Yellowstone Memories (34 page)

Thomas didn’t move.

“The doctor said your blood sugar was extremely low.” He spoke in nearly a whisper, nodding toward the IV pole. “You’re more than twenty pounds underweight, and she needed to give you intravenous dextrose. Have you been eating anything at all?”

“What?” Alicia jerked up straight. “He told you that? That’s confidential, Thomas.” Her voice burned. “How dare he tell you my personal information.”

Thomas took a step back. “
She
told me, Alicia. Your doctor’s a woman. And I’m so sorry about the breach of confidentiality. But you were on my watch, and somebody needed to know since you’d blacked out—either from hunger or a blow to the head or both. I was in charge of the crew, so she told me.” He rubbed his face in his hands. “Forgive me. I just … want to see you whole. Healthy. It’s like … I’m losing you.”

Fat idiota
. Alicia turned her face away, remembering Miguel’s curses. “Leave me alone, Thomas.”

She saw his face fall by tiniest degrees, the moisture in his eyes intensifying until his eyes burned red, as if stung by smoke.

Instead of turning to the door, Thomas walked quietly over to her bedside and stood there a second. Then he reached down and smoothed her bangs out of her eyes.

“The Lord loves you, Alicia,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’re precious to Him. And to others.”

“I’m not precious.” Alicia spoke through her teeth. “I’ve meant nothing to anybody as long as I can remember. I’ve lived a life you can’t even begin to imagine.”

“Try me.”

“I’ve done drugs. I ran away from home. I’ve been in rehab for alcohol more times than I can count.” Alicia counted them off on her fingers. “I’ve sold myself on the streets to have money to eat.” Tears swelled in her eyes. “Once one of my foster fathers beat me so badly I had to have reconstructive surgery.” She rolled up her sleeve to show an arm riddled with scars and scratches. “I cut myself for years.”

Thomas’s eyes watered. “You’ve told me some of this before, Alicia. I’m not dumb. I know you’ve suffered a lot—for things that weren’t your fault. And made some bad choices because of it. But I’ve never condemned you.”

Alicia paused, running her fingers over the IV tape. “I’ll never be one of your squeaky-clean Bible-college girls with the long dresses and big Bibles. Hear me?” She glared. “Go ahead and tell me I’m precious now.”

Thomas’s lips tightened, but he didn’t change his expression. “You
are
precious,” he whispered. “No matter what you say.”

He touched two fingers to his lips and then to her forehead.

And then he turned and walked out of the hospital room, his footsteps clomping mournfully down the empty corridor.

Alicia reached up to press the C
ALL
button. As she shifted her arm, several Forest Service firefighters strode past her doorway, their faces streaked with ash. One moaned while he held his arm.

Someone paused, and a familiar face flashed in the doorway. Stepping back just as two orderlies rolled an empty gurney past her room, its wheels squeaking.

“Miguel?” she gasped, raising herself up on one arm. “What are you doing here?”

M
iguel? That’s impossible.” Carlita scrubbed her wet hair with a towel and stared at Alicia’s reflection in the chipped mirror. Base camp shower facilities weren’t much to brag about, but at least they offered indoor plumbing. On the other side of the showers, several women had even plugged in a few curling irons and hair dryers.

“Miguel’s a thousand miles from here.” Carlita pulled the towel off her neck and dug in her makeup bag for an Avon blush compact.
Pink Lemonade
, Alicia read sideways on the label.

“I’m telling you, I saw him.” Alicia pulled her toothbrush from her mouth to speak. “He started to walk into my room, but then he disappeared.” She tore off a brown paper towel and wiped Crest foam off her chin, trying to hide her shaking hands. “I asked the nurse to look for him, but nobody’d seen him but me. He had that scar on his jaw.”

She gestured at her chin with her pinkie, catching a glimpse of her face in the glass: pale and tight. The swelling had gone down from her escapade in Methuselah, but the bruises and cuts on the side of her face bloomed bright and scabby.

“I’m sure it was him. He blended right in with the rest of the guys—wearing Forest Service firefighter clothes and everything. Yellow shirt and green pants. The whole bit.”

Carlita raised an eyebrow above moisture-frosted glasses. “Miguel. In Forest Service clothes.”

“I know it sounds crazy, but I’d know that face anywhere. I’ve been with him two stinking years.”

“Alicia.” Carlita put her blush brush down. “I know Miguel’s threatened you, but do you really think he’d come all the way to Wyoming and mingle with a bunch of firefighters in a hospital? Miguel might be foolhardy, like you, but he’s not stupid.”

“I’m not foolhardy.” Alicia scowled and turned on the faucet, eliciting a spray of cloudy, metallic-scented water that reeked of iron. “But I’m you. He’s dangerous. He swore if I left him, he’d … he’d …” She broke off and rinsed her toothbrush in silence, shaking off the droplets.

“He’d what?”

“Aw, he’s just full of talk.” Alicia tried to put the toothbrush in her yellow plastic holder and fumbled, dropping one of the pieces. “Why should I believe anything that jerk says?”

Carlita knelt and picked up the plastic tube, not taking her eyes off Alicia. “What did he say?”

Alicia picked at her chipped nail polish, inhaling a whiff of Aqua Net hairspray from the other end of the bathroom. Someone jingled bracelets, and the sound echoed against the dank tile and concrete walls.

Carlita waited for two other women to pass, both of them laughing at some shared joke, and then raised herself up to Alicia’s eye level. Hands on her hips and dark eyes spitting fire. “So help me, Alicia Sanchez, you’d better tell me the truth right now.”

“Fine.” Alicia spat out a breath. “He said he’d … kill me.” She took the plastic tube from Carlita and stuffed her toothbrush inside, clicking it closed. “I don’t believe him really, but it gives me the creeps. Miguel can be pretty rough.”

A faucet dripped on the nearby sink, leaving a rusty orange stain down the old porcelain.

“Alicia.” Carlita sighed and rested a palm on Alicia’s shoulder. “That man’s evil. You can’t trust him.”

“I know that.” Alicia zipped her zebra-striped travel bag closed, tugging hard at the stuck zipper. “And he’s vengeful, too. But I didn’t think he’d try to come all the way here.” She leaned both hands on the sink and stared down at the rusty drain, raising one hand to scratch through her damp hair. “Do you really think it was him? Or am I losing it?”

“For pity’s sake, Alicia. I wish you’d told me sooner that Miguel threatened you. He can’t be here in Wyoming, but he might be waiting for you when you get back. When Miguel gets his mind set on something, he’ll never back down. Hear me? Watch yourself.” She let out a heavy breath. “Isn’t he wanted for something?”

“Yeah.” Alicia massaged the back of her neck. For three days she’d reeked of ash and smoke, and it felt good to smell of freesia body wash and pale green Prell shampoo. “Robbery and attempted murder. He says he didn’t do it, but I’ve heard him slip enough times to believe he did.”

“Do you have a restraining order? Anything?”

“No.”

Carlita scowled, pretending to smack Alicia. “What’s the matter with you?”

“He said he’d kill me if he heard I was even thinking of it. And with as many friends as he has down at the jail, I knew better than to try and slip anything past him. If he didn’t do it, one of them would.” She played with a strand of wet hair. “And he kept saying he’d change. He’d be different. He’d be better. But …”

Carlita shook her head, the white-gray chunks in her hair standing out starkly against the black as she dug in her bag for Avon perfume. “You need help, Alicia. I never knew it was this bad.” She blew out an angry breath and spritzed perfume on both wrists. “Maybe you should get a transfer or something. Move away from Santa Fe. From New Mexico, even.”

“Wait a second.” Alicia whirled around, not appearing to hear. “If Miguel’s wanted, he wouldn’t show up in a crowd of Feds, would he? And in a hospital?” She chewed on a broken nail. “I mean, he’d be surrounded by hundreds of Park Service and Forest Service employees, not to mention all the local police and firefighters. Anybody could identify him.”

“And he’d have to give his name and ID to come into the park and hospital, too. Which again, if he’s wanted, he’d never do. And,” she lifted one finger, “Melissa Ramirez told me herself Miguel was in Juarez last week, and I called my cousin from a pay phone last night to confirm. He says Miguel’s there.”

“What? Why in the world would you call your cousin about Miguel?”

“Because Jorge said a few things that bugged me. But he’s a liar. Just like I always said.”

“So Miguel’s in … Juarez?”

“Yep. Staying at some seedy place in the red-light district. Exactly as I suspected.” Carlita dumped the perfume back in her bag.

A couple of laughing women pushed open the heavy bathroom door, still clad in their ash-stained pants and shirts, heading for the showers.

Alicia slung her travel bag over her shoulder as she faced Carlita. “So you think I’m seeing things?”

“People? Yes. You’re stressed.” Carlita waved at one of the women and combed her wet hair in silence until she and Alicia were alone again. “My cousin runs a hotel there in Juarez, a gambling place, and he’d know if Miguel was in town.”

“Oh.” Alicia let out a breath of relief. “Then I’m okay.”

“No.” Carlita took a step forward, sticking a pointed index finger at Alicia’s nose. “You’re not okay.” Her nostrils flared. “I’ve worked with you for five years now, and I can tell you’re in trouble.” She stuck her face close to Alicia. “You came to my wedding. I made you Trisha’s godmother.”

Alicia’s breath seemed to go out. “I love that girl, Carlita,” she whispered. “I’d do anything for her.” Glimpses of little dark-haired Trisha flashed through her mind. The day she’d worn pigtails for the first time, so tender and childlike, Alicia had bawled in Carlita’s bathroom.

“I know you love her. She adores you. But I feel every day like I’m losing you.”

Alicia drew back, speechless. “Losing me? That’s … that’s what Thomas said,” she blurted. “And it’s absurd. What’s the matter with the two of you? Are you in cahoots or something?”

“Look at you.” Carlita ignored Alicia and tugged on her baggy sweatshirt sleeve. “You’ve lost so much weight I don’t recognize you. You never eat, and you bite my head off every time I mention it.” She shook her head sadly. “I think you need help.”

“What?” Alicia jerked her sleeve away, heat pinking her cheeks.

“I mean it.” Carlita took a threatening step forward. “If you won’t talk to me about it, talk to somebody.” She waved an arm in frustration. “Talk to that Thomas guy, for goodness’ sake.”

“Thomas?” gasped Alicia angrily, backing away from the sink. “What does he have to do with anything?”

“He’s a friend. And when you’re having a hard time, that’s what you need more than anything—a friend. Thomas listens to you. He’s protective of you. And I hear from the engine crew that he moped around all day after they took you to the hospital.” She pointed to her heart. “I’m always here for you, too. You know that. But maybe Thomas can break through that thick skin of yours and convince you of what I can’t—that you’re worth fighting for.”

H
i, could I speak to Thomas Walks-with-Eagles, please? He’s the engine captain.” Alicia spoke quietly into the camp pay phone, her breath making a chilly mist. She’d put her meager change together and walked to the far end of camp, early morning shadows and dampness painting the trees deep gray.

“Hold on a sec.” Somebody spoke in muffled tones on the other end of the phone and Alicia waited. Leaning against the cold wooden phone booth and staring at the coiled metal phone cord.

Her unbandaged hand circled a paper cup of steaming black coffee as she vainly tried to ward off the predawn chill. Even her down vest didn’t warm her like she’d hoped. Mornings in the Rockies were legendary: crisp and crackling cold even in the summer, stars shimmering like diamonds and giving way to a sky of splintered stained glass. Pines edged in blue and silver.

“Thomas speaking. May I help you?” Thomas’s voice crackled into the phone receiver—a dead giveaway of wind where his crew was packing up to head for breakfast. He sounded crisp and professional, and for a second the knot in Alicia’s stomach tightened.

“Hello?” Thomas spoke again.

“Hi. It’s … Alicia.” She cleared her throat, setting her coffee cup down on the stand next to the phone. “Alicia Sanchez,” she added awkwardly, in case Thomas didn’t recognize her.

Thomas didn’t reply, and she silently banged her head against the wooden phone booth. Of course Thomas knew who she was. As if he’d forget their five years of banter back and forth. Their “Top Ten Horrible Forest Service Lunches” contest and goofy paper-clip awards. The gear he left in her locker as a surprise when she packed up, and the miracle peanut butter brownies she’d once made him in a skillet over a sputtering campfire.

“Alicia?” Thomas’s voice lost its professional edge, and he sounded almost sad. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

She stood there a moment, not sure what to say. A gust of breeze blew her hair, bringing with it the sharp stench of ash and burned wood. A harsh smell that made her want to cover her mouth and nose.

“Listen. Thomas.” Alicia watched the steam curl up from her coffee cup in pale spirals. “I just … well, I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” The cold made her nose run, and she dug in her pocket for a Kleenex. “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that in the hospital.”

The line fell so silent that Alicia heard the slam of a truck door from her camp through the pines. Some guys laughing about Wayne Gretzky and hockey player trades.

“Thomas?”

“I’m here.” He sounded choked up.

“Well, I’m sorry.” She scrubbed her heel in the dirt, indignant about having to say it twice.