Light the Hidden Things (24 page)

The front passenger door swung open. The woman got out, moving fast to face Crow. Miles noted more concern in her manner than anger, although there was plenty of both. She wore a blouse and jeans and white sandals whose quick flash at each step underscored her speed. Less than arm's reach from Crow, she drew up. She said, "We want to be sure you're all right."

Crow said, "I'm fine. You can go home happy."

Behind Miles, Major's bark was almost a yelp. The woman newcomer talking to Crow whirled at the sound. Immediately, she faced Crow again. There was a new edge to her voice. "Garza told us Major was injured."

"We'll be fine. Save your sympathy for someone who needs it."

The woman threw her head back and laughed. It was a pretty laugh. Nevertheless, Miles held his breath, waiting for Crow's explosion. The woman stifled any blow-up before it could start. She lifted her chin, pointed a finger at Crow that had the authority of a sword. She said, "I feel sympathy for Major. You? Sure, I wish you weren't hurt. We thought maybe you needed help. But sympathy? You're so sorry for yourself there's no room for anyone else's sympathy."

She stormed away without a look back. Reaching Jason Miles, she stuck out a hand. "I'm Lila Milam," she said. He took her hand automatically. She showed a polite smile and continued on toward the Airstream. Whining and wriggling, Major still held to his "stay" command.

Miles watched the woman go to the dog, wishing he could simply enjoy what had just happened. What stopped him was his certainty that, despite the flesh-eating blast she'd thrown at Crow, the woman was closer to tears than rage. Seeing her distress took almost all the fun out of seeing a ramrod like Crow put in his place. Almost.

Major leaned so far out the door of the trailer he scrabbled to avoid falling to the ground. When Lila reached him, he tried to leap up to lick her face. She held him off with worried affection, muttering his name as if it were a mantra. She petted with one hand, trailing the other, feather-light, across the stitches and shaved skin on his ribs, she said, "I heard how you pulled everybody out of that building. You're a hero dog, you ugly lump. I just love you to pieces."

Major melted gingerly onto his good side so he would he could waggle his paws and beg a belly rub.

Pastor Richards stepped out of his car. Crow, his face a mix of sheepishness and lingering anger, jerked a thumb in Lila's general direction and told the Pastor, "I had that coming, I guess."

Solemnly, Pastor Richards assured him. "No guess, son. You asked for it. "

"All I meant was we're fine. You all shouldn't..." He let the sentence fall away.

The Pastor's jaw set. It gave him a very different look. "You're not fine. You've lost weight. You're not all that steady on your feet, either." His hands clamped hard on Crow's shoulders. "Your eyes are so sunk in it looks like someone bored the holes too big. You eating right? You're not drinking? I wouldn't ask, but this is when we're tempted to look for comfort and then overdo it." He grinned, sly. "I promise I'm not trying to dry you out."

Crow felt himself relaxing further. He grinned back. "I didn't have much appetite for a while. I'm okay now. No booze." He stopped, clearly considering his next words, then, "I tried that. Long time ago. Using booze to fight pain works as well as swallowing a grenade to cure hiccups."

"Tell me about your condition. Garza gave us some idea, but we need to know the full depth of this thing."

The short period of easing tension was over. Crow tried not to tighten up and failed. Worse, he saw the Pastor was aware immediately. Crow wanted to sound cool. That failed, too. His voice rasped. "I said I'm fine. I took a hit. I'll deal with it."

"Not by yourself. That's why we're here. You can't push through this alone. We want to help, but we have to know the details first."

Crow took a deep breath.

Another bridge to burn. No different than any other.

Don't let the anger out. You've got it under control. Don't...

"I don't want your help. Don't need it, don't need you."

Fool! What did I say? Am I crazy? Really crazy? They came all this way. Lila. She hardly knows me.

So much the better for her. That way I won't ruin her life.

Sighing, the Pastor took his hands off Crow's shoulders and looked seaward at the shifting, ever-changing fog.

Crow sensed a powerful reluctance growing in the man.

A need to retreat? Him
?
From what?

When the Pastor spoke again, Crow had the unsettling notion that the words were for the present, but there were parallel thoughts in the Pastor's head that nothing to do with this place and time. The sensation brought on another bout of the dizziness. He braced, fighting off a swell of nausea. The Pastor was saying, "You're a brave, righteous man riding a death wish. This Me-against-the-world thing is not you. You're trapped in a world you can't change and can't escape, so you'll just stop caring about anything. You go through life telling everyone, 'Mr. Crow doesn't live here anymore.' That's a lie. You almost got yourself and good old Major killed risking your life to save others. A hopeless man wouldn't do that."

"All I did was react. If I wasn't knocked goofy, I'd have left them, saved myself. You think I want to die? That's upside down. My son got it right, Padre. Death is what I do. I
bring
death."

The Pastor continued to stare into the distance long enough for Crow to think the meeting was over. He turned to leave. The Pastor stopped him. "Bravery and death are not inseparable. For many the bravest thing they can do is live." He fixed Crow with a consuming gaze. Crow broke, looked away. The Pastor pressed on. "I intend to see you return to being fully alive. As a man of God, I believe that's what He wants of all of us. I know it's what I want. I also believe that, in her heart, that's what Lila wants, too."

Careful. Careful. He's clever. He said it himself: The fisherman. He catches people.

Words spit out of Crow. He heard them in his head before they were spoken and hated them. Still they came, bitter as bile. "Look, you all are just playing parts. You push your God like a used car salesman; she's the eye candy that gets the suckers on the lot so you can fast-talk them into junk you know's going to fall apart five minutes after the check clears."

Pastor Richards cheeks bloomed two faint red stains. He blinked rapidly and took a deep breath that he exhaled slowly. Shame threatened to curdle Crow's blood. The Pastor said, "That was so far beneath you I'm going to tell myself it never happened. I asked you for details of your condition earlier. I'd like you to tell me now, please."

Sophia's voice came as a rescuing trumpet. "That's Doctor Newton's car coming. Garza must have told him you all are here."

Crow told the Pastor, "There you go; get your answers from the horse's mouth. Or whatever. And tell him, whatever he tells you, I don't care. I'm still my own man."

The Pastor said, "I think I just realized why I like you. There's just enough damned fool in you - damned in the Biblical sense, that is - to make saving you a challenging entertainment."

He spun on his heel and was on his way toward the approaching blue Boxter.

Lila hurried to join him. She and Crow passed within feet of each other as he went to the Airstream. She slowed to say, "I didn't mean everything I said. You made me mad. I hate waste. Any kind."

His head wanted to split. He managed a return smile. "If that's an apology, don't. I'm the one was wrong. And if you're trying to confuse me, you win. What's waste got to do with anything?"

Her chin went up again. He winced, dreading more temper. She surprised him, almost shy. "You. You're wasting a good man's life."

There it is. She's just like her buddy, Richards.

His vision wavered. He slowed, holding together. By the time he was sure of himself she was already part of the gathering.

Doctor Newton, like many Northwesterners, regarded chill weather as bullying. The hard gray-green of the sea agreed with the calendar that fall was taking charge; an increasing breeze reinforced them. In shorts, flowered short-sleeved shirt, and sandals, Newton was ready for Waikiki. The Pastor resisted the urge to hug himself, offering a handshake instead. "I'm Pastor Andy Richards from Lupine, not far from Seattle. My friend is Lila Milam. She came with me. We want to help Crow recover."

Lila shook hands. Newton told the Pastor, "Good luck with that." He sent a sharp look at Crow, standing alone with Major. "Remember Bacon's 'No man is an island?' I wish he'd known that idiot. Is he going back to Lupine with you? Are you family?"

Pastor Richards said, "It's complicated. We're just some people who think he's a good man and want to do the right thing."

Newton snorted. "What do you know about a concussion like his, exactly?"

"Well, Hector Garza said..."

"Hector Garza's the best nurse I ever saw." Newton made slicing motions with both hand. "His problem is he's tied up with the same nonsense as you. He thinks Crow's a romantic lost soul. He may have a point. Doesn't matter. What I'm telling you is he's headed for an explosion. We just don't know when. He's practically certain to recover if he gets good care and takes care of himself. He won't. What he'll do is dominate your life. He's a parasite, frankly."

"He's asked for nothing."

"Why the hell should he? You people are offering."

Pastor Richards laughed softly. It was an honest reaction, but he hoped it might also defuse Lila's angry glare. Richards said, "Let's not argue, Doctor. Tell me what I need to know. Let me worry about the rest."

Newton shrugged. "I tried. Okay, If I get too technical, stop me. When we got him he pitched a 13 on the Glasgow Coma Score. It's something we use to quantify the degree of seriousness, you know? He vomited a couple of times. When he started talking he had some pretty serious antegrade amnesia - that's when you can't remember everything, but you remember some things. What bothers me is, he babbled about squads and guns and stuff. He begged someone to live. 'Stay with me,' is how he put it. He called for a corpsman- that's what Garza was. The way he sounded... I'll hear him forever."

Lila half-turned to glance back at Crow. He ignored her or pretended to. When she faced Newton and the Pastor, the doctor was clearly waiting for her. He went on, "Garza was there with me when Crow was hallucinating. Had to leave. Crying. He tell you that?"

The Pastor shook his head. Lila said, "Hector - he was in Iraq. So was Crow, I'm sure. I read up on PTSD - post traumatic stress disorder - do they have that?"

Newton said, "Garza, no. Crow? Probably. When he was brought in, I classified him as a Grade Five concussion. His brain went into
hypermetabolism
- especially sensitive to inadequate blood flow. He kept forgetting where he was, for instance."

Lila asked, "What can we do?"

"If he goes with you - which he won't - be patient. Be observant. He should be active, but nothing strenuous for a while. Get him under a doctor's care. Some of his symptoms may not resolve for weeks. Headaches. Sensitive to light and sound. He could slide off into depression or anxiety, could have memory and attention difficulties. On top of all that, you're right, there's the high possibility of PTSD. Promise me you won't hesitate to call me and your local authorities if he ever seems outside his normal behavior. Immediately."

Alarmed, Pastor Richards asked, "Are you saying he could be dangerous?"

Newton's lip curled. "The crazed returning veteran: One of our most fertile urban myths. You're in more danger of being hit by a meteor. Could he hurt himself? Possibly; not likely. What I'm telling you is behavior that's outside normal patterns may be a sign of other difficulties. You shouldn't worry about it beyond getting him attention."

Lila said, "Could he be - is he - suicidal?"

"I very carefully said 'hurt himself.' As a physician, I know the difference between that and 'kill himself.' But I'm not psychic. He's a troubled man, already hurting himself. You know that, or you wouldn't be here. What I said earlier stands: With proper care, there's no reason to think he can't lead a perfectly normal life. What fate has in store for him, I can't say. Not my department."

The Pastor said, "We've got something better than fate to rely on."

Newton smiled. He almost hid the condescension in it.

Lila said, "How long before he'll be well again? I mean, I know you can't say exactly, but can you give us an estimate?"

"Symptoms usually peak four to six weeks after an injury like his." Newton looked past Lila to Crow, calculating. He said, "I'd put him on the short end of the scale. He's a tough son of... son of a gun."

Lila almost laughed at the small concession to "ladies present." Still, it was thoughtful and, more than that, it broke the tension that had been ratcheting upward within her at every new fact from Doctor Newton. Following his gaze, she sent another look at Crow, then to Newton. She said, "He's worse than I hoped and better than I feared. We can do this. He'll be staying on my property. It's large enough so he'll have privacy, but I'll be able to check on him. Lots of room for Major, too. We've got a team standing by to help. We'll get him right."

She took a deep breath, proud that she felt every bit as confident as she sounded. She felt good, as well; she was doing something for someone. It wasn't too much to hope that this accident, awful as it had been, might be the key to Crow finding his way back to a life with real friends and real roots.