A january chill, p.26
A January Chill, page 26
She checked all his haunts, from the hardware store to the saloon where he was known to bend an elbow from time to time, but no one had seen him.
Fear began to sink icy claws into her, fueling her irritation. What if he'd tried to drive somewhere but had gone off the road? But no, his car was in his driveway. What had she been thinking, letting him drive home from the hospital last night? She knew he wasn't supposed to, but had figured a mile and a half wasn't anything to worry about. At least he hadn't taken it into his head to interpret that as license to drive anywhere.
But all this ruminating was doing nothing to tell her where he'd gone.
He wasn't answering his phone or door, and his car was still in the driveway. Fear whipped her hard. What if he'd had another heart attack?
She stood looking at his door and his car. He could be dead in there.
Finally, not knowing what else to do, since he'd never given her the key to his place, she went home and called the police.
Earl Sanders happened to take her call. "The dispatcher called in sick this morning," he remarked philosophically. "Not to mention that half my crew seems to have the flu or something. So you get the top dog, Hannah. What's up?"
"I can't find Witt. Anywhere. And his car's in the driveway, but he's not answering the door or phone. I'm worried he might have had another heart attack."
"Hell. Sam's out in that area. Just finished up a call. I'll have him come right now. Where are you?"
"At my house. But I can run over to Witt's right now."
"You do that. Sam'll be there in two or three minutes. So will the ambulance."
She was glad he had thought of the ambulance. She'd been so worried that it hadn't even occurred to her Witt might still be alive and in need of immediate medical attention. Stupid, she castigated herself.
She arrived back at Wilt's just as Sam Canfield was pulling up, lights flashing. He climbed out, giving her a brief wave. "When did you last see him?"
"Last night at the hospital."
"Damn." He looked at the house. "Okay. You stay back here."
He didn't explain why, although she guessed he was trying to protect her. As if she hadn't seen the dead and dying on an almost daily basis during her years as a nurse. But she had no delusion that it wouldn't be worse if it were Witt. Closing her eyes, she offered up another prayer.
Sam tried the door, pounded on it with his fist, bellowing authoritatively, "Police. Open up."
Nothing. He peered through the windows on either side of the door but apparently couldn't see anything. Just then the ambulance pulled up, and two EMTs climbed out. Jack Jessup and Hector Cortes. They were the same young men who'd been on duty the night Witt had his heart attack.
"Another heart attack?" Jessup asked her.
"I don't know."
"Just stay back a minute," Sam called to them. Then, drawing his gun, he raised his foot and kicked the door open.
With her heart in her throat, Hannah watched him enter the house, his gun at ready. Oh, God, she hadn't even considered the possibility of a crime! What if.
But before her mind could conjure up any additional horrifying images, Sam came back out the door, bolstering his gun.
"He's inside," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "Drunk as a skunk, snoring booze fumes, but still alive."
Hannah started forward at once, but Jack and Hector gently restrained her. "Let us check him first, Mrs. Matlock."
Hannah started to shake her head, then caught herself. She understood.
She would only get in the way.
Sam came down the walk to stand beside her. "I think he's okay, Hannah. He seems to be sleeping it off."
"I am going to give that man such a piece of my mind...." Her voice broke, and somehow she turned into Sam. He didn't seem to have any problem with holding her or patting her back soothingly.
"He'll be okay, Hannah. Physically, at least." Sam made a disgusted sound. "Beats me how he could have spent all that time with you over the years and never once seen how much you love him."
Hannah caught her breath, and freshly formed tears stopped spilling, hanging on her lower lashes, threatening to freeze there. "Sam..."
"Sorry, I was out of line, but it was plain as the nose on the damn fool's face."
Hannah started to shake her head, then stopped. What was the point?
Denying it wouldn't change the truth. Suddenly aware that curtains were probably twitching all around, she stepped back. No telling what the gossips might come up with. The unfortunate thing about small-town life, especially where it snowed so much for so long, was that gossip was the stuff of social life. Sam might be ridiculously young for her, but that wouldn't keep the tongues from wagging. She didn't care for herself, but she didn't want Sam to be victimized. "Thanks," she said.
Ten minutes later, Jessup and Cortes came out of the house. "He's conscious," Cortes said. "He'll be all right, but somebody should keep an eye on him for a few hours."
Hannah mentally rolled up her sleeves, and the light of battle came into her dark eyes. "Trust me," she said, "I'll take care of that jackass."
The two men looked as if they wanted to laugh, but only Jessup made a sound, something like a strangled cough. Together, they climbed into the ambulance and sped away.
"Call if you need anything," Sam told Hannah. "I don't know if he's a belligerent drunk, but if he gives you a hard time, call. I'll be over in a jiff."
"Thanks, Sam." Then, without a backward glance, Hannah marched into the house and closed the door behind her.
Witt was sitting on the couch, regarding her from puffy, narrowed eyes.
The smell of bourbon was almost overpowering. "What did you call all those people for?" he demanded.
"Oh, I don't know," Hannah said with unusual sarcasm. "It might have something to do with the fact that you had a heart attack recently and you weren't answering your door or phone. For all I knew, you were lying in here dead!"
"I'm too mean to die." "You know, Witt Matlock, that may be the truest thing you've ever said!"
He blinked, as if taken aback by her attitude. Well, why not? Hannah asked herself bitterly. For a long time she'd refused to let him see any part of her except the calm, measured part. Not once in all these years had she really treated him to her temper. Oh, the occasional small flash in the pan, yes, but not the full force and fury of her anger, or her contempt, or any of the other things he suddenly appeared to deserve in spades.
"What's gotten into you?" he demanded.
"You! That's what's gotten into me. Your self centered self-pitying, damn-everyone-else attitude. That's what's gotten into me!"
For a few moments Witt appeared almost shocked back to sobriety.
"Hannah, what the hell's gotten into you?" "You, Witt. You and all your bitterness and anger. Justify it how you will, you've turned into a sour old man, one willing to hurt people he claims to love, over nothing more than a difference of opinion."
"Wait one minute! What Joni did"
"Oh, shut up! You're drank, and I can run circles around you right now. I don't want to hear it."
"Then get out of my house!"
"No way, Witt. No way." Hannah dropped into a chair and folded her arms, glaring at him. "You're stuck with me, at least until you're sober."
"I told you to get the fuck out!"
"And mind your tongue while you're at it."
His glare deepened, and she realized the anger was clearing his head.
For a moment she felt a qualm, wondering if infuriating him this way was risking his health. Then he spoke again, and everything else faded into insignificance.
"When the hell did you become such a bitch?"
"It's been growing on me for twenty-seven years. Ever since that night we betrayed Lewis."
"Oh, hell, that was no betrayal. He was screwing around on you all along. He got just what he deserved."
"You have no idea what he got. Is that why you did it, Witt? To teach him a lesson? Or to get even with him?"
"No." His eyes widened. "What the hell are you talking about? It was just one of those things. I never meant to do it. It just happened."
"So I just happened? Thank you so very much. It's nice to know I was just one more piece of accidental wreckage in your wake."
"Accidental wreckage?" His faced darkened. "You're crazy."
"Am I? Maybe so. Nobody in their right mind would put up with the garbage you've been dishing out over the last twenty-seven years."
"Garbage!" His glare was almost enough to cut steel. "I don't dish out garbage."
"Yes, you do. Day in and day out. Hardy didn't kill Karen, and Joni didn't commit a capital crime. Both of them are guilty of nothing but youth and caring about somebody besides you. And what the hell is your problem, anyway? You know perfectly well that that drunk driver caused the accident, not Hardy. So what's eating you, Witt? That she cared more for Hardy than for you? It was nothing but normal teenage hijinks, and if you hadn't insisted on turning it into Romeo and Juliet, Karen wouldn't have been sneaking out at night to see him."
"You think I don't know that?" He thundered the words and rose from the couch. Much to Hannah's surprise, he didn't even stagger as he started pacing the small room.
"So what is it, Witt?" she demanded, refusing to give quarter, the way she had always given in to him in the past. "What is it that keeps you so mad at Hardy."
"He shouldn't have taken her out against my wishes." "Bull. Do you really believe that he should have been better than Karen? More mature?"
"He was a year older." "In terms of gender, that made him still about two years younger than Karen and you know it. It was normal teenage hijinks, Witt," she repeated, "and in your soul, unless you've managed to deceive yourself completely, you know that. So what's the real problem, Witt? What's kept you so angry that you've been hurting Hardy for twelve years, and now you've hurt Joni, too?"
He shook his head and paced faster.
"Quit evading the issue," she told him sternly. "Whatever's going on has wrecked you, and now it's wrecking this whole family. Are you feeling guilty?"
"Why would I be feeling guilty? I told her the right thing to do! I told her not to go out with that boy. He was trouble, I told her."
"But he wasn't, was he? Hardy got into a couple of scrapes over ordinary pranks, but by and large he was one of the better kids at that school."
Witt shrugged, still pacing and refusing to look at her. "I didn't want her hanging out with that family of drunks."
"Family of drunks." Hannah repeated the words disbelievingly.
"Hardy's father was the drunk. Barbara never touched so much as a drop of liquor, and Hardy...! don't think I've ever seen him have anything but an occasional beer or glass of wine. And back then he didn't drink at all."
"He came from bad blood!"
"Oh, cow patties!"
For a few seconds Witt appeared arrested. "Cow patties? Christ, Hannah, just swear. Your tongue won't turn black and fall off."
"I don't like swearing and I never have. And I hate myself when I do it."
"Why don't you unlace that damn corset? If you get any more pure, there won't be room for angels in heaven."
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not pure. As you should well know."
"Hannah, that was a lifetime ago. We agreed never to talk about it."
"Too bad. We're going to talk about it now. Because finally, after twenty-seven years, you've got me nearly as withered and desiccated in my heart as you are." "What the hell are you talking about, woman?"
"Don't call me woman. It's not a word to be treated like a bad name.
So what is it, Witt? Are you feeling guilty because you turned Karen into Juliet? Or are you feeling jealous because she picked Hardy over you?"
"That doesn't have anything to do with it!"
"No? You're lying, Witt. To me and to yourself. And there's nothing more disgusting than a man who lies to himself."
She rose, pulling her jacket closer around her, and zipped it up.
"Apparently you're not still drunk enough to need a baby-sitter, so I'm going home."
"You can't just leave after saying all these horrible things to me."
"I can't? Why not? You left after saying a whole bunch of horrible things to Joni. Why shouldn't I be able to treat you the same way?
Surprise, Witt. What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander."
Just as she reached the door, he called out her name. "Hannah..."
She turned and faced him then. "Oh. One more surprise, Witt. That night we had our little slip? You made me pregnant. You might not want to talk about that event anymore, but you're going to have to live with the fact that Joni is your daughter."
She had the pleasure of seeing his jaw drop and waited just long enough to be sure he wasn't going to have a problem with his heart. Then she stepped out into the cold afternoon, where sunlight as sharp as daggers bounced from the snow into her eyes.
She didn't know if what she had done was right. She just knew she could no longer tolerate what Witt was doing to himself and everyone around him.
Enough was enough.
Joni lifted her gaze from her plate and looked across the dinner table at Barbara and Hardy. Though she had cooked the meal herself--ham and scalloped potatoes
--Joni thought it tasted like sawdust. She'd given up flailing in her mind against Witt, arguing with herself and thinking she was the worst person on the face of the earth to have wounded him so. The truth was, he was wrong. And she knew it.
"I'm going to see Witt."
Both their heads snapped up. It had been a quiet dinner, o one seeming to have much to say, and maybe the sound of her voice had startled them.
"Joni..." Barbara spoke her name uncertainly, trailing off as if unsure what to say.
Hardy's gaze was still stony, but it seemed to Joni that there was a little gentleness around his mouth now. He was coming back. "Are you sure you want to do that?"
"Yes."
"He might say terrible things."
"Well, I've got a terrible thing or two to say to him. And if I don't say them, I'm never going to stop worrying about this. I need to have it out with him. To really stand up to him for the first time in my life."
"I'll go with you," Hardy said.
Barbara spoke carefully. "That might make him think you're ganging up on him."
"Too damn bad," Hardy said. "I'm not going to let Joni face that man alone."
Something inside Joni warmed a little at his protectiveness, even though it reminded her that she was nothing but a responsibility to him. At least someone in the world cared enough about her to take care of her.
The instant she had the thought, she felt guilty, because after all, Hannah had come to the hospital last night to sit with her. It wasn't that no one else cared. It was that she still felt a little heart sore that her mom had kept her true relationship with Witt a secret for so long.
Of course, she thought with painful honesty, that information probably wouldn't have changed much of anything. Witt had always claimed to love her as a daughter, and it hadn't kept him from disowning her.
Hardy spoke. "When do you want to go?"
"As soon as we finish cleaning up."
It was seven-thirty by the time the last counter was wiped. Night blanketed the world, and a cold, biting wind had kicked up. "And it's only January," she muttered as she stepped outside and walked to Hardy's car.
"" It's only January' can be a good thing," Hardy remarked. " If you take advantage of it. Wanna go cross-country skiing? Snowmobiling?
"
"Skinny-dipping?" she retorted, drawing a laugh from him.
"Sorry," he said. "I'm too chicken. I'll stick to activities that let me keep dry clothes on. But what got you so down on winter?"
"This month. This month alone. It's lasted forever. The post-holiday blues don't even come close."
"It has been kind of exciting, hasn't it?"
They both climbed in, and he started the engine. It was still warm from an errand he'd run right before they sat down to eat, so the first blast from the heater wasn't icy, even if it wasn't exactly hot.
"Exciting?" she demanded. "This hasn't been exciting. It's been miserable and painful and hurtful, but it hasn't been exciting."
"Depends on how you look at it, honey. Painful situations usually put us in a position to grow. If we choose to."
