I Shall Not Want

legs around him and he pushed and everything in the moment must have been written all over his face because she laughed low in his ear and whispered, 'In like Flynn.'

XVII

There was no place to kneel and pray in the Critical Care Unit. A funny oversight, Clare thought. They had every other type of lifesaving equipment stuffed into the windowless space. They only had one chair, which she and Margy and Janet had rotated between them until Janet had to go home to her kids and her cows and Margy fell asleep on a wide sofa in the CCU waiting room. Clare dragged the chair's footstool to the foot of Russ's high-tech bed and knelt there. A little idolatrous, perhaps, as if she were praying to the long, broken body lying still and pale beneath the blanket.

She knew she ought to pray for God's will, not her own. She knew that bad things were not tests or punishments. She knew God was not a celestial gumball machine, and there was no combination of words or rituals that could force God's awful hand.

But desperation stripped away her knowledge, leaving her praying like a small child. Please, God, please, please, don't let him die. I'll do anything. Please don't let him die.

She had stopped in at the church and gotten her traveling kit after returning Sister Lucia to the Rehabilitation Center. The old woman had framed Clare's face between her hands and said, 'I will pray without ceasing. For him and for you.'

Now, at three in the morning, she anointed Russ with oil. 'I lay my hands upon you in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,' she said, 'beseeching our Lord Jesus Christ to sustain you-' It was meant to be an outward and visible sign, but in her slippery fingers it was a talisman, a seal, a dare to God to take him now she had protected him. She would have drenched the room in holy water, hung crosses on his ventilator and saint's medals over his heart monitor if she had thought she could get away with it. Magic. Faith. Her will. God's will.

Please, God, please, please, please. Let him live…

She woke with a start when the day nurse entered. She was sagging off the end of the bed, her arms completely numb, her thighs cramping. She fell off the footstool when she tried to get up.

'Good heavens, Reverend. Fell asleep, did we?' The nurse hauled her to her feet and sent her lurching toward the waiting room. 'We need to clear the room for a few,' the nurse said. 'Why don't we get something to eat and some fresh air in the meantime?'

'Why don't we?' Clare mumbled. She collapsed on a sofa opposite the sleeping Margy and tried to ignore the shooting pain of the circulation coming back into her limbs. She was lined up with the opening to the corridor, and so had a perfect view of Lyle MacAuley getting off the elevator. He had changed into a fresh uniform-she hoped he had burned the other one-but he was red-eyed and haggard from lack of sleep.

'You look terrible,' Clare said.

'Not compared to you, I don't.' He halted in front of her, like an out-of-gas car rolling to a stop where the road comes level.

'Sit down.' She slapped the cushion next to her once, the best she could manage. 'The CCU nurse is in there. No visitors right now.'

MacAuley collapsed with a groan. He sat, simply sat, for a moment. 'Any change?' he finally asked.

'No.'

'Hell damn.'

'Yeah.'

They were silent for a while. She wondered if he was afraid to talk about it, like she was. Afraid that one wrong word, two, and she'd find herself saying I don't think he's going to make it.

'What's going on with the case?'

The lines in his face fell into something resembling a smile. 'Well, that answers that.'

'What?'

'I always did wonder if you were playing with police work because of Russ, or because you're terminally nosy.'

'Both,' she said. 'Plus, it's a lot more interesting than the Mary and Martha's Guild meetings.'

'Too damn interesting, these days.'

She nodded. It seemed as if she could hear the slow whoosh… whoosh of the ventilator, breathing for Russ.

'We're pretty sure the Punta Diablos-that's a gang running pot out of New York-are the ones who did Amado. Looks like they left him up on the Muster Field so's we'd run into him sooner and head straight over to the Christies'.' His face worked, as if he was chewing on something bitter. 'They used us to clear out the dogs and the Christie men, and then went to the farm to get their property.'

'The distribution list?'

'Told you about that theory, did he?'

'Yeah.'

'Well, we still don't know for sure if that's what they were after. Neither of them can tell us.' There was a grim satisfaction in his voice. 'Have to sweat it out of the Christies.'

'But why Amado? He had no connection to the Christies.'

'They came after him, didn't they? And two of 'em got booked for it. Woulda been all over the county jail. You never heard gossip till you heard jailbirds.'

'But why would they think a man the Christies hated would know anything?'

'Dunno.'

'How did the Christies get hold of the list?'

'Dunno. Yet.'

'What's the connection to the bodies behind the Muster Field?'

'Dunno.'

'There's a lot you don't know, Deputy Chief.'

He sank back farther into the couch. 'You got that right, Reverend.'

They sat silent again. Across the way, Margy Van Alstyne snored gently. She'd been up until two o'clock or so. Clare hoped she'd sleep on. Asleep, she wasn't eaten up with fear for her only son.

'You might want to go visit Isabel Christie while you're here.'

'The sister?' she said.

'Ayeah. When Russ told her about Amado yesterday morning, she was pretty broke up about it.'

'Oh, God.' Clare exhaled. 'So there was something there.' She looked down at her clerical blouse. There was dried blood crusted on it. 'I don't know if I'm in a fit state to help her.'

He rolled his head to one side and looked at her. 'Can't think of anyone better.'

She gave him a wavering smile. Thought about losing someone you loved. Someone you weren't supposed to love.

'Lyle?'

He grunted.

She took a breath. 'Was it true? About you and Linda Van Alstyne?'

He paused for so long she thought he wasn't going to answer. Finally he said, 'Yeah.'

'Have you talked to Russ about it?'