miles away,” Broker said.
Jolene nodded. “Of course. Allen will give you a lift.”
For a moment Broker stood looking at Hank. He exhaled. “Words don’t come close, do they,” he said.
She smiled a utilitarian smile, then walked across the room and straightened the framed
Jolene smiled and pointed to the date. “I found it in an antiques store; it came out on the exact day Hank was born. I probably shouldn’t have straightened it. What if it was the last thing he touched in this room?” She shifted her feet and started to lose her balance.
Broker raised his hand to steady her. She caught herself and said, “Thank you; I’m just a little tired.”
As they left the room Ambush the cat darted through their feet, crossed the floor, and smoothly leaped up on the bed. She curled against Hank’s motionless hands, and then slowly began to lick the fingers of his right hand with her pink sandpapery tongue.
Broker found his reason to return as he followed her up the circular stairs. “You should get that wood split and out of the weather,” he said.
She turned, studied him, and simply said, “Yes.”
“Why don’t I drop by tomorrow afternoon and take care of that,” he said.
This time she just watched him and said nothing.
“About two,” he said.
“I’ll make a pot of coffee,” she said, and then they continued into the kitchen. Broker washed his hands in a bathroom off the kitchen while Jolene explained his transportation problem to Allen.
Allen had put on his coat and shoes and was holding Broker’s coat. “Let’s get going, I have to get back to the hospital and check on some folks.”
Jolene and Broker said good-bye. They did not mention chopping wood in the morning.
Allen drove over the speed limit but was very competent behind the wheel. For the first few minutes they chatted, catching up. Broker asked about Milt. Allen described again the insurance fiasco and the weird money-bind Jolene was in because of the trust. Then he delivered a flat, factual overview of Hank’s condition. “His involuntary muscles seem to function perfectly. But Jolene misinterprets his random blinking and eye movement for focused sight.” Allen turned to Broker and grimaced slightly. “It gives her false hope that he’ll recover.”
“She looks pretty done in,” Broker said.
“She’s watching him around the clock. So far, her jury-rigged home-care plan is working. In a few days Milt will have him into a full-care nursing home. Otherwise, he’s as good as his heart and lungs, and they are working just fine.”
“So he could go on for quite a while?” Broker said.
Allen pursed his lips and they remained quiet for a few miles. Broker asked finally, “The guy who answered the door? He was at the hospital up north.”
“Exactly,” Allen said. “Well, life’s a come-as-you-are party, and that guy-Earl Garf-is a visitor from Jolene’s previous life. I have to say that when she discovered she was broke, Earl was Johnny-on-the-spot to help her out. On the other hand, he, ah, also moved into the basement.”
“Maybe he smells a big malpractice settlement,” Broker said.
The remark caused Allen to study Broker’s profile for a few beats. “Yes, the thought has occurred to Milt and me.”
“Doesn’t look like the kind of person Hank would keep around,” Broker said. Some of the animus he felt against the younger man weighted his words.
“Believe me, if Hank was on his feet, Garf would be gone,” Allen said. “They had a fight once. Hank threw him out of the house.”
“Doesn’t sound like a good scene,” Broker said.
“I don’t think they’re intimate, if that’s what you mean,” Allen said tightly.
“Still,” Broker said.
“Right,” Allen said.
Then they arrived at J.T.’s and, seeing the birds gathered in a pool of barn light against the wire fencing, Allen said in a distracted voice, “Ostriches? They’re a healthy alternative to beef.”
They shook hands. Broker was hoping that Amy wouldn’t come walking out the door. Allen Falken was thinking that he was saying good-bye to Phil Broker forever. He turned his car and drove off with a final wave.
J.T. let Broker in and they went into the kitchen where Amy was helping a six-foot-tall thirteen-year-old set the table.
“Unca Honky, wazup?”
Broker narrowed his eyes at Shamika Merryweather. “You’re not suppose to be talking like that. It’s definitely not PC.”
“Certainly not in mixed company,” Shami said straight-faced. “And certainly not at school where it would be abusive and insensitive. But here at home I’m still under my daddy’s strict control, and my daddy says that’s your name.”
“How tall are you now?” Broker countered.
“Six foot. How tall are you?”
“Six foot.”
“Yeah, but I still have another five years to grow,” Shami said.
Amy walked up looking very sane and healthy to Broker after his visit to Sommer’s house. “How’d it go with Hank?” she asked.
“It’s hard to tell. He could be looking at people. But Allen Falken doesn’t think so.”
“Oh.”
“Right, that was him in the car. He just dropped me off. Which makes it harder for you to go Sommer’s house, because Allen can ID you.”
“So what’s next?”
“I’m going back tomorrow for another look.”
“Okay, can I take your truck to do my Mall of America junket?”
“Sure.” Broker rubbed his chin. “Basically, it’s pretty grim over at Sommer’s.”
“You don’t look grim,” Amy observed.
Chapter Twenty-three
Broker was not one to dream.
So the sudden flash of Sommer’s startling acetylene eyes jolted him awake and left him sitting up in the dark on the fold-out couch in J.T.’s unfamiliar living room.
Shadows strummed the wall above him as the wind pushed the willows back and forth. New night sounds murmured: the creak of the eaves, the furnace fan whirring on.
Sitting in the dark in one strange house he thought of another strange house. Sommer’s. Multileveled and full of people. Especially Garf, the wild card in the basement. Broker tried to imagine Jolene and Garf together in the cherry sleigh bed while Sommer treaded water in the next room.
He rejected the image, reformulated it, and put Garf back in the basement and saw Jolene, alone in the king-size bed. Did she sleep soundly or did she toss? Or did she really sleep in the narrow bed at Sommer’s feet?
Was she a diamond in the rough, or just an opportunist?
Jolene, Garf, Sommer, and the dead accountant were human puzzle pieces that he couldn’t make fit. And he wondered if Sommer would now be counted among the things he’d never know. Like where his daughter was sleeping tonight. He didn’t even know what country she was in.
What he did know was that he wouldn’t get back to sleep, so he felt around for his jeans, pulled them on, and
