J. Wachowski - In Plain View

Rachel’s face showed the struggle to calm herself. “You asked me about the binoculars before, when the camera was there. I didn’t speak the whole truth. I don’t want to hide from things I know. If I will begin a new life now, I will begin right.”

Every wrinkle on Grace’s face was tight with concern.

“I’ll do what I can. To make it right.” I wanted to offer Rachel some sign of comfort but I was afraid to touch her bare hand. She seemed so new to the world I occupied, I feared the contact of my bare hand on hers might pass some unseen ruin, some Englischer pox, invisible and deadly to those historically unprotected. Instead, I leaned into her shoulder. Just for a moment.

Then I got out of the car.

Grace called out, “Wait.” She maneuvered herself out of the vehicle more slowly, no surprise. That old steel car door had to weigh more than she did.

I walked around to the trunk end and propped my butt against a back fin. Grace came around the back fender, her chin tilted high to look at me through glasses speckled with rain drops. “Rachel told me about that business with the television camera. I certainly hope we can trust you to use your better judgment regarding that recording. It wouldn’t be too good for this girl to have her private things on the TV right now.”

My “better judgment”? That would give Ainsley a laugh.

I heard the splat and ping before I felt anything. I looked up. It was raining again. I started to laugh, one of those private, unhinged sounds that cause most folks to back away. With my face raised to the drizzle, I managed the words, “I understand.”

Her thank you was crisp and perhaps, a little dubious.

“I don’t understand, Grace. What was Tom Jost trying to do? This wasn’t your typical depressive slide into suicide. He planned something. He was making a point.” My lack-of-sleep headache was becoming a full-frontal pain lobotomy. “Wasn’t he?”

“Maybe the bad things that happen in this world aren’t something we can understand. Maybe all we can do is keep walking.”

“Walking away doesn’t help. Look at the mess they got into when Tom walked away. Rachel, her dad, Tom-they had this whole community looking out for them. People keeping them in line, keeping them connected.”

Grace made a soft exhalation, the sound of someone exhausted by irony. “And so do we, Miss O’Hara. So do we. Look at all the trouble we still get into. But each time we fail, we always have the chance to start again.” Her crumpled, arthritic hand took hold of my sleeve, slid down to my fingers and gripped me there. She gave my hand a shake. “Use my old face all you want, but be careful of Rachel, you hear me?”

I did my best to nod.

I hiked back toward the grassy space where the camera sat resting on a tripod. It didn’t take long to break down the equipment for transport. A couple of fire-guys stomped into range, one of them clanking along in fifty pounds of cutting-edge fire apparatus, the other wearing only knee-high rubber boots, a heavy canvas coat and six inches of beard. Mutual aid requested and provided. I hefted the camera into place and got the shot of them walking past the smoldering ruins of the house.

It was all I could take. I shut the camera down and packed it in.

Another time, another place, I’d be rolling gobs of tape. I’d be smooth-talking the guy in charge for personal interviews. This time, the ashes of another man’s life were sticking in my throat, and all I could think of was where I’d rather be.

The hospital. Jenny.

My phone rang. Never fails. The mundane knows no rest.

“What?” I snapped the last of the camera box buckles closed.

“Don’t give me that ‘what?’ bullshit,” Richard Gatt roared right through the terrible cell signal. “Where the hell are you and why is my nephew on his way to the hospital with second-degree burns?”

At last, someone who spoke my language. “Because he thinks he’s Dudley Frickin’ Do-Right and doesn’t follow directions.”

“You’re the one who sent him there. Why weren’t you on the frickin’ scene? This is totally unacceptable…” Gatt raved on for a while.

He was right. My being there would have made a difference. My being there would have made a difference to Jenny, too. I imagined Tom Jost making those calls, calling for witnesses, right before he jumped-and I had to sit down.

The grass was wet and cool under my pants. It felt so good, I laid down. The inside of my skull pounded at the shift of altitude, then eased with the chill. The air smelled a little better down here, too. Less smoky.

Cows made noises nearby. I concentrated on the cows.

As soon as Gatt took a breath, I told him, “I’ll have a story on your desk tomorrow morning. Consider it my resignation.”

“Shut the hell up, O’Hara, I’m not finished talking. And you aren’t going anywhere until my story is one hundred percent in the can, if you ever want to work again in this business…”

Blah, blah, blah. Heard all of this before. Nice cosmic irony, though. “‘Isolation is a powerful tool for behavior modification,’” I quoted.

“Don’t try to change the subject,” Gatt yelled right back. “What the shit am I supposed to tell my sister?”

“Tell her-her son’s a hero. Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I quit.”

11:18:44 a.m.

I could hear the television through the door when I finally made it back to Jenny’s room at the hospital. Relief and regret hit me together. Jenny had woken and I’d missed it.

I should be so lucky.

“Where have you been?” Tonya sat propped up on the second bed, reading People magazine.

I swear her lime-green sweats were glowing. They hurt my eyes.

With relief, I saw Jenny was still flat out, shut-eyed, unconscious in the bed.

The television, mounted high in the corner of the room, was tuned to reruns of Little House on the Prairie.

I laughed. “Are you watching PAX channel?”

“Shut up, you. Don’t even start with me.” Tonya snapped her words like a nun’s ruler crack. “You’ve been gone for hours. Where’ve you been?”

“There was a fire at the farm. Everything took longer than I expected.” I considered elaborating but the details were not likely to help my case.

“A fire?”

“The Jost house burned to the ground. Ainsley went in and pulled the old man out. The doofus managed to burn his hands pretty badly in the process.”

“Oh Lord.”

“And then, Gatt called while I was out there.” I plopped down on the foot of the bed. “Then, I quit.”

“You what? ” Tonya said. “I thought the point in sending you out there was to keep you from losing the job?”

I’d had three hours of sleep. I stunk of smoke. My favorite black pants were covered in mud, my shoes in cow shit. My motorcycle was still sitting in Curzon’s parking lot-in the rain. And both my young charges were currently receiving emergency medical attention. I think it’s fair to say my judgment was not operating at peak performance.

On the television, Laura and Pa casually led a cow up a grassy hill. With all the things on my mind, what came out of my mouth was, “When I was a kid, I loved this show.”

“What is the matter with you!” Tonya flapped an all-inclusive hand. “How could you let this happen?”

“Let what happen?”

“That poor baby-”

“Which one?”

“That is the most lame-ass-”

“They weren’t my drugs,” I pointed out.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“They were anti-anxiety meds. And they were in a free sample pack.”

“Are you serious? Where did she get something like that?”