Brett Battles - Every Precious Thing

“Alan loaned that to me,” Logan said as Diana picked it up. “You’re the one who left it in his trunk after you took Sara’s luggage, aren’t you?”

Diana stared at the envelope that contained the note from her sister to the brother-in-law she had yet to meet. “Yes,” she whispered.

Logan nodded. After a moment, she stood, took a few steps toward the bathroom, then stopped.

“May I have my purse?”

“Of course,” he said. He grabbed it off the dresser and handed it to her.

He wasn’t naive, but she wasn’t his prisoner, so, with the exception of her gun, he couldn’t justify keeping her things from her.

“Thank you,” she said, and carried it into the bathroom.

Diana wanted to trust Harper. More than anything, she wanted to believe he could actually help.

Unfortunately, the past few years had taught her the only ones she could truly trust were Sara and Richard, her sister and brother.

Anyone else was suspect.

Yet she couldn’t deny that the man on the other end of the phone call had been Sara’s husband. The address had been correct. Then, as if that hadn’t been enough, Logan had pulled out the letter Sara had written for her husband.

She didn’t know what to do.

She needed time to think it through, work it out.

She sat on the edge of the tub, and unzipped the side pocket in her purse. From it, she withdrew the photo that had been taped to the bottom of her nightstand in Braden. She looked at the kids in the photo.

Though he was only eleven at the time, Richard was already well on his way to six feet tall. Seven-year-old Sara was on his shoulders, smiling and laughing. And spraying them both with water from a hose was Diana. She’d been thirteen, and so grown-up even then. Fifteen minutes later, their aunt had come home and scolded them about making a mess in the yard, but for that precise moment, that little slice of time captured on camera by one of Diana’s friends, she and Richard and Sara had been happy.

She touched the image, her finger tracing the outlines of her brother and sister, and herself.

Finally, she put the picture away, pulled out her Blackberry and sent Richard a text.

Harp sat in the chair by the window of his motel room, the book in his hands. It had been at least ten years since he’d last picked up Lost Horizon . Before that, the intervals were shorter, maybe every three or four years. It was the only way he knew how to reconnect with Tom.

While the story of Shangri-La, a paradise hidden in the Himalayas, had always intrigued Harp, his older brother had thought it had an almost magical quality.

“Someday I’m going to find it,” Tom said once.

This confused Harp. “Isn’t it just a story and not a real place?”

His brother smiled. “I don’t mean the Shangri-La in the book.” He tapped the side of his head. “I mean my Shangri-La. It’s out there somewhere. I just gotta find it.”

This did little to clear things up for Harp, but he was used to hearing Tom talk like that, spouting off ideas and dreams that seemed real only because of the way his brother spoke of them.

Until Harp’s wife died, the day the telegram arrived at the farm telling Harp’s parents that Tom was missing and presumed dead was the worst day in Harp’s life. Still, he’d held out hope. Presumed dead wasn’t officially dead.

Even before the war ended, Harp had concocted a story in which Tom’s plane had gone down near one of the Indonesian islands. Tom had been able to get to shore, but in the wreck had hit his head and forgotten his past. Amnesia stories were big at the movies. Why couldn’t it have happened with Tom? In Harp’s mind, his brother had married an island girl, had spent his days fishing from canoes and playing on the beach. In a way, Harp had constructed a Shangri-La for him.

Now, nearly seventy years later, there was still a part of him that believed Tom was alive out there somewhere.

With a grunt, Barney pushed himself out of bed. “Morning,” he said as he shuffled into the bathroom.

Harp finished the chapter then closed the book. Doing so reminded him of the fact that Logan still had Len’s letter.

He still wasn’t sure how he was going to handle it. He knew why Len had left it for him, what he wanted Harp to do. They had talked about it many times, the trip they were going to take together, the trip Len said Harp had to take, even if alone. Harp just wasn’t sure he could.

As he’d done several times before, he tried to tell himself he could think about it later, but later was getting closer and closer. He would have to make a decision.

He owed it to Len, but more importantly, he owed it to Tom.

Later , he thought again.

As soon as Barney was ready, they returned to the hospital. As they walked through the lobby, the receptionist-the kind one, not the judgmental prude who was there the first day-greeted them with a big smile. “Mr. Harper, Dr. Needham, good morning.”

“Morning, Myra. How are you doing today?” Harp asked.

“Just fine, thank you. I have good news for you.”

The two men walked over to the counter. “Really? What news?”

“Your friend’s being discharged this morning.”

“Excuse me?” Harp said.

“Are you sure?” Barney asked.

As far as both men were concerned, this was not good news. While Pep had been improving, he was still pretty banged up.

Taken aback by their response, Myra said, “Oh…um…I was told he was cleared to go home.”

“Who told you that?” Harp asked.

“Perhaps you need to speak with Dr. Groves,” she said. Groves was Pep’s main doctor.

“Is he in?” Barney asked.

“He’s in the hospital somewhere. If he’s not near your friend’s room, he won’t be far.”

As they turned to make their way to Pep’s room, they nearly ran into a young guy in a suit who’d been waiting behind them.

“Sorry,” the guy said.

“It’s okay,” Harp told him. He and Barney then marched over to the hallway.

They found Pep already dressed in his street clothes, sitting uncomfortably in a wheelchair near the bed. Dr. Groves, however, was not present.

“Hey,” Pep said.

“What’s this about you being discharged?” Barney asked.

“Yeah, they’re letting me leave.”

“Whose idea was that?”

Pep shrugged. “The doctor came in this morning and said he saw no reason to keep me another night.”

Harp and Barney shared a look then turned back to Pep.

“Have they looked at you?” Harp asked. “You’re in no shape to leave.”

“I’m going to find Dr. Groves,” Barney announced, and strode out of the room.

“Honestly, Mr. Harper,” Pep said. “I really don’t want to stay any longer.”

“Of course you don’t,” Harp said. “Who would? But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t stay.”

“I can’t help your son from a hospital bed.”

“Don’t even worry about that. Logan’s got everything in hand.”

Pep looked surprised. “Did he find her?”

“He’s close, I think.”

“All the more reason for me to get out of here.”

Before Harp could respond, Barney returned.

“…just plain dumb,” he was saying. “Whoever came up with those guidelines is an idiot.”

Following right behind him was the doctor.

“I can’t argue with you,” Groves said. “A few more days would be great, but strictly speaking, whether he rests here or at home isn’t going to make a lot of difference. And since his insurance won’t cover the extra days, staying any longer would come out of his pocket.”