Lee Martin - Late One Night

Now there was another siren screaming outside, and red lights swirling, and she saw the sheriff’s car pulled off the side of the blacktop. The siren died away, but those lights kept spinning, and she could barely look at them. Her eyes were so tired, and the pain from her headache was starting to pulse behind them.

Shooter Rowe came up the driveway just ahead of Ray Biggs. Shooter stepped into the house, and Missy saw the sadness in his eyes. His nose was red from the cold. He had hands roughed up like bricks — big hands with stubby fingers and swollen knuckles, the skin nicked and scarred and crosshatched with wrinkles. He rubbed a hand over his face, pulling his thumb and forefinger down his cheeks, stretching the loose skin beneath his eyes and making the sadness in them even more pronounced.

“Captain,” he said in a low voice, and Missy heard the weariness in it. How many times over the years had he been in a similar position, having to rescue Wesley from some moment of awkwardness. “Son,” he said, “we need to get out of the way here.”

The EMTs had Ronnie covered with a blanket and belted to the gurney. They were headed toward the door, the tall boy pushing the gurney while his stocky, bowlegged partner walked alongside, using one hand to help steer.

Missy stepped out of the way. Shooter took Captain by the arm and pulled him back against the wall. The stocky boy took the end of the gurney with both hands and eased it through the front door, down the two small steps, and out onto the driveway. There, Ray Biggs had a few words with the EMTs.

“Not another one dead, is there?”

“He’s good and concussed,” the bowlegged EMT said. “But he’ll come around.”

“Jesus,” said Biggs. “What a night.”

Inside the house, Shooter was apologizing to Missy for Captain’s interruption. “He heard that ambulance and he got confused.” Shooter paused and cast an eye toward the girls still huddled together by the window. They’d turned to look outside at the EMTs loading their father into the ambulance. “He got it in his head that Della and the kids didn’t really die,” he whispered.

“He was right there tonight,” Missy said. “He saw what was what.”

“Yes, he saw. Just like we all saw.” Missy could tell from the edge in Shooter’s voice that she’d been too harsh with what she’d said. “Sometimes I can’t explain him.”

“No,” she said, “I don’t suppose you can.”

Shooter heard the mix of pity and judgment in Missy’s voice, but he wasn’t interested at that moment in saying anything more about what it was like to have a boy like Captain. He didn’t think it was the time to get his back up, not in the midst of so much sadness. It was time for sleep, if sleep would ever come that night. It was time to lie down and give thanks for their blessings. It wasn’t easy having a son like Captain, but he was a good-hearted boy. He might not always know the right way to act, but he’d learned what it was to love folks, had learned that from Merlene. No one would ever be able to accuse him of not knowing that.

“Come on,” Shooter told him. “It’s time for us to go back home.”

Captain was looking across the room at the girls. “Who’s going to take care of them now that Ronnie’s hurt?”

“I’ll take care of my girls,” Lois said. She came to Captain and she touched him on his arm. “Don’t you worry about that, honey.” Shooter appreciated the kindness in her voice. She was petting Captain the way Merlene would have done, soothing him. “You go on with your daddy now. You be a good boy.”

Shooter put his hand on Captain’s back and tried to guide him toward the door. He wouldn’t budge. He was a stocky boy with thick legs, and he dug in and anchored himself. He looked down at the floor and then raised his head and studied Lois a good while. Shooter knew it was sinking in now, the truth of the matter.

“Della’s not coming back?” Captain said.

“No, honey.” There was a catch in Lois’s voice, and Shooter knew it was sinking in for her too. “None of them are coming back.”

Captain walked across the room to the girls. “I’m sorry,” he said, and Missy heard the quiver in his voice. “I’m sorry,” he said again, and he was still saying it when Shooter finally eased him toward the door and out into the cold.

The ambulance went back up the blacktop, headed toward the hospital in Phillipsport, and Ray Biggs came into the house. Missy closed the door behind him.

“Folks,” Biggs said, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask some questions.”

“I hit him,” said Wayne. “I hit him with that there.” He pointed to the tire iron that Pat had laid on the coffee table. “I meant to hit him and I did it. Now go ahead and do whatever it is you have to.”

“Wayne, I’m not sure I have to do anything tonight.” Biggs spoke in an even tone. “Lord knows you folks have got enough to deal with. What say we let this ride until we know what’s what?” He went to where Wayne was standing by the coffee table. “Now, Wayne, I’m not going to lie to you. Could be you’re in for some trouble over this. The ambulance boys say they think Ronnie’s going to come to. Mind you, they’re not doctors, but let’s say they’re right. Let’s say Ronnie comes around. He could still press charges, Wayne. I’d have to arrest you for assault and battery. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I said I did it.” Wayne nodded toward Pat. “He’ll tell you the same. I’m not going to try to lie about it.”

“I’m counting on you not to try to run either.” Biggs narrowed his eyes and studied Wayne. “Do I have your word on that?”

“Good God.” Wayne could barely rein in his disgust. “Don’t you know I’ve got these girls to see to. You really think I’d run?”

Biggs said it to him plain. “All I know is you hit Ronnie with that tire iron.”

Wayne wanted to explain that he really wasn’t that kind of man at all. It was just that he’d been carrying this heat toward Ronnie for a good while, and it’d finally got out of his control when he found out Della and the babies were dead. He blamed Ronnie for that, but, if he had to tell the truth, he blamed himself too. He should have insisted that Della and the kids come to their house that night. He should have been a better father. He should have made Della agree. He never should have let her marry Ronnie, but if he hadn’t there wouldn’t be these four here — Angel and Hannah and Sarah and Emma. He wouldn’t have the joy of them, and now he’d let them down by pulling that stunt with the tire iron. Maybe he’d been that kind of man all along, and he just hadn’t known it.

“I won’t run,” he said. “Time comes you want to take me in, you’ll know where to find me. Now, I just want to take my grandkids home.”

He took a few steps toward them, but then the room started to spin around, and he had to stop.

“Wayne?” Lois said.

“I’m dizzy.” He managed to get to the nearest chair, an overstuffed recliner, and he dropped down into it. “Everything’s whirling all merry-go-round on me.”

“He’s been having these dizzy spells.” Lois went over to where he was sitting, and she put her hand on his head. “Haven’t you, Wayne?”

“They come and go,” he said.

“Have you seen a doctor?” Biggs asked him.

“Doctors cost money,” Wayne said.

“It’s been a burden,” said Lois. “Seeing to him.”

For a while no one spoke. Then Biggs said to Lois, “You sure you want to take on these girls right now?”

“They’re my grandbabies,” Lois said, and her voice broke. “Lord, I feel like I’m a million years old.”

“I can call Laverne Ott. She can get the girls into a foster care. Might make it easier on you, Lois.” Biggs was talking in a gentle voice now. “Wayne, you hear what I’m saying?”