Wake the Dawn (24 page)

“You ever thought of going back to school? You did a good job there at the clinic.”

“I took the advanced EMT training. By then I was married and I didn’t want to pull up stakes and go back to school. Allie and I moved into my folks’ house to help take care of Dad; Mom had already gone. I’ve done some remodeling on the place and I thought we would raise our family there.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Besides, I like what I do. Most of the time.”

Esther heard squeaking from the backseat. She looked over her shoulder to see Dawn stretching and looking around. Bo whined.

“I know, big dog. I hear her. How much farther to your house?”

“Not long.”

“Dawn probably won’t make too good a first impression if she decides she is hungry. I tell you, she has a hefty set of lungs.”

Esther giggled. “You watch. My mother will take her over before you can blink. Babies settle right down when she takes care of them. Turn right at the next crossroad.”

The familiar farmland glided by out there—not a sunny day but not heavily overcast, either. Brown oaks, orange maples. Eventually, they pulled into the drive.

When he stopped the vehicle, Dawn was fussing and Bo was whimpering. Ben opened the side door and Bo leaped out.

Esther gathered the food baskets. Let Ben take the baby. She led the way.

The door swung open as she reached it. Time to put on her smiley face. “Hi, Mom. Dad. I want you to meet Ben James, and that pink bundle is Dawn.”

“Glad to meet you.” Ben untangled one hand enough to shake theirs. “Mr. and Mrs. Hanson, thanks for inviting us.”

“May I hold her?” Mom reached for the baby. “And please call me Madge.”

“She’s probably going to start screaming any moment now. When she decides it is mealtime, she means right now.” Ben handed his baby over, and Esther was privately grateful that Bo couldn’t see him giving Dawn to a stranger.

“Then we better get right on that. Esther, introduce Ben around. Is her bottle in that diaper bag?” Without waiting for an answer, Mom snatched away the diaper bag and marched inside.

Ben held the door for her and Esther led him into the house. In the flurry and busyness of introductions and greetings, Esther almost started to relax. With all the hubbub going on, she might be exempt from her mother’s attention. Ben got sucked away into the living room, so Esther wandered into the kitchen.

“Esther, she is a darling,” Gramma Alma crowed. She frowned. “I listened to all the news reports, but I didn’t hear anything about a baby.”

“We’re trying to protect her.” Esther arranged her contribution on platters.

“Doesn’t that look pretty?” Her mom appeared, Dawn tucked comfortably into the crook of her arm, and stopped at the table. “Do you need more cocktail napkins? I have more in the drawer, that one down there. I’m going to feed little Dawn. What an angel.”

Ben strolled into the room and caught the last of that. He watched her mom disappear into the family room and grinned at Esther. “You were so right. Dawn never goes to strangers without a fuss.” He smeared cheese ball on a cracker. “Oh, my gosh, this is so good.”

Kenneth joined him at the table, took a sample of each, and raised his voice. “You guys better get in here, or Ben’s going to eat all of these.” He wiggled a finger toward their houseguest. “This guy’s a genuine hero, Esther, I guess you know. Single-handedly trounced the Fillmore Eagles twice. Walks on water.”

Granny frowned at Ben. “Didn’t you lead our team to a state championship?”

“Two championships.” Kenneth licked his fingers. “But Fillmore’s the biggie.”

Barbara’s Big Game. Esther almost laughed out loud.

By the time they all had their fill of the turkey and vast array of trimmings, Ben had settled in as if he’d been a longtime friend of the family. How much of that was Ben’s easy personality, and how much was Football Hero worship? At first Esther would have guessed hero worship, knowing her dad and brother, but it looked like Ben would’ve been gold even if his victories had been in intramural volleyball. She watched and listened as they discussed the game that had just ended and the one about to begin. She wagged her head. What had started out as a holiday set aside to give thanks to God had now deteriorated to a day to pig out on food and football. Nationally, of course, not just in the Hanson home.

Being non-football-enthusiasts, Esther and Gramma boned out the turkey, put the food away, and returned the kitchen to its normal sparkle. Then Esther ambled into the family room, where Kenneth was divulging all the family stories.

He was just finishing the one about the time Esther was aiming her camera for a shot and stepped backward into a neighbor’s backyard swimming pool. Maybe bringing Ben here was not quite the greatest of ideas.

“You should have seen her! Mad as a wet hen.” Kenneth laughed.

“I thought you guys were watching football.” She nodded toward the television set. They didn’t seem to be paying much attention to it.

“Aaa, lousy game. You’d think both teams would be sharp on their toes. But they’re both making more mistakes than a kindergartner at a spelling bee.” Kenneth waved a hand dismissively. “How many turnovers already? And it’s still the first quarter.”

So that gives him the time and the privilege to make fun of me, does it?

“Oh, stop pouting, Esther.” Mom smiled wickedly. “You know, when you’re mad, you’re really funny. So don’t be so sensitive.”

“Sensitive!” Kenneth laughed. “Remember that time she hit a stupid deer? Talk about upset.” He grinned up at Esther. “You remember that? Just a couple of days after you graduated from college. You’da thought it was the end of the world.”

“I never hit a deer!” An acid fountain erupted in her stomach.

“Sure you did. Really fell apart. I thought you were going to cry for three days.”

“
No!
No, I never hit a deer. Why do you make up stories like that?” She was yelling. She didn’t mean to, but she was.

“Dad, you remind her.” Kenneth looked at his father. “It’s no big deal.”

Stop shaking!
But yelling at herself did no good.

“What is it, Esther?” Her father’s gentle voice only made it worse.

The tremor in her hands ran through her knees and down to her feet. Her throat dried up, and yet at the same time she felt like throwing up. The flashback brought her to her knees.

The darkness. Pitch dark. Unholy dark! Her car lights hitting the reflectors of a car dead in the road, black car, black night—it’s too late. Too late! She slammed on the brakes, nearly driving the pedal through the floorboards, but it did no good. She pulled the steering wheel hard to the right.
Miss them! Lord God, miss them!
In the flash before the collision, she thought she saw someone in the car. The horrific screams of steel on steel, or were some of those screams people, both cars swapping ends, her headlight beams going all directions. Until silence.

Get out of the car and go see how they are.
Silence out there in the blackness. What if…? Thoughts pummeled her, jabbed her behind the eyes and through her brain.
Leave! Get out of here! NOW!

She must get out; at least see who they are. She can’t! Do it! I can’t! She cranked the key. Her car started right up. She spun the wheel and tore around the other vehicle, something clanking in the front end. How she made it without looking at the other car, she never knew.

“Esther! Esther!”

Ben’s voice. “It’s okay, Esther. You’re safe. It’s all right. Come on, look at me. You’re going to be okay.” He was kneeling in front of her, gripping her arms.

She shook her head. “No. No!”

He murmured, “I know a flashback when I see one. It’s all right now. It’s gone.”

She jerked away. “You don’t understand.”

“Then talk to me.”

“No! Take me home. Please! Now! I have to go home!” She wrapped both arms around herself and curled forward, anything to disappear. She must have been yelling all that—it was so loud.

Now they’d all know.

Chapter Twenty-Four

G
od, you have to help her, for she sure isn’t letting me in.
” Ben felt like throwing his cell phone out the window or against a tree, or something. How about running over it with the SUV? Sure, kill the messenger. But if there were ever a time he needed a drink—it was now. Not just a drink but enough to become oblivious.

Esther, what are you doing? God, give me ideas. I know what she is going through. If only she would talk with me. Why can’t she let loose and let someone help her?

If this was what loving was like…loving. When had he begun to feel that? He couldn’t point to an hour and day, but the feelings were there. It wasn’t exactly like the love he’d felt for Allie, but it was kind of the same thing. But Allie never had the horrible baggage that Esther carried.

They needed to have a serious discussion, and it better be soon.

He clicked off as soon as the call went to the message center. What if there was an emergency and no one could get hold of her? Or was she just screening his calls? That thought stabbed like a stiletto right into his heart. What else could he do to make her trust him?

Ever since he had brought her home from the dinner yesterday, she had not turned any lights on in her house. Was she a closet alcoholic drinking it off the way he wished he could? He was pretty good at picking up on the signs of alcoholism and drug use and had seen none in her. Maybe he should just break the door in to make sure she wasn’t lying on the floor. Call the sheriff? On what grounds? What a hullabaloo that would cause! He’d just met her family. How would they react if he sent in law enforcement for help? The thoughts and fears kept stampeding through his mind.

Good thing he had to work today; he was glad for the distraction. Perowsky probably thought he was punishing Ben, making him work the day after Thanksgiving, although of course His Highness made sure he had his own entire weekend off, Wednesday through Sunday. For sure no one missed him. When Ben got off today, he would work with Ansel on his house, interior stuff, re-shingle the roof Saturday, and then after church on Sunday finish the outside work if possible. So at least he wouldn’t be acting like a worried mother hen all the time. Just whenever he had a moment.

He cruised north along his favorite dirt road. The day after Thanksgiving, every hunter in the state turned out to bag that deer, but there seemed to be very little hunting activity up here today. A beater Honda. A couple of pickups with open beds. Smugglers didn’t use teensy cars and open pickups. Let the hunters bask in the nonsense that they were smarter than your average whitetail. Ben started home.

Three miles outside town he slowed and fell in behind yet another beater Honda. Five miles an hour below the speed limit. It drifted slowly to the right, swerved to correct, began to drift again. He sighed. He hated traffic stops, especially at the end of his shift. But he was authorized to make them, he was expected to make them, so he flicked on his light bar and touched off his siren.

It took the driver nearly a quarter mile to notice him and pull over. Ben got out and approached the car with caution, standard procedure. The driver’s-side window went down. His mouth dropped open.

Amber Harden was pawing through her purse for her driver’s license. She fished out a small wallet, looked at him, and her eyes lit up. “Ben! Oh, I’m so glad it’s you!” She tossed her purse aside and swung her door open. Before he could tell her to stay in the car, her feet were on the ground. She lurched erect and steadied herself by gripping the door and the roof edge.

Exactly what do you say in this situation? “Hello, Amber.”

“I drove by your house yesterday, but you weren’t home. Nobody was.”

“Ansel and Beth and the kids went to his cousins’ for Thanksgiving.”

“And I drove by that doctor’s, too, but she wasn’t home, either.”

Caution prevailed. “I believe she has family near Bemidji.” His brain screeched to a halt, shifted gears. “How do you know where she lives?”

She giggled. “I asked Maizie. Maizie’s Beauty Parlor. She’s still there on Second Street, same as always. I got my hair done Wednesday. Do you like it?”

Tact, James. Tact.
“I’ve always liked it.”

“I had years of news to catch up on, just years, and the place to do that is the beauty parlor. Operators always know everything. You want to know anything, ask Maizie.” Her voice slurred slightly.

He jerked a thumb toward her car. “I think I recognize this heap. Did you buy it from Donny Taylor?”

She cocked her head. “Yes. Why?”

“It got rolled a couple of months ago. The frame’s probably sprung. Hope you didn’t pay much for it.”

“He didn’t mention that. Hey, it was a good deal and it works for me.”

“Keep an eye on your tires. They’re going to wear quickly. Where is your baby? He’s not in his car seat.”

“Jenny is taking care of him this evening. She feels sorry for me. You feel sorry for me, too, don’t you?” She moved in closer.

“I feel sorry for all of us. It was a tragic loss.” He could smell the whiskey on her breath. “Out celebrating?”

“Dinner at the Walleye. Old times’ sake, y’know? Still the same bartender.”

Old times’ sake. The Walleye? What a low-down dive. When Ben was dating her, they never went to the Walleye. For starters, they were both underage. So she must have taken up going there after he went into the marines.

He held out his hand. “May I see your keys?”

“Sure!” She twisted around to pull them out of the ignition and nearly spun out. She steadied herself on the steering wheel, paused, pulled her keys. When she stood up, she nearly spun out again. “Here y’are. Why do you want to see them?”

“I want to keep them. You’re in no condition to drive.”

“What…Ben…” She pouted. “I can get home okay.” She brightened a bit. “Or you can take me.”

For a moment he was totally torn. Here was a woman who’d come back to make peace with the father who dropped dead right in front of her. A woman who was surviving a hard life, so far. An old friend, a schoolmate, a former girlfriend. Arresting her now, in the midst of her terrible grief, was immoral. Un-Jesus-like. Just plain nasty.

But.

“I’m sorry, Amber. You’re under arrest, driving while under the influence.”

Her mouth and eyes went wide. “You wouldn’t do that! You couldn’t! I’m not that drunk!”

“Remember Dougie? Died our junior year?”

“He was an idiot. Always showing off. It’s no surprise he wrapped his car around a tree. I’m not like that. I’m very careful. Very safe.”

“I said I’m sorry and I mean it. But it’s not just that you could kill yourself driving drunk, it’s who you might take with you. An innocent stranger. Your own baby.”

“Doesn’t our past together mean anything at all to you?” And she squirmed in still closer.

“Yes. It does. You need help, Amber. This can get that help started for you.” And he repeated it once again, because he meant it with every ounce of him: “I’m sorry.”

Sunday evening already. The days were mushing together, the way they did on long holiday weekends. Esther should have gone to church today. Instead she had lain in bed until noon, feeling sorry for herself. She had heard of people blocking out unpleasant memories and had scoffed—until she realized she was doing exactly that. Well, trying to. But every time she thought she had those demons securely bound, they broke loose to torture her. Double torture. Sure, Jefferson was damaged to start with, but what she did…Why did God bring him into her life now, when the memories were getting worse, more intrusive? Was God so cruel? Ben called her demons flashbacks. That’s what soldiers got, not a physician’s assistant. But it sure seemed he was right.

Now she sipped coffee and read through all the text messages and listened to the phone messages, too. So Ben had even come by the house. Maybe he didn’t realize that when he hung up on the answering machine, his number stayed there.

She had just texted Ben the message, “I’m OK. I’ll b at work usual time Mday. Sorry 2 cause u trouble.”

Trouble? The whole weekend she had locked the door and refused to answer it. She’d called her counselor, but Dr. Phillips was out of town and had yet to return her call. Sort of like the cops; where were they when you needed them? Other than doping herself to sleep, she couldn’t think of anything else to do. Nor did she wish to do anything else. She wasn’t sure which.

What she was sure of was that she had to recover enough to be at work at eight thirty tomorrow morning.

She reread Ben’s text messages. And listened to his phone messages. And the ones from her mother, her father, and Kenneth. No one could figure out what had happened and she wasn’t about to tell them. Her mother did scold her roundly for ruining the nice holiday, but she expected that. She probably would have been disappointed if her mother had not reamed her. And in front of that nice young man, too.

Flashback, Ben said. It was more than a dream, more even than a nightmare. She felt the cold air, smelled the spilled gasoline, heard every nuance of the sounds and the silence. It did more than feel as if she were out on that black road on that black night, the scene with all its horror playing out for real, not in her memory.

She walked to the bathroom. “Get a hold of yourself!” she ordered the ravaged face in the mirror.
What is going on? Am I in a new phase of PTSD? What’s happening? Or…or what?

The tears burst from the bonds she’d put up to fight further disintegration and ran rivers down her face. She threw herself back on her bed and let the pillow soak up the overflow. Would this never stop? She was no longer sure what was real, what the flashback had meant, or anything else. When she woke the clock said two and by the dark window, it meant two
A.M.
Her stomach complained, but finally her head felt clear. The stomach was easy to take care of.

Out in the kitchen she fixed a cup of herb tea and plopped a piece of bread in the toaster. When the toast was ready, she sliced cheese and let it melt on the toast so when she sat at her two-person table in the kitchen, she got some protein in her, too. When that one was done, she did the same again and refilled her tea cup with hot water and another tea bag.

It probably would not be a good idea to go out for a run now, but even the thought made her smile. If the people of Pineville had suspicions that she was going around the bend, that would convince them for sure.

Instead she fixed herself a lunch, showered, dressed, and let herself into the clinic at seven. At least here she could tune out the voices in her head. While the pile of paperwork from the storm had been gone through, she had other follow-up work that had been waiting patiently. Would it ever be possible to get totally caught up, let alone stay that way?

Sometime later a tap on her door caught her attention. She glanced at her watch. Eight fifteen. “Yes.”

“Just checking on you.”

“Come on in.”

“My word, but you are early. Esther, what happened to you?” Barbara shut the door behind her and stared at Esther behind her desk.

“That bad?”

“Maybe not to someone who doesn’t know you, but those bags under your eyes aren’t smudges—you have black circles all around them. And they are swollen, too.”

“I had a meltdown and some sort of a flashback.”

“Yesterday?”

“No, Thanksgiving Day at my mother’s house. I’ve been sleeping and hiding ever since. Woke at two this morning and could tell I was better again.”

“Is that why Ben called me?”

“I don’t know. I shut down everything and hid in my bed.”

“He wondered if I had a key to your house. He was frantic.”

“I left a text on his phone last evening, telling him I was all right.”

“I think he cares for you, probably more than even he realizes.”

“Yeah, well, he’s probably so furious with me now, he’ll never speak to me again.”

“You want to talk about it?”

Esther shook her head. “I tried to call Dr. Phillips, but she was out of town and I didn’t want to talk to whomever was taking her calls. Right now I want to get through today without frightening my patients with the zombie look.”

“You want some coffee?” At the nod, Barbara headed for the door.

“Let me get some concealer around my eyes and some coffee and I’ll be ready. Thank you, Barbara.” She headed for the bathroom with her makeup bag.

She could fix up the outside so that hardly anything showed. But the inside. Ah, the inside. That was a mess for sure.