After going out on a call—an older woman in Durand had
had her garden tore up by some kids—Claire came back to the department and checked in with the hospital again. This time the nurse on duty said Mr. Baldwin was ready to be released.
Claire asked to talk to the deputy on duty there, who turned out to be Pete. When he came to the phone, she asked him how Chet seemed.
“He’s moving kinda slow, but he’s moving.”
Kinda slow actually described Pete. He was a hulk of a man who didn’t do anything fast. “You’re just about to go off duty, aren’t you, Pete?”
“Yeah.”
“Why don’t you bring him down to the lobby and wait for me. I’ll pick him up and you can go on home.”
When she walked into the hospital, Claire saw Chet sitting in a wheelchair by the front desk and Pete, all two hundred and fifty pounds of him, standing right next to him, one hand on the grip of the chair.
Chet looked up as Claire walked over, his head rising slowly on the stalk of his thin neck. She was surprised by how pasty his face was. Bruising still circled his neck and he sat hunched over in the wheelchair, looking like he belonged in it.
Chet was a tall, lanky man. Claire had always thought of him as strong and agile, outdoor work and hunting kept him in good shape. But today he looked old and decrepit.
“How’re you feeling?” she asked him.
He reached out his hand toward her in an informal shake.
She took his hand and he gave it a tentative squeeze, again not the usual Chet handshake.
“Not great. Claire, I’m sorry to be putting you in this position. I feel awful. The doctors tell me I did quite a number on myself. What was I thinking?”
“Well, let’s go back to the government center and we can talk about what has happened. We’ve got a therapist coming in to see you.”
“Oh, now, I don’t need anyone like that. I just want to go home. Can you take me home?”
“Chet, you’re in no shape to go home. We need to talk to you about what happened to Anne.” Claire dropped his hand. She was paying attention to the way he had phrased that last sentence he said to her before he had tried to hang himself:
all my doing,
but not
I did it.
Big difference there. “Wait until we’re back at the sheriff’s department.”
Chet’s head came up and he said with some feeling, “Claire, for god’s sake, don’t act like you don’t know me. You’ve had dinner at my house. I’m not going anyplace. You’ll hear the whole story. But right now I really need to go home. Could you just take me back?”
Claire didn’t want to get into it with him in the hospital. She nodded at the deputy, who now had both hands on the wheelchair grips and was ready to push the wheelchair. “Let’s go. I’m parked right out front.”
When they got to the squad car, Chet stood and made a move to sit in the front seat, but Claire ushered him into the back. She didn’t want to take any chances with Chet this time. She would bring him in right and by the book.
As she drove him the few blocks to the government center, he asked if Rich had been feeding the animals.
“Oh, yeah. In fact, he’s staying in your cabin to keep an eye on things.” Claire hoped he wouldn’t ask any questions about that.
“Oh, geez, he didn’t have to do that.”
“Well, it just worked out for him.”
“If you’d just take me home, I could take care of everything. Rich doesn’t need to be there.”
Claire parked right in front of the door to the sheriff’s department and, as the back doors were locked, walked around the car to open the door.
When she pulled the car door open, Chet erupted from the seat and shoved into her as hard as he could.
Totally taken by surprise, Claire went flying and landed on her butt while Chet took off running across the parking lot. As she scrambled to her feet, he disappeared into the woods.
B
y the time Claire got back to her feet, Chet had disappeared into the woods on the far side of the parking lot.
Claire stopped for a moment to think about where he was headed. The woods were just tucked into the side of the hill. At most they covered an area of about an acre, an overgrown couple of lots on a hill that backed down into town, with Highway 25 at the bottom.
She knew she should call for backup, but there was no time. Claire had to catch Chet before he got too far away. Even though he had a head start, she figured he had to be somewhat slowed down by his hospital stay. She took off across the parking lot after him.
Claire swore under her breath as she plunged into the thicket of locust and oak with a dense understory of gooseberries and raspberries, all of them tearing at her pants. She couldn’t see him, but could hear wood snapping and crashing ahead of her as he forced his way through the tangle.
“Chet, stop,” she hollered as she ran, surprised by how winded she already was. Then, louder, “Chet, this isn’t the way.”
She stopped yelling. He wasn’t listening to her. It was clear he had been planning this escape all along. She was wasting her breath. Trying to avoid low branches, she stooped as she ran.
As she neared the far side of the woods, she caught a glimpse of the white of his shirt as he broke out of the woods. Once he hit the highway, it would be clear sailing for him, easy to run along the sidewalk or disappear into the town. She wanted to catch him before he got across the traffic.
Claire put on a burst of speed and came out of the woods right behind him.
Chet was stalled out on the side of the road, waiting for traffic to clear. At least that’s what Claire thought he was doing at first. He glanced back at her and jumped forward just as a large delivery truck came speeding down the highway in the outside lane. It looked like Chet stepped out into the highway, purposefully putting himself right in its path.
Claire came up behind him. She lunged at him and grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling him backward, barely out of the way. Chet fell toward her and hit Claire hard, right in the chest, causing her to lose her balance.
Her left arm shot out to break her fall and hit the edge of the curb, taking her full weight as she crashed down with Chet on top of her.
A bolt of pain shot up her arm and then burst in her head. It was unlike anything she had felt before. She rolled over onto her back, looking up at the blue sky with a burning, tearing sensation radiating out from her arm. She sucked in air. Scared to look at her hurt limb, she lay still for a moment. When she tried to push herself up with her other arm, it hurt too much to move.
Chet stood over her, looking down with concern. “Sorry,” he said, then reached down as if to help her up.
She didn’t want him to touch her. He might hurt her even more. She couldn’t stand that thought. “Don’t,” she said.
He shook his head and took off running across the highway.
Claire stayed sitting on the sidewalk, surprised that no one was stopping to check on her. At least she was out of the way of traffic. She felt her arm and didn’t like how sore it was. She was afraid she had done some serious damage to it. Sweat poured off her body and she felt sick to her stomach, but held it in.
Breathe from your belly, she told herself. You need to take care of yourself. Panic will not help the situation. You’re going to need to get on your feet somehow. Stay calm. Breathe.
Chet was long gone. Forget about him. She needed to get her arm checked out by a doctor.
No one was stopping. She couldn’t just sit there, waiting for someone to help her. She had to get herself back to the government center. She thought of trying to flag a car down, but the center was only a block away, up a hill. This time she wouldn’t cut through the woods. She could make it.
She needed to stabilize her arm and the only way to do that was to wrap her other arm around it. She reached over with her good right arm and gently moved her broken arm in closer to her body. Any jolt to it sent pain washing through her.
Claire undid the two buttons of her shirt above her pants. As carefully as she could she slid her broken arm into the opening of her shirt. Then she rolled to her side and up onto her haunches.
She rocked in a squat position, waiting for the nausea to subside. She pushed herself up and stood, hanging her head, breathing deeply. She never knew pain came in so many colors. They rolled through her head as she tried to ride out this latest
surge.
Cupping her left elbow in her right hand, she cradled the injured arm. For a moment, she felt okay. She felt hope. It might be possible to walk up the hill if she took it very slowly.
Claire knew that in the first few minutes after an accident, the victim usually didn’t realize how badly they were hurt. She hated to think that her arm was worse than she thought. Or maybe her body had skipped that step. Not fair.
She held her injured arm right against her body and took a step. It was tolerable. Slow and steady. Never jerking. Pushing up the hill, step by step, slowly but steadily. No movement that would jar her arm.
Claire was sure it would take forever to walk up the hill. Here she had a man on the lam and she couldn’t even manage the few steps back to the department to call out the forces.
When she saw the government center and knew she would make it, she almost sat down with relief. But instead she leaned against a tree and kept her sight on the parking lot, the building.
As Claire stepped onto the tarmac, someone came out of the building. She stopped and waited for them to see her. The person waved. She could tell it was a man, a deputy in uniform, not sure who it was, couldn’t tell. She stayed holding her arm in place.
He looked over at her and she tried to motion with her good arm but it hurt to much to move anything.
“Hey,” she yelled. “Help.”
As the man got closer, she could see that it was Jeremy. He started to run toward her and she got scared of what he might do.
“Jeremy,” she yelled again.
“What’s the matter?”
“He got away. Chet ran away.”
“But what happened to you?”
As he got closer, she stuck out her good arm to stop him. “Don’t touch me. I’m afraid it’s broken.”
Jeremy stopped and stared at her, his mouth slightly hanging open. “How’d you do that?”
“Jeremy, now’s not the time. I need to get to the hospital. And you need to let the sheriff know about Chet.”
“Can you walk?” he asked.
She could see his face, his mouth moving, but she didn’t really know what he was saying. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.”
Claire took a step toward him. He shut his mouth and reached for her. That was the last thing she remembered.
* * *
Bentley raced ahead as Rich walked down the field road that cut through Chet’s property. Rich had opened the pasture gate and the two horses, all on their own, galloped back to the barn. They’d be waiting for him when he got there. He skirted the perimeter of the property, just to get a little walk in. Bentley seemed enthusiastic about the idea, tearing ahead of him, then trotting back to see what was keeping him.
Rich walked toward the woods, hoping to find some shade. The record-breaking heat wave was showing no signs of abating. Mid-nineties again today. The fields were turning brown a little earlier than usual because of the dryness and heat.
Grasshoppers whirred up around him as he walked through
the tall grasses. Clicking sounds filled the air. Bentley snapped at the grasshoppers, then he’d shake his head if he caught one. Must not taste too good.
Rich was torn about going back to his house for the night. He had stopped by around mid-day and checked on the pheasants, had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with Meg, and picked up another clean t-shirt and boxer shorts just in case he decided to stay on at Chet’s.
Meg had asked him when he was coming back. He told her in the next few days. As soon as Chet was home again. When she asked him what was going on between him and her mother, he tried to sidestep the question, but she stopped him.
“I know you guys are fighting. Mom told me she’s turned into a bitch, plus I have eyes and ears you know.”
“We just needed a little break, that’s all. I love your mother, but she can get on my nerves.”
“I know she’s kinda bossy, but I think most of the time you like that about her. She knows what she wants and, for better or worse, I think she wants you.”
He smiled at how blunt Meg could be. Just like her mom. Funny how much more tolerable it was in Meg, even admirable. A young girl needs all the attitude she can muster. “I do like how clear and straightforward Claire is but in this instance, I wish she’d try to see things in a different light.”
“I told her that too. I think it’s hard on her. In her job she has to be so decisive, everyone’s counting on her.”
“You’re right, Miss Meg. But a few days apart won’t hurt us.”
“I hope not.”
Rich stood staring over the fields and thinking of his life with Claire. It had been so full of promise when they met. Somehow he thought she would fit into his life more than she ever had—bake him a pie, go fishing with him, morel hunting, help him with the pheasants—be more of a partner to him. He had never wanted to turn her into a housewife, but he had thought she might integrate more into his concerns. It had taken him a long time to accept how all consuming her job was; how, even when she was home, it filled her thoughts.
He was never bored with Claire, but he wasn’t often as content as he’d like to be sometimes. As he grew older, that quality seemed to grow in importance.
Bentley growled at something off in the weeds. Rich hoped he had been right in what he had said to Meg. He hoped that nothing basic in his relationship with Claire was being destroyed.
He followed Bentley and saw a path through the grasses as if a large vehicle had driven through recently. The grass was bent over and broken. The field sloped down into the woods and as they came over a rise, he saw what looked like a truck parked at the edge of the forest, hidden in sumac bushes.
Typical old farmer behavior. Truck doesn’t work anymore, just drive it into the weeds and let it rust its little heart out. He hated that everyone still did that. Calling Bentley to him, he walked up closer to get a better look.