sign staked in the front yard by a local realtor. A “Sold” banner was attached to the top.

Charlie knew it was coming eventually, but the idea of his best friends moving away was going to take some getting used to. It wasn’t that he blamed them, not after everything that had happened on this very piece of property. But it was still strange. He had been coming over for sleepovers, meals, and visits since he was a small boy. He felt as much at home in their cozy Craftsman-style house as he did his own place.
All good things must come to an end
.

As was custom, he showed himself inside without knocking, removed his utility belt, and hung it on the coat rack. Many things in the Snow’s life had changed over the last twelve months, but some traditions were still observed. Having their bachelor friend over for dinner on Wednesday nights was one of them.

What had once been a sanctuary to a family was now just another address on the street. All the womanly touches that transform walls and a roof into a place of comfort and belonging were stowed into boxes. They were stacked here and there, the contents of each one labeled with a bold Sharpie marker. Only the large pieces of furniture were recognizable. And even they didn’t appear as welcoming as they had a week or two prior.

The kitchen felt no different from the living room. Boxes were piled in high stacks. All the pots, pans, plates, silverware, and cooking utensils were neatly tucked away, not to be used until reopened at their new residence. This marked the first time Charlie had entered the kitchen on a Wednesday night that Sarah was not bustling around a hot stove, putting the final touches on a culinary masterpiece. The meals were not generally fancy, but they were always warm, tasted great, and served in large portions. The latter, of course, was the most pleasing part to Charlie. His rotund belly growled at the thought of no longer having his weekly treat. He longed for the day when he would find a good woman with whom he could share his life with.

The quiet space had an eeriness about it, somehow queer without people. He listened for any sound in the void. Chair legs scooted across wood. It came from the patio, drifting through the screen door, an inviting noise.

The hinges squeaked as it swung open, and he walked outside. His jovial smile showed at the sight of his friends.

“Charlie,” Sarah welcomed. “You made it.”

“C’mon out here, buddy. Here.” Isaac pulled a chair out from the patio set. “Take a load off.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Charlie took a seat and immediately put his focus on a thin, square box. The label was one he recognized well. It put to rest any concerns about what was going to be served for supper.

Sarah stood from her chair, grabbed a paper plate, and lifted the lid on the pizza box. “We have half supreme and half pepperoni. What’ll it be?”

He leaned forward, observing the portions to make sure he wasn’t taking all that remained of one kind. The amounts were equal. “How about one of each?”

Isaac reached into an Igloo icebox and fished out a beer. The top twisted and gave off the refreshing hiss that only comes from popping a carbonated beverage. He passed it across the table, and it was received with grateful eyes.

No one spoke much as Charlie put the hurt on two enormous slices of pizza. Trying to speak to him during mealtimes was a one-sided conversation.

The yard sat idle. A few leaves rustled in the light breeze, and birds chirped in the forest to the back. The surrounding mountains were serene.

“Where’s Josie?” Charlie asked through a full mouth.

“Some friends are having a slumber party,” Sarah answered. “They wanted to celebrate her last night in town. We’re picking her up on the way out tomorrow.”

Charlie contemplated. “So y’all are really doing it?”

“Yep, we’re really doing it.” Isaac let out a long sigh. “I’m sure going to miss the place, but it’s time to go. Time for a change.”