The Moon Around Sarah (16 page)

Later, a nurse with a huge bosom with a small gold watch pinned there, came in followed by a tiny, worried-looking nurse. The big one looked at the chart fastened to the foot of Sarah’s bed and said, ‘Tucker. Yeah, when Dr Dalhousie releases her, she’ll be transferred to the Psych Ward.’

Then they went out and Sarah wasn’t disturbed the rest of the night. She worried briefly that Mother would be angry with her for being so clumsy and causing such a fuss, but the drugs soon took over and she fell off into unhaunted sleep.

Don March was clammy with sweat when he ran up the steps of Northshore Hospital and into the reception area. He had run all the way from the motel to Jake’s house, pounded on the fisherman’s door until Jake answered and, in a torrent of words, told Jake what had happened.

‘I’ve got to get to the hospital, Jake. I need the station wagon.’

‘All right,’ Jake had said, studying the pale, perspiring man on his porch, ‘but I’ll take you. You’re in no condition to drive.’

That was the way they had done it. The road seemed interminable. Don didn’t say a word the entire way. He sat leaning forward, staring ahead, willing more speed.

Now he crossed the white-tiled lobby and waited
impatiently
behind an older man for his turn to speak to the nurse behind the glass partition.

‘Sarah Tucker?’ he asked excitedly when his turn finally came. ‘They brought her in here about an hour ago.’

The nurse, a cold-eyed redhead wearing half-moon glasses eyed him with caution. He probably looked like a madman. Don nervously wiped perspiration from his face with the back of his hand.

‘Was she taken to Emergency, sir?’

‘Yes … she would have been, yes.’

The nurse was doing something with her computer. It seemed to take forever.

‘Yes, I have her as admitted.’

‘Where do I go?’

‘Are you family, sir?’ the nurse asked. Don noticed that she smelled like baby powder.

‘Yes, I’m her brother. Edward Tucker.’

‘I see. Have you identification?’

‘I was in such a hurry….’ Don patted at his pockets. ‘I mean, when there’s an accident, you don’t think of these things.’

‘Well, Mr Tucker, you see…’ the red-haired nurse began,
but a second nurse who had been on the telephone now hung up and swiveled to face him.

‘Did you say your name was Edward Tucker, Sarah’s brother?’ she enquired.

‘Yes,’ Don answered. ‘I am.’

‘I congratulate you, Mr Tucker,’ she said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘On possessing an ability many of us must envy – the ability to be in two places at once. I was just speaking to Mr Edward Tucker on the phone.’

‘You don’t understand! I have to see her,’ Don said. He was nearly shouting; several people turned to stare. A nearby janitor stopped his mopping to glance that way.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ the redhead said stiffly. ‘We have our rules, you understand.’

‘OK … all right. Just tell me her condition, OK?
Please
.’

‘Family members only at this time,’ the nurse said and there was steel in her voice now.

The other nurse spoke up again, ‘If I could make a suggestion, Mr Tucker? Perhaps you could contact … Mr Tucker.’

Don saw a uniformed guard moving slowly toward him, and he spun away furiously and stalked toward the front doors. Reaching the foyer, he was forced to detour around the janitor who stood there, mop in his wheeled bucket. The man, surprisingly, touched Don’s arm as he passed.

‘Hey man,’ he said. ‘That girl? A dark-haired girl about twenty, her arm cut up pretty bad?’

‘That’s right.’

‘She’s OK, man. They sewed her up and took her to the second floor and put her to bed.’

‘Thanks!’ Don said with relief and gratitude. ‘I mean it,
thank you
.’

‘It ain’t nothin’, man,’ the janitor said with a shake of his head. ‘We’re all people, got to treat each other like it.’ Then he got back to his mopping, leaving Don to go on his way.

Jake looked up expectantly as Don crossed the hospital parking lot and approached the car.

‘That didn’t take long,’ Jake said, as Don climbed in.

‘No. It doesn’t take long when they slam the door in your face,’ Don replied bitterly.

‘Like that, was it? Well, it figures. I understand their rules on that. They can’t have everybody barging in.’

‘Let’s get out of here, OK, Jake?’

‘Sure. In a minute.’ Jake turned in the seat, arm draped over its back. Facing Don, he asked, ‘What aren’t you telling me?’

Don’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean about what happened tonight.’

‘I don’t get you. I told you everything, Jake.’

The fisherman nodded toward the dashboard, ‘It was on the radio, Don.’

‘I don’t understand you.’

‘I guess you don’t,’ Jake said, sounding perplexed. ‘Hell, why would you lie to me? OK, they found Sarah’s brother dead tonight.’

‘That can’t be. Edward was just on the tel—’

‘Not him. The younger brother.’

‘Eric!’

‘Yeah. That’s the name they gave.’

‘You’ve got to be mistaken, Jake. He wasn’t even there when it happened.’

‘There’s no mistake. It happened beside the motel.’

‘Jesus Christ! Was it his father, or…?’

‘They’re calling it suicide.’ Jake turned and started the station wagon’s motor. ‘You’re right, let’s get out of here.’

Don, stunned, waited until they were back on the
forest-lined
highway, virtually alone on the road at this hour. The headlight beams cut white fans against the dark pavement.

‘What did the radio say?’ he asked finally from the shadows.

‘Just what I told you – he blew his brains out in an alley beside the motel. They mentioned that there’d been some kind of disturbance there earlier.’

‘Poor Sarah.’ At least she hadn’t witnessed that.

‘Yeah.’ Jake dimmed his headlights as a pair of big-rigs slashed past them, heading inland on an all-night run.

‘One thing,’ Jake told him. ‘They said his revolver had four bullets loaded, like he was going to use one on each family member.’

‘Christ!’

‘It was just a theory some cop had,’ Jake shrugged. ‘Anyway, he did end up using one of the bullets.’ He glanced at Don. ‘I thought you might have had some clue as to what was going on.’

‘I didn’t know Eric Tucker any better than you did, Jake.’

‘No, I guess not.’ They drove on a silent mile through the
pines beside the road. Now the fog had lifted and the trees cut jagged silhouettes against a starry sky.

‘What are you going to do now, Don?’

‘Get some sleep, I hope.’

‘Cut it out. You know what I mean. Are you going to give up on the girl?’

Instead of answering, Don asked, ‘What time’s the sun supposed to come up tomorrow, Jake?’

‘Why, around 6.15, I think.’

‘I’ll tell you what, then. If it still hasn’t risen by noon, I’ll consider giving up on Sarah.’

‘Fair enough,’ the bearded fisherman said with a grin.

Don grinned in return, but there was no real humor or confidence in his heart. None at all.

He rode on in silence through the bleak and formless night, feeling impotent and more than a little foolish.

They only spoke once more before making their separate ways home to bed. It was after Jake had put the station wagon away in the garage and they had said goodnight in the alley.

Don asked his friend, ‘Jake, that little storage yard behind your place, where Pat was keeping his boat, is it still empty?’

‘Sure. Do you need it?’

‘Yeah. I could use it.’ Because although it wasn’t much of a start – no more than a gesture – really, tomorrow seemed like a good day to go and get Poppsy.

‘S
AD-LOOKING CREATURE
,’ was all Jake had said upon seeing Poppsy, and then he had trudged away, hands in his jacket pockets, leaving Don March to try commiserating with his new charge.

The shaggy white dog lay among the short weeds of the storage yard, big head on her paws, staring dolefully at Don, ignoring the bowl of food inches from her muzzle.

‘Yeah, I know, old girl,’ Don said, ‘I know.’

No one had challenged him that morning when he had driven out to the old Tucker place and half-enticed,
half-lifted
Poppsy into the station wagon. But someone had been there, watching him through the slightly parted upstairs drapes on the window of the gray house.

It was Ellen, he guessed, but she had not come down or called out. He had been prepared to answer any challenge, telling them truthfully that Aunt Trish had told him to take the dog if he wanted it.

It wasn’t necessary to say anything; no one had emerged. The house already looked lifeless and deserted as if no one had lived in it for many years. Perhaps, he reflected, no one really had.

Don petted the old dog’s ruff and rose to his feet. He thought briefly about taking Poppsy along for a walk, but she could barely hobble and didn’t need the confusion of more displacement. He went out and closed the chain-link gate behind him.

The sky was clear, the sea calm and muted on this morning. Don started walking along the beach toward the pier. The heavy surf accompanying the previous day’s storm had stripped the beach of much sand, leaving a field of small, polished black stones. A young couple on a bright blanket lay in each other’s arms, heedless of the stones and chill northern breeze. Two lanky 6-month-old black Labrador pups played with the foamy hem of the ocean’s skirts, barking at it as it touched their feet, circling away from this unknown force only to return in awkward bounds moments later. White gulls wheeled and shrieked around the pier, hoping for bait or handouts from the people fishing there. A long green freighter, miles beyond the surfline, coasted southward. Don sat on a massive black boulder and watched the moving sea for a long time. He had nothing else to do before visiting hours at the hospital.

He had fifteen dollars in his pocket. Another rent reminder had been pinned to his door that morning. Some of the little bit of money he had left would have to go into Jake’s gas tank; it was only fair. And how long could that go on? Jake had been extremely generous, but whereas in the past he had only used the station wagon very occasionally, he now had a constant need for it with Sarah in the hospital. The situation wasn’t fair to Jake. Don’s funds were
bottoming out at a terrific rate; he wasn’t even sure how long he could manage to feed Poppsy.

Maybe Edward had been right, Aunt Trish, everyone. Just what help did he imagine he could be to Sarah? But then, what was he supposed to do – desert her?

Reluctantly, he had come to recognize, as much as he hated to admit it, that he had been letting his life slide for a long time, living on hope and whimsy and tomorrow. Sarah was not a draw on his resources however, quite the reverse; she had become a reason for him to try getting himself together. Somehow.

He bought two hamburgers at the little stand on the pier and trudged back to his studio, eating one. If she wouldn’t eat her regular food, maybe Poppsy would eat a hamburger even if it wasn’t fed to her from Sarah’s hand.

He stopped at the photographic shop on Third Street on his way home and dropped off the roll of film he had shot of Sarah on the pier.

The owner of the shop, Ed Feldstein, dutifully filled out a yellow receipt with his arthritic hands. Feldstein looked older than his years. Don thought that he suffered from some long-lingering disease, cancer perhaps. He was very thin with over-bright blue eyes, had an Einsteinian shock of white hair and tobacco-yellowed teeth. He inevitably wore a bow tie and smiled in a pained way.

‘Good stuff on this roll, Don?’ he asked, as always. Feldstein had been a freelance photographer in his younger days and he seemed genuinely to wish Don success.

‘Well, we’ll see,’ Don answered. He looked around the
shop. There was only one other customer, a young woman in jeans and white sweater, intently studying a Leica camera.

‘Is there any chance you could use some help in the shop, Ed?’ Don blurted out.

Caught by surprise, Feldstein was a long time answering. ‘You, Don, do you mean?’

‘Yes.’

Feldstein gave him a long, appraising look. The girl held up the Leica and asked, ‘Can I put this on layaway?’

‘Ninety days same as cash,’ Feldstein replied, and the girl nodded and got back to peering through the camera’s viewfinder.

‘I don’t know right now, Don.’ Feldstein said hesitantly. ‘My daughter’s working nights here, you know.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘Well,’ Feldstein shrugged. ‘She’s nineteen – you know what nineteen is. Sometimes she tells me she wants to go back to college next semester. Sometimes she don’t know what she wants to do. You know what I mean. But if she does decide to go to school, you’ll be the first one I’ll let know.’

‘I can’t ask for any more than that, Ed. Thanks.’

‘Sure.’ He tapped the yellow envelope containing the roll of film. ‘I’ll have your prints for you in two days, same as always.’

Well, Don thought as he went out of the shop, that wasn’t much to hang his hopes on, but he was at least attempting to get
something
done.

He crossed the street at an angle, sprinting between two
oncoming cars and ducked into the small yellow-brick post office on the corner.

His mail included a large manila envelope. He knew without opening it what it contained. It was from
Western Traveler
magazine. They were returning some sea-shots he had submitted for publication. He only glanced at the enclosed letter.

‘At this time, due to overstocking, we are not accepting any new photographic submissions at
WT
. This in no way reflects upon the quality of your work, and we wish you luck with another….’

Another life
, Don thought bitterly, stuffing the letter back into the envelope with the 8x10s.

He returned home, checking on Poppsy in her yard. The old dog seemed not to have moved an inch while he was gone. He offered her the hamburger from his pocket, cajoled and pleaded, but Poppsy would not take it from his hand. Finally, Don gave up and placed it in her bowl atop the uneaten dog food. Maybe she would eat it when he left? She was bound to get hungry sooner or later.

When visiting hours began rolling around, Don slipped upstairs and took a quick shower, escaping again before he encountered his landlady. Then, with profuse apologies, he went to borrow Jake’s station wagon once more.

‘Listen, Don,’ Jake said, holding up a hand in
interruption
, ‘it’s OK. I know these are special times, right? I don’t want you feeling like you have to crawl. This is me, Jake, remember?’

‘I know, Jake, and I appreciate it. It’s just that….’

‘Listen,’ Jake said, ‘I have to ask you something. Is there any way you could figure out to buy the wagon?’

‘Because…?’

‘Because I have to sell it. Me and Pat Crawford are going to Alaska on a boat. The fishing season is coming and I have to make a living, you know. The truth is,’ he said, scratching the side of his nose as he looked out across the town, ‘I’m not sure I’ll be coming back at all. Anyway,’ he shrugged, ‘I can’t just leave the thing sitting here, paying for garage space. You know I’d make you a deal on it. Hell, it’s not worth much anyway.’

‘This is kind of sudden, Jake. I didn’t even know you were considering leaving.’

‘Yeah, well, Pat and I have been talking about it off and on for a long time,’ Jake answered. He grinned, ‘Now we’re both just about broke enough to consider Alaska. Commercial fishing has been on the decline around here for a long time. Pat knows people in Anchorage, and they wrote and offered us work.’

‘When would you be leaving, Jake?’

‘A couple of days; the end of the week.’

‘This is kind of a surprise.’

‘Yeah, well, things have to move on, Don. I’m sorry because of your situation and all, but….’

‘Don’t give that a thought, Jake,’ Don said hastily. ‘You can’t schedule your life around my problems. If you’ve got a chance to make some good money, go for it. Sure,’ he said, looking at the old yellow and white station wagon in a new light, ‘if I can figure out a way, I’d like to have it.’

Figure
what
way, Don thought angrily as he drove the wagon up the highway to the hospital. His fifteen bucks was down to eleven dollars after buying the hamburgers. He glanced at the gas gauge; it showed a quarter of a tank. It would be nearly on empty by the time he got back. He rolled down the window so that a cold gale of sea air raced over him, and he turned the radio up full blast to give his mind something else to focus on.

Oh, no!

Swinging into the parking lot at Northshore Hospital, Don immediately saw an unmistakable vehicle – a blue 1954 Buick Roadmaster convertible. Rare, distinctive, menacing.

It was Raymond Tucker’s car.

That was the last thing he had expected. He had supposed that Tucker would be miles away by now. Perhaps there had been hospital papers to sign, detaining him. Then, to give the man some credit, he thought that probably even Raymond Tucker wouldn’t be so callous as to drive away without knowing Sarah’s condition.

Don parked in the far corner of the parking lot under a broken cypress tree, and sat behind the wheel, chin on his hand, watching for Raymond or Edward – perhaps both men were there. He glanced at his watch. They would have to leave sometime, but what if it wasn’t until visiting hours were over?

He sat there unhappily for endless minutes, watching people come and go. Half an hour passed, an hour and still the Buick sat there, chrome glittering coldly in the bright sunlight.

When he could wait no longer, he got out of the station
wagon and walked to the hospital entrance. Down the long corridor, bristling with intent nurses and interns, he entered the psychiatric ward.

And saw Sarah.

She sat behind a Plexiglas window like a prisoner or a museum exhibit, her huge brown eyes hopefully pleasant and so confused. Her arm was heavily bandaged. Some sort of antiseptic smeared her forehead.

Raymond Tucker was seated at the window facing her, and he turned his head to squint at Don. Recognizing him, Tucker rose and whirled toward him.

‘Out! What the hell are you doing here?’

‘Back off, Tucker.’

‘Back off, your ass. Who do you think you’re talking to?’

‘A madman, I guess.’

Sarah’s eyes grew wider. She did not like conflict and did not understand this.

Raymond stepped nearer and an orderly intervened, holding out a restraining arm.

‘This is a hospital, sir.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ Raymond said. Then to Don: ‘Outside, man.’

Don only nodded. One of the crimes of man’s existence, he thought, was that in time everything must devolve into violence. While Sarah sat and dreamed and wondered in confusion.

‘This guy is not allowed in here,’ Raymond was telling the orderly. ‘Dig it? I’m her father. This guy is a part of the problem.’

The
problem?
Don’s disgust was too deep for reply. He turned sharply on his heel and walked from the room, Sarah’s eyes asking questions he could not answer. Don was shaking with emotion, too angry to organize his thoughts at all. Raymond Tucker, being what he was, found him in the parking lot, his hands already curled into fists.

‘Who are you?’ Raymond asked in heavy tones. ‘Why don’t you just leave us alone?’

‘Why didn’t you leave Sarah alone? Why didn’t you leave Eric alone?’

‘Smart ass. You think you know a lot, don’t you?’

‘Sir,’ Don answered, ‘with all the respect I can possibly muster, I think you are the prick of all time.’

Raymond lunged at him. With Don’s knowledge of him, it was predictable. Don had set himself mentally for it. He was facing corruption, sickness – this was the man who had mutilated Sarah. Raymond hit him first, with all of the strength of his still-powerful shoulders, but Don hardly felt it although his knees buckled and his head filled with a flurry of multi-colored lights.

‘Is that your best shot, old man?’ he taunted Raymond, recklessly. Raymond’s best shot was very good indeed; Don was not about to admit that.

‘I’m going to kill you, boy.’

‘You know what, Raymond? I don’t think I care right now.’

Raymond hit him again, very hard, his knuckles ripping across Don’s teeth, filling his mouth with mercury-tasting blood.

There was no science or skill in Don’s response. He flailed away inartistically, but with pent-up, violent force.

Raymond slipped under the barrage of blows and went down against the asphalt. He rose again quickly, eagerly. Swinging wildly, Don caught the man flush on the nose, and there was an instant flood of blood from Raymond’s nostrils. He fell again, cursing and thrashing. People were rushing toward them from across the parking lot and through the glass double doors of the hospital. Don backed away, panting, his hair in his eyes.

‘Stay down, damn you!’ he shouted at Raymond, but Raymond Tucker got to his feet once again and, swaying, tried one last futile blow. Don jerked his chin out of the way and Tucker, overbalanced, swung through, and fell like a drunk. Don hovered over his downed adversary, wanting to kick him in the face. Or hate him. Or pity him….

In the end, he just turned and walked away through the weltering hailstorm of demanding voices, thinking only of the girl with the huge, questioning brown eyes.

It was another day constructed of puzzles, Sarah thought. Everything had grown so confusing again. Daddy had come, but he hadn’t taken her away from this gray place with its gray gowns and old gray faces. The young man had come – why had her heart quickened when she saw him, beating so much faster than it had when Daddy arrived?

But … the young man had gone away without talking to her. Back to his endless, bright sea – that was where Sarah always pictured him. Why hadn’t he stayed? Why had
Daddy yelled at him? She wanted to be with the young man, and she scuffled for a word, a long-forgotten word. It was very scary when she did discover it.