Far Country (6 page)

Steve
was not resting quietly, as Deborah had hoped.  As soon as she and Pete
stepped back behind the curtain, Steve launched a barrage of questions at them.

“How
is she? Is she awake?” Steve demanded. Then he frowned, looking at Deborah in
puzzlement. “Deborah. ARE you Deborah? You’re – different, somehow.”

Deborah
bit her lip and blinked at the tears blurring her vision. Her heart broke for
Steve. How often did he relive this nightmare?

Pete
stepped forward. He squeezed Steve’s shoulder.  “Hey, Steve. That was a
nasty knock on the head.”

Steve
stared at Pete. Confusion and uncertainty flitted across his features. “Who are
you?”

Pete
hesitated and glanced at Deborah. 
            “We’re
friends,” he replied after a moment. Steve blinked. He looked around the
hospital emergency ward and back at the two people standing by his bed. 
Nobody spoke.  After a minute or two, Steve sighed.

“This
isn’t Jacksonville,” he stated in a flat dull voice.

“No,”
Pete answered softly. “This is Danbury.  I work as a ranger at Hanging
Rock.”  He paused for a moment, and then added, “You do, too. And Deb.
It’s been over five years since you and Sarah had the accident.”

Steve
pondered Pete’s explanation for a moment.  “Sarah isn’t here, either.
She’s still in a coma.  In Wilmington.” He added the facts bitterly.

Deborah
nodded confirmation and tried to take his hand. Steve pulled it back, as if
he’d touched fire.  He turned his face away.

“You
must think I’m nuts,” he mumbled to the wall.

“No
more than I usually do,” Pete quipped lightly.

Pete
and Deborah stood awkwardly, waiting for Steve to acknowledge them in some
way.  Finally, Deborah couldn’t be quiet any longer.

“Steve,
it’s okay. Really!  It’s understandable that you’d – remember – what
happened, and be confused at first. It was terrible, what happened to you and
Sarah.”

Steve
finally turned his head back to face Deborah and she startled at his angry
expression. His vibrant blue eyes were flat and icy.  “She’s not alive,
but she can’t die. It still IS terrible. It’s a living hell for both of us!” He
said vehemently.

“I
know, Steve, I’m so…”

He
cut her off. “What can you know? You were only a sophomore. She was everything!"
He turned his face toward the curtain. "We should have a life together,”
he muttered.  “We should be married!”

Deborah’s
eyes welled up again.  “I didn’t know, you’re right,” she answered
quietly. “But I pray every day that God will release you from the pain and
guilt.”

“Guilt?”
Steve spat, his voice rising in helpless anger. “Why should I feel guilty? It
was an accident. Everyone says so! I don’t want your prayers, so you can quit
wasting your breath. What good have they done me? Prayer didn’t bring her back
or make her better.  It didn’t give me back my best friend.  That
night took everything away!”

Deborah
had shrunk back against Pete as if Steve’s words had been physical blows. Tears
streamed freely down her cheeks. Pete’s big hands rested on her shoulders as if
he was about to step protectively in front of her.  His eyes, though, were
not angry or upset by Steve’s diatribe.  Instead they remained soft and
understanding.  Suddenly Steve felt ashamed and incredibly tired. 
            “Go home,”
he growled.  “Take your prayers and leave!  Just get out of here.”

Pete
nodded.  “I need to take Deborah home, but I’ll be back to pick you up
tomorrow.  Just call me when they release you. And get some rest, huh?”

Embarrassed
and further ashamed by Pete’s calm acceptance of his behavior, Steve could say
nothing.  He turned his head away.  When he finally looked back, they
were gone and he was alone.  Well, he reflected, that’s the way it should
be. The way it had been since that night.  It’s what he was used to.

Despondently
Steve reached for the insulated water cup on the table by the bed. Attached to
the straw was a sticky note, like a little flag blowing bravely in a breeze.

‘Sleep in peace tonight. God bless, Pete’

Steve
read it twice, incredulously. “Stupid jerk,” he muttered in irritation. 
“He gets dumped on, and doesn’t have enough sense to walk away!” Steve crumbled
the note and tossed it at the trash can.  The little square of paper
missed. Somehow, that fact made Steve angry all over again. He felt more
helpless than ever.

A
few minutes later, a couple of orderlies and the doctor returned.  The
doctor checked his vitals, and his pupils, then asked him a few questions. At
last, she smiled.  “Looking good so far, Mr. Williams. We’re keeping you overnight,
though, just to be safe.”

The
orderlies unlocked the bed breaks and rolled him down the hall to a
semi-private room.   They transferred him carefully to the far bed,
next to the window, and left.  The nurse came in moments later, carrying
his water pitcher and mug. “No more attempts at walking alone tonight, Mr.
Williams,” she warned in a stern voice.  “You need to go to the restroom,
you ring this buzzer
and wait
. Got that?”

Steve
nodded dutifully.  She settled his things on the new table, a carbon copy
of the last one, and left him alone.

Steve
was glad to have the window, and even more pleased that the blinds had been
left partially open.  From here, he could make out the
Sauratown
Mountains, their peaks like worn broken teeth, black against the paler night
sky.
It will be daybreak soon,
Steve reflected.  
I’ll be able to
see the sun rise.
”

The
thought gave him a strangely peaceful lift to his moody spirits. He lay
drowsily in the bed, content to watch the night stars fade as dawn approached.
But he did not see the sunrise.  When he awoke hours later, it was almost
eight o’clock in the morning, and the aides were busy passing out food trays. A
smile played on his lips as he realized that for the first time in years, he
had not dreamed.

           
The doorbell rang several
times.  Steve heard it, and guessed who it probably was.  He did not
get up to answer it. The bell was followed by knocking, but still he did not
get up, or move from the couch, where he lay in the dimly lit living room of
his bungalow.

He shut his eyes and tried to
ignore the pounding on the door, even as it translated into the throbbing
inside his head. 
Surely, Pete or Deborah would get the message and
leave soon!
 Instead, there came the sound of a key in the lock. Steve
ground his teeth and swore softly.  Of course. Pete knew where he hid the
spare key. 

Pete’s
head appeared, shadowy and indistinct in the half-light of the living room.

“Hey man, you doing okay?”

           
“I was until you started pounding on the door.” Steve replied shortly. Pete
grinned his lopsided grin.  “Sorry about that, I didn’t think about your
head.  But when you didn’t answer the phone or the door, I got concerned.”

           
“I’ve been trying to rest.”  Steve’s voice was cool and distant, barely
polite.  Pete felt suddenly awkward.  He changed the subject.

           
“Why didn’t you call when you were released?” He asked, his tone mildly
reproachful. “I told you I’d pick you up. I didn’t know that you came home
until I spoke to Chuck this afternoon.”

           
Steve shrugged.  You’d already wasted enough time on me.  Chuck was
free.”

           
Wasted time?
Pete pursed his lips into a thin line and frowned. 
Steve was really trying to put some distance between them.  Was he upset
because they had witnessed the scene in the hospital? He tried again.

           
“Deborah has the afternoon off and she wants to fix you some dinner.  She
wanted me to ask what you’d like.  She claims to have a killer fried
chicken recipe, if you’re up for it.”

           
Steve closed his eyes for a moment.  Couldn’t this guy take a hint? 
“No thanks,” he said at last.  “I’m not really up for company yet.”

           
“Well, then I’m sure she won’t mind just fixing you a plate and bringing it
by.”

           
“Look,” Steve said in exasperation. “Don’t worry about me, okay? I’ve got
dinner covered already. The doctor said I need quiet and bed rest, or I have to
go back in the hospital.”  Steve paused and sighed.  Then he spoke
more calmly.  "Tell Deb not to worry about fixing me anything. 
I’m doing just fine.”

           
Pete looked pointedly at the coffee table, taking in the empty bag of chips and
dried up salsa, and an open, half eaten can of
Spaghettios
. 
Steve followed his gaze. When their eyes met, Steve stared back coolly. 
“I’m fine.” He repeated. “But my head is hurting again and I want to sleep now.
Please. Leave.”

           
Pete sighed, backing off.  “Okay, but I’m here if you need me, buddy. Deb
and I are praying for you.” Steve did not respond, and after a moment, Pete
stepped out and shut the door.

           
“Yeah, whatever,” Steve muttered, angry again and not certain why.  His
head was hurting, but he hated sleeping.  The dreams were back, and
somehow they were more painful than ever – like salt on a paper cut.  The
fact that both Deborah and Pete saw him acting crazy at the hospital sickened
and upset him. He had thought that the past was over and behind him – done!
That it had intruded into his life in such an embarrassing and  - public –
way…Steve shuddered.  No telling how many people had heard that Ranger
Williams had mistaken a thirteen year old girl for a woman he hadn’t seen in
almost six years, or that he had freaked out in the emergency room! 

Steve
rubbed his head. It still ached so badly that his vision blurred if he moved
around too much or too fast.  The doctor had warned him about that,
too.  The concussion from the car accident; the wallop from the beer
bottle last summer; and now this.  Future concussions could lead to
“permanent damage.” Whatever that might be.  He didn’t care to think about
the possibilities.

A
few minutes later, Chuck arrived carrying a couple of hamburgers and onion
rings.  They ate in near silence, and for that, Steve was grateful. For a
while after they finished, Chuck sat and twiddled his thumbs.  Steve
couldn’t tolerate the noise of the television, or sit up long enough to play
cards or video games.  The doctor had warned Chuck against getting him
excited, moving quickly or doing strenuous activities.  That didn’t leave
much for the 28 year old, 170 pound ranger to do.

After
a few minutes, Steve let Chuck off the hook by saying that he needed to
sleep.  Chuck jumped to his feet in obvious relief. He reminded Steve that
he was on duty still this evening, but that he would back tomorrow with some
lunch – maybe a pizza or something.

Steve
continued to lay on the couch staring into the dark.  Thoughts of Sarah,
the way that she used to be, filled his mind.  Eventually, he drifted off
to sleep with the memory of her laughter leaving a smile on his lips. He awoke
a few hours later, clawing his way up from the nightmare, her final scream
echoing one more time through his brain.

Steve
lurched to his feet and stumbled to the kitchenette for a glass of water. 
Hungry, he opened the refrigerator, looking for the pack of hotdogs he’d
defrosted earlier that week.  Instead, there sat a plate of fried chicken
with mashed potatoes and green peas. A salad bowl sat beside it.

They
had been in his house while he slept!
 Frowning
with irritation, he picked up the card laying on top of the plate.

           
Get
well soon – we miss you!

    
             Pete
and Deb

“Get
well soon,” he muttered.  Suddenly, rage boiled up inside of him. 
Steve picked up the plate of chicken and flung it as hard as he could at the
wall.  The plate shattered, and chicken and globs of potato spattered the
counter and floor.

“Just
leave me alone!” He shouted into the dark.  “I don’t want friends!  I
just want to be left alone! Why don’t you get that?”

Why
couldn’t they get it through their heads that he didn’t need them acting like
they cared? He’d be okay, no thanks to them.  He didn't need their
help!  After the show he’d put on at the hospital, they must think he was
a total nut case anyway! He didn’t want to see their looks of pity – or
speculation! He didn’t want to walk in on whispered conversations, knowing they
had told other people about what had happened in the hospital.
Steve had
had his fill of that before he left Jacksonville. Even the last time he had
gone home to visit, nothing had changed. People smiled at him as he approached,
but as he passed them he’d heard the comments: “Remember, he was the one who..”

Steve
didn’t know if he could bear it if it started up here as well.  He sank to
the floor, his fists pressing against his throbbing temples and stared as a
glop of mashed potatoes slithered off the counter and splattered  messily
onto the floor in front of him. He laughed, guessing that he had just made
matters worse.  There was no sane way to explain mashed potatoes on the
cabinets and a broken dish. He sighed and fought down a wave of nausea. 
Maybe
he was crazy..
.  He supposed he should try to clean up the mess, but
he couldn’t seem to move.
Maybe if he just sat here a few minutes.....