“None of this would have happened if you didn’t show up.”
“You’re right,” Joe said.
“And if I see you again, I’ll kick your ass.”
“Kick away,” Joe said. “But in the meantime, call your kids and tell them what’s going on.”
“I mean it,” Lars shouted.
“I know you do
“Tough,” she said.
Joe agreed.
“Maybe you should go home and get some sleep.”
Joe shook his head. “I’ll go home after the helicopter takes off with her in it. Not before.”
He went outside again to get more air. The stars pounded down on him like hammers. The night sky seemed to press on him as if to drive him into the pavement. He’d never smoked but thought he’d like a cigarette right now.
At four in the morning, Joe snapped awake, surprised that he’d fallen asleep on the couch in the clinic lobby. He sat up quickly, tried to clear his head, wondered what had startled him.
He realized what it was when the receptionist cradled the telephone and looked over the counter at him. “Another emergencycall and the EMTs are on their way,” she said in explanation.“Busy night.”
“What about the helicopter?” Joe asked.
She checked her wristwatch. “It should be here by five. Anotherhour and you can go home.”
Joe thanked her, asked, “What is the new emergency?”
She shook her head. “An assault victim, apparently. I didn’t get many details. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to alert the doctor so we can prep the room.”
Joe waited until the receptionist and the doctor were in the receiving station before slipping unnoticed into the room where Demming lay waiting. The light was dim but he could see the spider’s web of tubing that dripped fluids into her, smelled the sharp smell of antiseptic and soap and fear. She looked younger and smaller in the bed, which was propped up to raise her head. She was slumped a little to the side. Her eyes were closed and she looked serene, but the china whiteness of her skin jarred him, since it made her look cold. He reached up and gently touched her cheek with the back of his fingers to make sure she was warm. She didn’t react to his touch, but he was reassured by the slight puff of breath on his skin, which remindedhim of the sensation produced by the flamers.
He leaned over her. “Judy, can you hear me? It’s Joe.”
Did her eyes flutter? He thought he saw something but couldn’t be sure. Maybe she could hear him but not wake up. Maybe inside she was shouting, but he just couldn’t hear her.
“Who did this to you, Judy? Try and give me a name.”
He thought he saw a slight purse of her lips, but couldn’t tell if it was deliberate or an unconscious tic.
“Give me a name, Judy, and I promise I’ll get him. That’s a promise I will absolutely keep. I’ll get him.”
She didn’t, couldn’t, or wouldn’t respond.
He brushed her hair back, kissed her forehead, and told her Lars would be waiting for her in Billings.
Joe was outside in the predawn, leaning against the brick building, listening for the sound of the helicopter in the utter stillness. His breath billowed with condensation. He rememberedhow he and Victor used to strike tough- guy poses against the fence in the backyard and “smoke” lengths of twig, blowing the steam out like he was doing now. The stars in the eastern sky were losing their pinprick hardness due to the mauve wash of the coming sun.
Four-thirty. He’d decided to wait until six to call Marybeth and tell her not to come. It was too dangerous. He simply couldn’t let her take the chance now, as much as he wanted to see her and his girls.
In the distance, the EMT van sped down the canyon, headlightsstrobing, but with none of the fanfare or sirens that accompaniedDemming’s arrival. Assault victim, the receptionist had said. The van slowed abruptly, with a screech of brakes, and Joe saw a coyote in the middle of the road, in no hurry, loping down the center stripe. Finally, the coyote ran into the brush and the van could continue down the hill until it turned off the highwayand wheeled to a stop beneath the alcove.
The driver and assistant bailed out, the assistant filling in the doctor who had come outside and nodded at Joe. Joe nodded back.
“What do you mean there’s two of them?” the doctor said, annoyed. “The call said one. We prepped inside for one.”
“There’s two, all right,” the assistant said, lighting a cigarette while the driver strode to the back and threw open the door. “One’s in bad shape. The other one might just be passed out.”
Joe froze as they pulled the gurney out and the legs unfolded,snapped into place, and locked. He saw the assault victim’s face clearly, recognized him despite the lumpy, misshapen appearance and all the blood. It was his father. And the second man, the one still slumped in the back of the van, moaning like a steer, was Doomsayer.
The assistant rolled the gurney toward the entrance door, the doctor alongside, reaching under the bloodied sheet to find a pulse.
“Somebody entered with a key or they let him in,” the assistanttold the doctor. “The rangers said there was no sign of forced entry. Then whoever it was just beat the shit out of these two old guys with a billy club or a baseball bat. Luckily in this case, both of these birds were too drunk to resist or it might have been worse. It was probably like hitting rag dolls-they just flopped around. But whoever it was just whaled the holy hell out of them. .”
Stunned, joe identified the victims and confirmed that the assault had taken place in room 231 of the Mammoth Hotel.
By the time he talked to the doctor, Demming had left in the helicopter and the sun had long ago burned off the frost.
His father was in a coma, severe brain damage likely. The chopper was coming back for real this time. Doomsayer had a concussion but would live, and was being left behind for observation.
Joe said, “The beating was meant for me.”
The doctor simply looked at him and shook his head.
In the confusion, Joe had forgotten to call Marybeth and by the time he did, no one was home. He tried her cell phone and got the recorded message that she was unavailable, out of range. He thought of trying to send a message to stop his family at the gate, but thought he was likely too late. He thought,
As they rolled the gurney toward the helicopter, Joe walked alongside. His father was nearly unrecognizable, his lips swollen like overripe fruit, eyes swollen shut, eyebrows bulging like melons. Joe fished under the sheet for his father’s hand, squeezed it. No response.
The hot tears came from nowhere as the chopper lifted off for Billings, and he angrily wiped them away.
Joe was bone-tired as he drove Lars’s pickup through Mammoth village to the cabins. He was having trouble thinking clearly and was unable to stop his left eye from blinking furiouslywith stress.
Marybeth’s van was parked in front of his cabin, doors open. Nate was helping her carry suitcases from the van into the cabin. They appeared to be chatting happily. Neither recognizedhim as he drove up in the pickup, although Nate shot an annoyed glance in his direction because of the burbling noise of the glasspacks. He could see Sheridan and Lucy wearing sweat-shirts,their blond hair tied back in twin ponytails, sneaking up on a cow elk and her calf eating grass in a meadow that borderedthe cabins.
When he parked and got out, Marybeth saw him, beamed, then switched to a fake angry face. Joe could tell she was about to say:
“Dad!” Lucy cried, turning and running toward him with Sheridan just behind her.
“One big happy!” Nate said, oblivious.
