By the Book (11 page)

He could hear her settling into the chair he’d vacated at the foot of the bed. He felt alone and awkward. Part of him felt like a fool talking to the unresponsive stranger in the bed, and yet he couldn’t deny that with each secret pain he spoke aloud, with every, repressed grievance he liberated, there came a certain lightness in his chest, an easing of the tightness he was accustomed to.

“I hated that school you sent me to,” he said experimentally, feeling the release of another tight band from around his heart. “At first, anyway.” A pause. “Like I said, I waited a long time for you to come get me. After a while I figured that school was the only family I was ever going to have. I had to make the best of it.” He leaned back in the chair and laced his fingers over his abdomen comfortably. “Just for the record, though, you don’t send a six-year-old off to military school unless there’s something really ... wrong with him, you know? Most of the kids in my class were hyperactive or had a discipline problem, along with feeling unwanted, so they ended up being weirder than I was.” He was silent a moment. “But I actually think we all should have been at home at that age. Most of them went home for vacations. I dreaded vacations. Sometimes there were a couple of other guys who didn’t go home, but usually it was just me, especially in the summer.” He wasn’t even thinking of what he wanted to say anymore. The words were out of his mouth without stopping in his brain for conscious thought. He was remembering, as if he were an outsider looking in, with no real feeling. “I suppose you made arrangements or at least knew I spent holidays and vacations with the commandant. He and I never had much trouble, we ... we just stayed out of each other’s way, ate meals together. The rest of time I was on my own.”

Ellen listened as Jonah told his father about a young boy given light chores and class assignments during his vacations—idle hands and minds being what the were—and how he’d spent the rest of those idle hours of his youth shooting hoops and reading and repeatedly beating his own records on the two-mile track. He talked fondly about a camping trip with the campus cook and her family one Fourth of July, and Ellen could feel a resentment all her own building up against the pale, fragile man laying under the pristine sheets. It was impossible to remain objective, to try to see both sides. Because she loved him so much, it was too easy to see Jonah as a young boy, dark hair, big sober green eyes, alone and lonely. ... She closed her eyes tight and held a deep breath. Her father may have been an alcoholic, but at least he’d been there, at least she knew he loved her. She let the sigh out and opened her eyes, stood and walked silently to the window.

There was nothing to look at really, nothing to distract her. It was dark out. From the second floor of the small two-story hospital she could make out several rows of streetlights in different directions and the emergency room entrance directly below and the parking lot beyond that. All was quiet, except for Jonah’s deep, soft voice telling about a science fair he’d once won and how the commandant had told him his father would have been proud when he shook his hand and gave him the award. It had fired up a hope in his heart that his father was at least getting—and hopefully reading—reports about him. It spurred him to excel in everything. At his studies. In sports. To attain rank and privilege through the military system of the school. To make his father proud. To make his father want him ...

She’d always known there were lots of people worse off in life than she was, and yet she still had the incredible nerve to complain about her lot, to feel restless, to want more. So much so that she’d turned to a ridiculous little green book for help. She knew a deep-down shame that made her want to cry. So she got tromped on a little, being a too-nice person, was that so bad? Maybe she didn’t stand out in a crowd, was that so awful? What if she didn’t have everything she wanted out of life, who did? And yet ...

She’d almost convinced herself that it was okay to want to better oneself and to get more out of life, no matter how well off you’d always been, when she finally noticed what was happening in the parking lot below. Then she was certain of it. It was human nature to want more. It was her right to be happy—and to do what she had to do to make herself that way. Jonah didn’t settle for being lonely and unhappy; she didn’t have to either.

Watching from Earl Blake’s sickroom, she let the scene below fuel her resolve. A police car had pulled up in front of the emergency room. Two nurses appeared from inside. She recognized Bobby Ingles as one of the officers—they’d gone to school together. His partner opened the rear door of their vehicle, and two long legs popped out. Kicking and flailing in the air, the legs were fast and agile, and looked as if they could cause some serious pain if they came in contact with someone. Bobby braved the leg farthest from the door and got kicked in the shoulder by the other leg for his efforts. His partner confronted that leg, wrapping both his arms around it the way he might a greased pig. They pulled together and eased the man out of the car. The two nurses were there, reaching to take first one arm, then the other with no problem at all. The man’s hands were cuffed behind him.

They carried him like a battering ram, the two officers at his legs, the nurses by his arms, pulling him well away from the car, protecting him as he jerked and bucked, trying to free himself. Finally, when he either tired or decided it was useless, his neck went limp and his head lolled back so that he was staring straight up at Ellen in the second-floor window.

She wasn’t sure if it was curiosity or disbelief that had her hyperextending her neck in an effort to get a good look at the man’s face. She already knew who it was—and she was going to kill him.

She turned and through a haze of red she saw father and son circled in the light from the lamp above the bed. Jonah was leaning forward with his arms across his knees, speaking in a low voice. And with Earl positioned the way he was, she could almost imagine him listening.

It wasn’t easy talking to the inanimate man, she could tell. Jonah would look at his hands, think of something to say, say it, wait for an answer, look back at his hands, and think of something else to comment on. She smiled. He was trying so hard. A part of him was still the little boy wanting love and acceptance from a man he barely knew, loving him instinctively, against his better judgment. It was a torment and a privilege to see, hurtful and uplifting at once.

She sighed. Perhaps not all of life was what you made it. Maybe it was a fifty-fifty combination of fate and free will. Thinking about it now, it seemed pretty fortuitous that she’d happened across the little green book when she had. Shortly after Jonah’s arrival, after he’d caught her attention, just when she wanted to catch his attention. Maybe it was fate’s way of saying that with a little self-improvement, she could be good for Jonah—that they could be good for each other.

But then, of course, there was the fact that the little green book was having no effect on her dealings with Felix.

“I’ll probably never understand why you couldn’t have kept in touch,” she heard Jonah say. “Or forgive you. But I’ve seen your pictures.”

“Jonah?” she said softly, hating to interrupt when he seemed to be on a roll. When he looked in her direction, she smiled. “I’m going to leave for a few minutes, a little while maybe.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, getting up immediately. “Of course, you’re bored. I’m sorry. Let’s go. This isn’t doing any good anyway.”

“No. No. It is,” she said, rushing forward to keep him from moving the chair back “It is doing good. I can feel it.” She patted her chest to show where. “And I’m not at all bored. I don’t even want to leave, but ... well, I just remembered a phone call I have to make. To my mother? I promised her I’d call her before nine, and here it is already eight thirty-five. But when she gets going ...” She trailed off with a helpless laugh. Her face was hot. The next time she went to the grocery store, she was going to look for a little book titled
Lying Made Easy.
“It shouldn’t take long, but it might be a while.” She bobbed her head uncertainly. “I’ll just go find a phone and call her and come right back. You stay. Keep talking to him. Tell him what you’re doing now. I didn’t bring my purse. Do you have a quarter?” If worst came to worst, she really was going to call her mother. “Tell him everything he’s missed out on.”

Uncertain, he handed her the quarter and said, “But if we leave now, you can call from my house while I finish cooking dinner. We can make it back before nine.”

Oh, she hated the perfect logic of that idea.

“You know, I was just thinking about that orange? I don’t think it settled on my empty stomach very well. I feel sort of weird right now. I know it’s rude and ungrateful to ask, but would you mind if we postponed dinner for another night? Maybe stop and get something light and fast after visiting hours?”

“Of course not,” he said. A light chuckle mixed with a look of concern. “But how weird do you feel? Are you sick? You look a little pale.”

“Me? No, it’s the red hair. I always look pale.”

“No,” he said, leaning forward with a gentle kiss. “You always look beautiful.”

“No,” she said, embarrassed and a little flustered—and glad nonetheless that he kept coming back to that subject. “Well, sometimes maybe—but you should see me in the morning.”

“I’d love to see you in the morning,” he said quietly and quite seriously even as a wily smile played on his lips.

Oh Lord! Now she really was hot, and not just in her face. She felt her heart in her throat; it was beating too fast. This was one of those moments when a woman with a
real
attitude would say something hysterically funny to defuse the situation, or something so incredibly sexy, he’d forget to swallow his own drool. As it was, her mind was fizzling like a sparkler on Chinese New Year. He was looking at her as if ... well, his whole expression was totally indecent considering where they were, with pain and suffering—and beds—all around them.

Her mind tipped slightly into hysteria. Tongue-tied, she sputtered a bit and shook her finger at him. All she could think about was waking up beside him, not caring what she looked like, knowing only that she was warm and safe and wanted. Finally she said, “I gotta go.”

Once she made it to the first floor and followed the signs to the emergency room, it wasn’t at all difficult to find Felix.

“Arrest me!”

She heard his voice the second she opened the doors to the waiting room.

“Arrest me! It’s your job.”

She approached the receptionist’s desk and must have looked angry enough, or shamed enough, or determined enough, or enough like Felix for the woman to recognize who she might be. They exchanged embarrassed and empathic grimaces and the woman nodded and pointed, giving her silent permission to go through the doors leading to the emergency room.

“What kind of policemanship is this anyway?” she heard Felix ask, loud and indignant. “If you don’t arrest me, I’ll sue. I’ll sue you. I’ll sue the police station. I’ll sue ... my nose itches. Untie me so I can scratch it, okay?”

She didn’t really want to be there, she realized suddenly. She was walking down the hall, looking into each treatment room, homing in on Felix’s voice, but what she wanted to do was turn around, walk out, go home, crawl into bed, and forget about him.

“It’s your duty to arrest me, Bobby. I’m drunk and disorderly, and I bet I broke something when I hit my head. That’s ... destruction. Destruction of property. You gotta arrest me.”

“You didn’t break anything. Nobody’s pressing any charges. We’ll call your mom or one of your sisters and have them come get you.”

“My sisters,” he said with some derision. “They’re gonna love this. Hey! You were sweet on my sister Ellen in high school, weren’t ya? I remember now.” A brief silence. “Listen, if you ever had one ounce of feeling for her, you’d arrest me now. She
hates
funerals.”

She stood outside the door with her back plastered to the wall, cringing with humiliation and remembering Bobby Ingles in high school—tall, skinny, and so shy he could barely string two coherent words together. Being what she was at the time, she had invited
him
to the movies after his tenth failed attempt to ask her out. He’d actually been a tolerable movie companion. He didn’t utter a single word during the movie—or before or after it either.

“High school was a long time ago, and there isn’t going to be any funeral,” Bobby said. “You have a lump on your head, but the doc says you’re going to be fine. He also says you need a detox program.”

“What I need is to be arrested!” Felix bellowed.

“Felix!” she said, when she couldn’t stand it any longer and stepped into the room. “Keep your voice down. There are sick people here.”

“Now you’ve done it,” he said to Bobby, casting him a traitor’s glare. “If that junkyard dog doesn’t kill me, she will.”

“I’d like to right now. Hi, Bobby,” she said, with a quick glance in his direction. Then she was back on Felix like white on rice. “I thought I told you to stay in my apartment and not to drink.”

“You also told me you were going to fix things.”

“And I will. As soon as I figure out how. In the meantime, you have to keep a clear head and stay out of sight.”

“I think better drunk and I’ll be safer in jail.” He nodded his head to give her some assurance. He turned suddenly to Bobby and shouted, “Arrest me!”

She stepped back helplessly and saw for the first time that he had soft restraints around his wrists, tied to either side of the stretcher. He was wearing the same dirty clothes he’d been wearing the day before, which meant he hadn’t even gone home to change before going out to drink—but then, why would he?

“I’m sorry about this, Bobby,” she said when she looked up and caught him looking at her with a sad expression on his face. “What’s he done now?”

“Nothing really. Got falling-down drunk, and the bartender called to have us come scoop him up off the floor. Hit his head somewhere along the way. We just thought we’d have it checked out before we called someone to come get him. How’d you know where to find him?”