My Soul to Keep (19 page)

“It’s almost midnight,” she whispered. “What’s going on?”

“We have a theory we want to run by you,” I said. “Fasten your seat belt. It’s pretty bizarre.”

Liz frowned. “I can’t imagine anything you could say that would surprise me at this point.”

Maria came in with three cups of coffee.

“You went all the way downstairs in that amount of time?” I asked in a whisper.

She shook her head and stirred her sugar in. “Nurses’ station. It’s one of the big perks of being a doctor.”

“Is that one of those rights and privileges they talk about on the diploma?” I asked.

“I always wondered what those were,” Liz said. “Other than unfettered access to narcotics.”

Maria rolled her eyes. “Yeah, makes all those long hours of medical training completely worth the trouble. That and the spectacular pay you get working at a public hospital.”

“How’s she been?” I hiked myself up onto the window ledge, throwing a towel over the air-conditioning vent to keep it from blowing snow up my shirt.

“She seems fine. No more attacks. She’s dreaming some, squirming around. But she seems good. I think they’ll let us out of here tomorrow.” She looked around the room. “I will not miss this place.”

Maria pulled up a chair. “I put in a page to Dr. Lindsay. He should have gotten the reports from the radiologist and pulmonologist today.”

“Do you think it’s asthma?” Liz asked.

“Gut feeling? No. But I want to make sure.”

“What about you, Maria?” Liz asked. “Any news?”

“Nothing.”

Liz shook her head. “I don’t know how you’re getting through this.”

“I’m on fifteen-minute segments,” Maria said. “ ‘One day at a time’ was too ambitious.”

“What about you?” I asked Liz. “Any word from down south?”

“I talked to Andy a little while ago. The satellite phone decided to work, finally.” She took a sip of coffee and sighed. “That stupid phone cost a fortune, but it’s a worthless piece of junk if the network’s down. There are some problems that all the money in the world will not solve.”

“How does he sound?” I blew on my coffee, enjoying the smell of it.

“Terrific. He says it’s beautiful there. The kids are having a ball. They saw parrots in the trees today. He said they’re wearing themselves out playing with all the little orphan children. Probably teaching them to shoplift or something.” She turned to Maria. “My boys are hoodlums.”

“Sweet, though,” I said. “And so adorable they can get away with it.”

“Yeah, they’re going to be lady-killers, both of them,” Liz said.
“We’re foregoing a college fund for those two. We’re socking away cash for a criminal-defense fund instead.” We all laughed, bottling up the sound to keep from waking Christine. I watched as Maria wiped tears from her eyes. Tears of laughter, not grief or anger. I was grateful to see her eyes soften, her smile linger. The next fifteen minutes were looking pretty good.

“They keep dragging orphans up to Andy one at a time and asking if they can bring them home, like they’re puppies at the SPCA,” Liz said. “Like if they just find the right one …”

“Would you do that?” Maria asked. “Adopt a kid like that?”

“Maybe. I would like a little notice first. Andy’s liable to just show up with a few. He’s got a huge heart. He was one of those kids who always brought home lost kittens and birds with broken wings.”

“Do they know about Christine?” Maria asked.

“The boys? He didn’t want to scare them.”

“How’s Andy taking it?”

“He’s worried. He wanted to turn right back around and come home.”

“What did you say?”

“I said he was doing more good there than he could possibly do here. I don’t need the boys yanking the pages out of Christine’s chart and climbing her IV pole.” She tapped me on the arm. “You know how they are. Besides, he’s there for the orphans. It’s an important trip. They’re building a clinic. And the Angel Wing plane is flying around picking up supplies and bottled water and bringing in doctors. He needs to be there.”

“Is he personally building the clinic?”

“He thinks he is. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing. But he loves to swing a hammer.” She took a sip of coffee. “Makes him feel like a man.”

“Enrique was over last week with his power drill putting some shelves up in my closet,” Maria said. “So sexy.”

I nodded. “I love a man with power tools. David used to prune my sycamore tree with a chain saw.”

“And you broke up with him? You’re an idiot,” Liz said.

“He broke up with me,” I corrected. “And I think my idiot status is well established.”

Maria’s phone rang loudly. She snatched it up before it could wake Christine, spoke briefly, then hung up and turned back to us. “That was Dr. Lindsay.”

“At this hour?” Liz said. “Where can I get that kind of pull?”

“I delivered his twins. He owes me.” Maria winked. “Besides, he’s a night owl.”

“What did he say?” I asked.

“He saw the test results. No asthma.”

“What could it be then, Maria?” Liz asked. “Seizures maybe? Something neurological?”

Christine stirred and turned. No-Nose fell softly to the floor. Liz tucked him back in with Christine and pulled the blanket up over her shoulders.

We lowered our voices and told her about Nicholas’s panic attacks.

“What are you saying?” Liz hugged her knees. I covered more of the register with the towel. “That Christine is having panic attacks? Is that what’s behind this … what’s it called?”

“Tracheal stenosis.”

“Liz,” I said, “I think it might be more complicated than that.”

“Is this the seat-belt part?” she said.

Maria looked at me quizzically. “Seat belt?”

“I told her she’d need to buckle up for this ride.” I hopped down and sat on the edge of the bed. “Think about what’s happened so far. Nicholas starts having nightmares about a pale, creepy guy with a slash in his back.”

“Peter Terry?” Liz said. “When was this?”

“Last fall,” Maria said. “I wish I understood who he is, Dylan.”

“Look, if I knew, I’d run for God.”

“He’s sort of a specter, I guess,” Liz said. “The anti-Earl. That’s the best way to explain it.”

“I got him a Superman night-light,” Maria said.

“Didn’t he have Superman pajamas too?” I said. “I think he was wearing them the first time I came over to your house.”

Maria nodded. “Those were for ‘double protection’ nights. I had him convinced they had superpowers.”

“Why would he need double-protection pajamas?” Liz asked. “What was he afraid of?”

“Nicholas is afraid of the dark,” Maria said.

“Aren’t all kids afraid of the dark?” Liz asked. “My kids think their night-lights protect them from monsters. Or the boogie man.”

“I thought it was bogy man,” Maria said. “I hate colloquial phrases. My English …”

“It’s either, really. But Andy taught them
boogie
. As in ‘Boogie Fever.’ He’s still living in the seventies.”

I laughed. “You’re kidding me.”

“I wish I were. He’s crazy about ABBA. And you know the green shag carpet and lava lamps in our game room? That’s Andy—and it’s not a cool retro thing. His favorite movie is
Smokey and the Bandit.”

“That’s hysterical,” I said. “I think of Andy as being so … cultured. Isn’t he on the symphony board or something?”

“It’s an act. Really, his childhood fantasy was to be Danny Bonaduce.”

“Who’s that?” Maria asked.

“The Partridge Family,”
I said. “If it’s any consolation, Liz, I wanted to be Laurie.”

“Right, but Laurie was cool. That’s my point. Any normal boy would want to be Keith.”

“Who’s Keith?” Maria asked.

“David Cassidy,” I said.

Maria threw up her hands. “I’m lost.”

“Evel Knievel was his second choice. Remember him?”

“I’m happy to say I have no idea who that is,” I said. “If it wasn’t on reruns after school
and
before my parents got home, I didn’t see it. My mom didn’t believe in TV.”

“Well, you didn’t miss much. He was always vaulting over eighteen-wheelers on his motorcycle in this horrible white Elvis suit.” She took a
sip of coffee. “It feels so good to laugh.” She shook her head and sighed heavily. “I need to get some sleep.”

“Did they give you anything?” Maria asked.

“Just Xanax. It’s keeping me from crawling out of my skin.”

“Dosage?” Maria asked.

She shrugged. “They’re white.”

“Two-point-five milligrams. Take an extra one tonight,” Maria said. “A few hours’ sleep would make a big difference at this point.”

“Or hit yourself on the head with a hammer,” I added. “Whichever you prefer.”

“What were we talking about?” Liz asked. “I know it wasn’t Evel Knievel.”

“Nicholas believes his Superman night-light is to keep him safe,” I said. “He uses those words.
‘To keep him safe.’
”

“The same words the kidnapper used,” Maria said. “Same words exactly.”

“So the man comes to the park, and Christine can tell that he’s mean,” I said.

“Mean, black, and with a snake,” Liz said.

“Even though he was white,” Maria said.

“Or maybe Hispanic,” I said.

“And he obviously did not have a snake,” Liz said.

“Right. So snakes represent evil in the human psyche,” I said. “And power. Subverted power.”

“I don’t think it was a real snake,” Liz said.

“And then I heard a rattlesnake in my backyard tonight,” I continued.

Liz looked at me sympathetically. “How much worse can your luck get?”

“I think I’m better off not knowing.”

Maria rested her elbows on her knees and clasped her hands in front of her. “Something going on that day was evil. Christine knew it right away.”

“And then the man grabs Christine’s arm,” I said. “And he tells
Christine he’s made a mistake. That he doesn’t want her. He wants Nicholas.”

“By name,” Maria said. “He mentions Nicholas by name.”

“It seems like the police would be looking for someone who knows him. Who else would know his name?”

“I asked them that,” Maria said. “They said child predators are very adept at watching kids play, learning their names, and then approaching them.”

“So it doesn’t mean he knew the guy,” I said.

“And when he grabs Christine, he burns his hand,” Liz added.

Christine stirred, and Liz gestured that we should keep it down.

“Right. He burns his hand,” I said. “So maybe she was getting some kind of protection.”

“Maybe Earl carries a Taser,” Liz said.

“I think he might,” I said. “And then the guy tells Christine he’s taking Nicholas to keep him safe. ‘To keep him safe.’ Same phrase Nicholas uses about his night-light.”

Liz furrowed her brow. “But that can’t mean anything. Anybody might use those words.”

“Do you remember that day on the porch? When Christine said Nicholas was hot and thirsty?” I asked.

“I still feel bad about that, Maria,” Liz said. “I don’t know what would possess her …”

“And then that morning you were gone for so long trying to raise Andy on the radio? I don’t think I told you this, Liz. But Christine woke up and asked about Nicholas. She said she thought he was in the closet. I thought she’d had a dream or something. And right after that she asked me to move the towel away from the closet door. I had it blocking the crack under the door.”

“Why?” Maria asked.

“I hate eggs.”

“I don’t get it,” Maria said.

“Not important. The point is, Christine’s having these same attacks
Nicholas had. There’s no sign of asthma in either child. And then all these weird little incidents.”

“It’s too bizarre to be coincidental,” Maria said.

“Something’s going on.” I set my coffee down. “I think she’s got a bead on him, Liz.”

“Christine?”

I nodded. “I think somehow she knows what he’s going through.”

I
T WAS TWO IN
the morning before I walked in my door. I checked on the rabbits, stuck my head outside to listen for the snake, who was blessedly silent, then took a long bath and slipped into my softest jammies—my version of a security blanket. I spent a couple of hours flopping around in my bed, chasing my thoughts around. My brain had finally shifted, engine revving, from nagging stress to full-blown mania. The sound was deafening, inescapable. I could almost smell the rubber burning. Foul clouds of brain exhaust were flying everywhere, choking all the nice, clean, lemon-Pledge-scented air out of my bedroom.

I’d flown around this track enough times to know what I was up against. It was pointless to resist. At three that morning, I caved to the inevitable and fired up my computer, signing myself on to the Internet and checking last week’s weather patterns around the country.

The Northeast was locked down in a cool front—drenched in rain for the past week, highs in the midseventies. The Gulf states and the Texas coast were muggy and windy—typical Houston armpit weather—but not unseasonably hot. The rest of Texas and the entire Southwest, particularly the desert states, were sweltering under a dome of high pressure that had parked itself between the Great Divide and the Mississippi River. Highs in the midnineties. One hundred ten in the shade in Nevada.