The Older Woman (20 page)

Someone rapped sharply on his door. He ignored it.

Whoever it was knocked again. The knock was too heavy to be Mrs. Bee’s, but he still made no effort to answer it. He sat there, willing it all to go away.

“Doyle!” someone said, knocking louder, and he closed his eyes, tuning everything out but the misery.

The knock came again—this time down low on the door.

He opened his eyes, wondering what the hell.

When the tentative, low knock came again, he struggled to get up and moving. He could hear two people talking in the hallway.

“We just knocked,” he heard a male voice say.

When he opened the door, Arley, Scottie and a soldier whose name tag Doyle couldn’t quite read stood in the hallway. Old habits died hard, and he looked to the vaguely familiar soldier first.

“I’m Priority Two,” the soldier said, nodding discreetly in Scottie’s direction—

which indicated two things. His presence here wasn’t official and he had at least some understanding of what it was like to be a little boy.

Doyle looked down. Scottie stood there, looking like he was on his way to the gallows, his bottom lip was trembling.

“Hey,

Scottie—”

“Where’s my sister?” Arley interrupted.

“I don’t know,” he said to her. “What’s the matter, buddy?” he asked Scottie.

“I got in trouble, Bugs,” the boy said.

“What kind of trouble, man?”

“The teacher was really, really
mad.
”

“Where is my sister!” Arley asked again.

“I don’t know, Arley. I haven’t seen her.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, I can’t help that—Scottie, what happened?”

“I

hit…Wesley.”

“Did he need hitting?”

“What kind of question is that?” Arley demanded, finally taking an interest in her son’s difficulties.

“Look. Who came to whose door here? If you don’t want him to talk to me about this, tell him.”

She threw up both hands and gave him the floor.

“Why did you hit him, Scottie?” Doyle asked.

“He was…making…armpit…noises at me!”

Ah, yes, Doyle recalled, trying not to grin. Damned hard for a man to walk away from
those.

The confession apparently was too much for Scottie, and he grabbed Doyle around the knees. Doyle had to hold on to the doorjamb to keep from toppling over, still fighting a grin in spite of his current misery and Arley’s obvious impatience. It took him a few seconds to make sure he wasn’t going to laugh.

“I guess he wouldn’t stop, huh?” he said, reaching down to pat Scottie on the back.

“No! He just kept on and on!”

“Well, I tell you what. It’s not good to go hitting people like that, even if they’re asking for it. Teachers and mothers and sergeants—they don’t like it.”

“And aunts,” Scottie said, trying not to cry.

“Them, too. Look up here at me.” He waited until he could see the boy’s unhappy face. “What you have to do is not let Wesley know he’s getting to you. If you don’t pay him any attention, he ends up looking like an idiot. Just be cool. Mr. Cool all the way, okay?”

“O…kay,” Scottie said, his voice wavering.

“Outstanding.” Doyle glanced at Arley to see if he could follow his own advice. She was looking at Priority Two. Priority Two was very careful not to look back.

Doyle took the opportunity to read his name tag. “Baron.” The COC—Chain of Concern—soldier Kate had volunteered.

“See, Scottie?” Arley said abruptly, reaching out to pat her son on the head.

“That’s what I said. Just don’t pay any attention to Wesley.”

Scottie let go of the choke hold he had on Doyle’s knees. “Mr. Cool!” he said, clearly feeling better.

“Doyle, are you going to help me or not?” Arley asked.

“Arley, I don’t know where Kate is.”

“Well,

I
don’t, either,” she said, as if that was all his fault. “She’s not at work and she’s not at home and nobody’s talked to her.”

“I have,” Priority Two said, and they both looked at him. “If you’re talking about Kate Meehan.”

“When?” Doyle asked, sounding more like Arley than he cared to admit.

“A couple of hours ago—she sent me over here.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Well, she said she thought you wouldn’t get to your clinic appointment—and you definitely needed to keep it.”

“I know that,” Doyle said. Which was the truth. He hadn’t forgotten the appointment. He simply planned to ignore it. “When did you say you talked to her?”

“A couple of hours ago—at the hospital.”

“They

told

me
she wasn’t working today,” Arley said.

“She wasn’t. She just came by the unit for something.”

“For what?” Doyle and Arley said in unison. The now wary Baron kept looking from one of them to the other.

“She…didn’t say. She just wanted to make sure Doyle got to his appointment—

make sure he remembered—make sure he had a ride. She didn’t mention what to tell a sister at all,” he said to Arley. “Sorry.”

“Well, you people are just no help whatsoever,” Arley said. “Come on, Scottie. Mrs. Bee said she’d find a cookie for you.”

“’Bye, Bugs,” the boy said, trotting off with his mother.

“Yeah, wild man. You take it easy.”

Doyle stood there, staring into space, trying to assess this latest development—

until Baron gave a discreet cough.

“What the hell do you want?” Doyle asked him.

“Cut me some slack, man. I’m just trying to get you where you’re supposed to be.”

“I don’t need any help.”

“Kate said you’d probably give me grief. And if you did, she wanted me to tell you one thing.”

Doyle stood waiting to hear what the “one thing” was—but the SOB was going to make him ask for it.

“Okay, what is it?” he said after a moment.

“She said, ‘Please.”’

“And?”

“And nothing. ‘Please.’ That was it.”

Doyle stared at him.

Please.

The one word that would get to him. He gave a sharp sigh.

“So are we going or not?” Baron asked, looking at his watch. “You’ve got fifteen minutes. If I drive like a bat out of hell, I can get you there.”

“Yeah, like a doctor was ever on time in this man’s army.”

“Does that mean you’re going?”

“I’m going, I’m going.”

“Outstanding,” Baron said, taking the liberty of pulling the apartment door closed.

“So is she married?”

“Who?” Doyle asked, still out of sorts. He had no idea what Kate was doing. He didn’t even have a clue. She dumps him…but she’s worried about him keeping his appointments. As she’d said once herself—

This is insane.

And the really insane part was that the rest of the Meehan girls didn’t know what was going on with her, either.

“The sister—Arley,” Baron said. “Is she married?”

“Do I look like a hook-up service?” Doyle said sarcastically.

“No, you look like hell—but who’s going to notice with that sunny disposition?”

“How did you get roped into this, anyway?” Doyle asked him as he hobbled out onto the porch.

“Damned if I know. Story of my life, though.”

For once the army doctor was on time. Doyle barely made it into the waiting area before his name was called. This doctor he knew. His name was Julius, and he’d done a number of Doyle’s surgeries.

“Damn,” Julius said in the hallway. “What happened to you?”

“Sir?” Doyle said, thinking maybe Baron hadn’t exaggerated when he said he looked like hell.

“Last time I saw you you could barely stand and you must have had a half a dozen dummy cords hooked to you so you wouldn’t lose everything you dropped.”

“Sir, I’ve been walking a lot.”

Among other things.

“Doing the physical therapy exercises they taught you?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

Also

among

other

things.

“And if you drop something on the floor, you can get it now?”

“Sir, yes, sir. No dummy cords, sir.”

“Good. Of course, this is going to tick off a certain hot-shot Texas orthopedic surgeon.”

“Sir?”

“You might as well know he and I had a difference of opinion about your rehabilitation.”

Doyle didn’t say anything.

“He did tell you he wanted to do surgery again.”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“What do you think about that?”

“I think I’d rather burn in, sir,” Doyle said, using the term for a paratrooper’s fate when his chute didn’t open.

Julius laughed—when Doyle wasn’t particularly making a joke.

“Well, let’s don’t do that, okay? We might not get you put back together this time. How much pain are you having?”

“I’m not taking anything for it, sir.”

“That’s not exactly what I asked, but we’ll let it go. I want to get another film or two today—just to make sure there isn’t anything new going on. If it looks okay, I’m going to say you’ve dodged the bullet for the time being—and you can go in peace. For three months—unless you start having trouble. You know the drill by now. Keep walking. Keep exercising. Keep doing whatever you’ve been doing.”

“Sir, yes sir.”

I

wish.

“All right then. Dismissed.”

Kate,

Kate.

She’d been determined that he get here to talk to the surgeon who wasn’t all that gung-ho about dashing into the operating room. The news was good—excellent—and she’d gone out of her way to make sure he got it.

But he was no closer to understanding her than he’d been the other night. He stood for a moment in the hallway before he made up his mind about what he wanted to do. Then, with a sense of purpose he hadn’t felt in some time, he headed for the floor where Kate worked. Plan A was to see if he couldn’t get something from one of her coworkers about where she was. He didn’t see anyone anywhere when he stepped off the elevator, but then he spotted a medic in a supply closet, counting bottles and boxes. Baron.

“I want to ask you something,” Doyle said when he looked up from the clipboard.

“What?”

“Do you have any idea where Kate is?”

“Me?

No.”

“She didn’t say anything besides what you told me.”

“No,” Baron said, going back to counting small white boxes.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m

sure.”

“Look, Baron, it’s important. I’m—” He stopped, trying to decide how candid he wanted to be. He took a deep breath. “I’m worried about her, man. So is her sister. You saw that. Kate’s important to me. If you know anything—anything at all, tell me.”

Baron stopped counting, but he didn’t say anything.

“Are you going to help me out or not?” Doyle asked.

“I don’t really know anything to tell you…except—”

“Except what?” Doyle asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.

“It’s just something I overheard one of the nurses say.”

“What?”

“Something about Kate having to go get a repeat X-ray last Friday.”

Doyle felt the wind go out of him. “And?”

“That’s

it.”

“What kind of X-ray?”

“I don’t know. That’s all I heard. It may not mean anything…”

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks,” Doyle said absently.

But he was afraid he knew exactly what it meant.

“Mrs. Bee!” he yelled as soon as he cleared the screen door. Mrs. Bee came hurrying out of the kitchen, her hand resting on her chest.

“Calvin, you scared me!”

“Sorry, Mrs. Bee. I need to ask you something. Do you have any idea where Kate is?”

“No, Calvin. I haven’t seen her.”

“If you wanted to find her, where would you look?”

Mrs. Bee stood staring at him with her schoolteacher face on, and all he could do was tough it out.

“Is something wrong, Calvin?”

“Yeah. I need to talk to her.” He braced himself for the third degree, but thankfully Mrs. Bee didn’t ask him anything. He could just hear himself trying to explain that Kate had dumped him, that she’d made him keep his clinic appointment and she’d had a repeat X-ray—so he had to find her.

“Well, I’d start with the sisters,” Mrs. Bee said after a moment.

“Arley says they don’t know where Kate is.”

“Well,

she
might not.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning it might be better to start with the weakest link.”

“I don’t know what that means, Mrs. Bee.”

“It means I can call Gwen…if you want me to.”

“Yeah, Mrs. Bee. That would be great.”

“All right. Let’s see what Gwen says. And don’t cramp my style. I work better alone.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “Okay, Mrs. Bee.”

He waited in the kitchen while she made the call. It took a while. The link must not have been as weak as Mrs. Bee thought.

“Did you find out anything? What did she say?” he asked, pouncing on the old lady as soon as he heard her hang up the receiver.

“I didn’t find out where Kate is—but I did find out that Gwen knows.”

“She knows? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. When I asked her where Kate was, she sounded like Porky Pig.”

“Porky

Pig?”

“Exactly. I didn’t teach school all those years not to know what
that
means.”

Doyle looked at her, more than a little lost.

“Do you think you can drive Thelma and Louise, Calvin?” Mrs. Bee abruptly asked. “I think you should take my car and drive over to Gwen’s and see if Katie is there. If she’s not, maybe you can talk Gwen into telling her something for you. What do you think?”

What he thought was that the unexpected offer to turn him loose with Thelma and Louise came close to making him sound like Porky Pig, too.

“I think I can drive the car, Mrs. Bee—but are you sure you want to trust me with it?”

“I’m sure. It’ll help your image.”

“My

image?”

“Katie knows what that car means to me. If she sees I let you drive it, she’ll know somebody thinks you’re worthy.”

“Or she’ll think I hog-tied you and took the keys,” he said, and Mrs. Bee laughed and swatted the air.

“Now, let’s see…where did I put those keys—oh, I know. I’ll be right back. You be thinking about what you need to say to Katie while I go get them.”