“I’ve had my share of bad nights, too. You can’t go through this stuff and expect that now that you’re home, you’ll just pick up where you left off.”
“No.” After a moment, I said, “This time — I don’t know how to come back from there, Frank. It’s with me. It frightens me.”
He put his arm around my shoulders and said, “Maybe you should talk to somebody.”
I didn’t answer. Two nights ago, I had told him everything that had happened in the mountains. He had listened patiently, and although he had been upset by how Parrish had terrorized me, and probably didn’t approve of my trying to draw Parrish away from Ben, he didn’t criticize me or blame me for what happened. The perfect listener, as far as I was concerned. So I knew that when he now said “talk to somebody,” he meant a therapist.
“Just a thought,” he said after a while. “I’m not trying to push you.”
“I know you aren’t,” I said, but felt relieved.
“And you can always talk to me.”
I pulled him closer to me. “Yes, I know. Thanks.” We walked a little farther, and I said, “I guess that’s why I don’t worry about needing a therapist. I’ve got a great husband, I’m surrounded by family and friends — I have a support group. Ben — I get the distinct impression that he’s not so lucky.”
“The other day at the hospital, that’s what Jo Robinson said. She was going to try to contact Ben’s sister and some of his friends, but in the meantime, she thought Ben could use whatever emotional support we could offer — although she’s concerned that you won’t take care of yourself.”
“Where does his sister live?” I asked, choosing to steer the conversation away from Jo Robinson and her concerns.
“In Iowa.”
The dogs came by and shook water on us, making us swear and laugh all at once. For a time, we simply walked and watched them.
Bingle was enjoying himself immensely; today he had definitely been the happiest I had seen him since we brought him home. It occurred to me that with his level of training, David must have spent many more hours working with him than we did with our dogs. How often each day was this dog used to being walked? Would he lose skills if we didn’t work with him?
The three dogs were getting along well together, engaging in harmless but rowdy play — dodging one another’s charges, tumbling dramatically in the sand, chasing one another into the water, then running up onto the beach.
Frank said, “I’ve been thinking about the front steps.”
I stopped walking. “The front steps?”
“I think I can get Pete and Jack to help me build a ramp. We’ll need to make some changes in the bathroom, too, maybe get one of those handheld shower goodies, and a seat. Dr. Riley can probably give us a list of things that we wouldn’t even think about on our own.”
“Frank—” I swallowed hard. “You’ve had to live with my twenty-five-year-old cousin . . .”
“Like most guys his age, Travis has had better things to do than hang around the house. You know I haven’t minded having him stay with us. I like him.”
“But Ben — he’s going to have problems, Frank. In fact, he had problems before all of this happened. This is not a great time in Ben Sheridan’s life.”
“Do you dislike him?”
“Last week, the answer would have been ‘yes.’ ”
“Now?”
“I guess I see things differently. The situation forced me to spend some time with him when he should have been at his worst. Instead it seemed to bring out the best in him.”
We turned around and headed back. Frank said, “I found you up there before Parrish did because Ben — even though he was obviously half out of his mind with pain — came up with the idea of sending Bingle with me to look for you.”
“You would have found me anyway.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But who knows? With Parrish on the loose, it’s not a chance I would have wanted to take. The other thing is — you know the old bit about saving someone’s life?”
“And then becoming responsible for it? You aren’t going to convince me that you’re suggesting Ben should stay with us because of that.”
“No, but there’s some link between the two of you now, just because you survived this together.”
“A link? Frank, maybe I should make something clear—”
“No need to,” he said firmly. “I don’t suspect that at all.”
“Why not?” I asked, and he laughed.
“Don’t worry — I have no doubt that you’re attractive to other men.”
“So you think Ben is gay?”
“No, I think Miss Ellen Raice would have blurted that out to us right off the bat.”
“True.”
He smiled. “And you didn’t just invent Camille Graham to be cruel to Stinger, did you?”
