Steadfast (True North #2) Read online

  Well that gave me a new shiver. “That’s crazy. I don’t have anything that Jude’s old friends would want.”

  “A smart person would understand that. But apparently these aren’t smart people. So you need to be a little paranoid right now, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Just keep your head up, and if I feel the need to walk you to your car, just let me.”

  “All right. You’re a good man, Denny. Santa won’t put any coal in your stocking tonight.”

  He gave me a sad little smile.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jude

  Cravings meter: 1

  “How’s your pain?” the nurse asked me. It wasn’t Angela today. This nurse was older with a dour look on her face. But she used gentle hands to check the dressing on my surgical wound.

  “It’s…still there,” I grumbled. “Whenever it’s time for the next dose of ibuprofen, I’ll be ready.”

  “I bet you will. For now, it’s time for this.” She removed a little piece of what looked like tape from an envelope with my name on it. “Under your tongue,” she said.

  I placed the strip of Suboxone in my mouth and it began to dissolve right away. The stuff didn’t taste good, but that was the least of my problems. Almost twenty-four hours after those first doses I had no cravings at all. I didn’t have the shakes, and I didn’t want to puke.

  If I were a religious type, I’d be down on my knees thanking God for a miracle right now. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “When can I have a shower?”

  The older woman smiled at me. “You must be feeling better. But we don’t want to get your wound wet.”

  “Can’t I, like, tape a plastic bag over it or something? I’m desperate here.” The smell of detox lingered on me—sweat and worse.

  “I’ll make a deal with you. Eat everything they bring you for lunch, and then afterward I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you.”

  She walked out, and I looked up at the muted TV, wishing for something to distract me from all the things I couldn’t fix. Now that my cravings were gone, all my other troubles came into sharper focus. Mostly I was worried about Sophie. Next on the list came work—I was probably going to lose the paint job for the guy who ran the solar business. My right arm wasn’t going to be functional enough to hold a paint gun for who knew how long. And yet I’d have a whopping hospital bill by the time I was ready to work again.

  Everything was fucked up, but I felt better than I had in months because I didn’t have any drug cravings.

  Weird.

  I’d never stayed in a hospital before now. Overall, I found the experience only slightly less humiliating than prison.

  To shower, I had to strip down in front of my nurse. She stuck a big watertight bandage on me. Then I took a quick shower while holding my right arm out of the curtain. Luckily the shampoo was in a dispenser on the wall. I was able to clumsily squirt some onto the edge of my hand and then slop it onto my head.

  The hot water felt divine, and I would have liked to stay there a good long time. But the nurse was waiting for me, and my knees felt shaky. So I shampooed and swiped more of their liquid soap all over my body. Then I rinsed and got the heck out of there.

  A one-armed guy can’t easily wrap a towel around his body, so she left me alone to dry off, and then she slipped a clean hospital gown over my shoulders. When I emerged from the bathroom, someone had already changed the sheets on my bed.

  Things were looking up.

  I did the splenectomy-patient shuffle over to the bed and sat down on it. The nurse was just tucking me back in when a uniformed police officer stepped into the doorway. I recognized him from the bakery—he was the same cop that Sophie had sat with over coffee.

  Don’t hold it against him, asshole, I coached myself. I’d jump at the chance to linger over coffee with Sophie, too. Who wouldn’t?

  “Jude Nickel? I’m Officer Nelligan.”

  “Hello, sir.” I was going to be polite if it killed me. “Sorry to drag you over here on Christmas.”

  “Yeah? I’m the low man on the totem pole, so I was already workin’. The social worker said you needed to make a report?” He looked down at me as if he smelled something really bad.

  No love for the town junkie. Color me surprised. “Yeah, I got jumped. The first time I’d ever seen these guys was a few weeks ago.”

  Officer Nelligan could barely contain his derision. “Don’t know the guys, huh? We hear that a lot.”

  “I’ll bet you do.” I sighed. “Look. As I’m sure you know, I went to prison for three years, and then I was out of town for six months. About a month after I came back to town, this guy shows up at my garage looking for some drugs that went missing three years ago. But they weren’t my drugs. And I told them that.”

  “You know their names?”

  “No, but I can describe the guy in charge. Big scar on his cheek.” I drew an imaginary line on my face to demonstrate.

  He didn’t reach for his pad of paper. “Okay.”

  The dude was not getting the message. “I know you don’t give a rat’s ass if someone kicked the shit out of me. And I really don’t blame you. But I need you to go to your boss and tell him that two dudes are asking a lot of questions about that night three and a half years ago. And they’re not afraid to mention Sophie Haines as someone who they might want to visit next.”

  That got his attention. Officer Nelligan pulled the visitors’ chair around to face me and sat down heavily. “You’re not shitting me, are you? You wouldn’t use the chief’s daughter to get us interested in some thugs who beat you up?”

  “Fuck no.” Jesus. “I know I’m just another dumbass convict to you, Officer, but I’m not actually so stupid that I’d lie to a police officer just for shits and giggles.”

  He frowned. “You’re just worried about Miss Sophie.”

  “Of course I am. These guys want whatever they’re looking for, and they’re willing to break some bones to get it.”

  He flipped open his pad of paper. “Are you and Miss Sophie back in touch these days?”

  Fuuuuuck. The cop’s blue eyes lifted to mine, and I’m sure he saw me hesitate. “I’m going to tell you something, but try not to get Sophie in trouble.”

  He made a little grunt of acknowledgement.

  “I attend a Narcotics Anonymous meeting on Wednesdays at the Catholic church. And Sophie runs the Community Dinner that happens afterward. I have seen her a couple of times at the church.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “That’s it?”

  “Yeah. You can tell that to Chief Haines or not. It’s your call. But if the chief flips, Father Peters might lose his best volunteer, or I might lose my drug treatment meeting.”

  Nelligan reached up to pinch the top of his nose between two thick fingers. “Fine. Now tell me exactly what these punks looked like.”

  Denny showed up later, just as I was switching off the TV. Daytime television was just about the most depressing thing in the world. “Hey,” he said as a greeting.

  “Hey. Happy Christmas.”

  He plunked himself down where Officer Nelligan had sat before. “You’re getting out of here tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Shit. It wasn’t that I loved this place. But I couldn’t even shower without help.

  Denny nodded. “I think you should go to the Shipley family.”

  “I didn’t call them,” I admitted. I knew if I asked them to let me stay there a little while, they’d say yes. But I didn’t want to be their problem.

  “Sophie called for you. And Griffin Shipley is going to pick you up tomorrow when you’re discharged.”

  “Oh.” Shit. I didn’t want that. But what was the alternative? My own father hadn’t turned up to see if I was alive. Sophie would probably take care of me if I asked her to, but I didn’t want her father to find out. “All right. Tell Sophie thank you.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You tell her. Jesus.”r />
  “Fine, I will. Today.” I’d kept her as far away as possible while I was puking and sweating. But now that I’d stopped, facing her again was still going to kill me. This recent bit of shitty luck only made me more of a liability to her. Thugs knew her name because of me. A trip to the hospital flattened me. I had money troubles again.

  We couldn’t carry on like we had been. And telling her that was going to suck.

  Denny turned to go.

  “Hey, man—” I stopped him.

  He looked over his shoulder.

  “Thanks for all your help. I really appreciate it.”

  Denny scowled. “Just doing my job.”

  Then he disappeared. But not two minutes later Father Peters walked through my door. “Merry Christmas,” he said with the usual happy smile.

  “Shouldn’t you be leading mass?” I asked.

  He sat down in the visitors’ chair. “Already done. Twice. And last night at midnight. It’s my busy season. I look forward to December 26th. Nothing left to do but eat leftovers.”

  “Sounds good.” My appetite was definitely coming back.

  “I hear the Shipleys are springing you from this place tomorrow.”

  “Yeah.” I wanted to protest this arrangement. But then I tried to picture myself opening up a can of soup and heating it in the microwave. One handed, without straining my surgical wound. “I’m such a disaster.”

  Father Peters shook his head. “A disaster is someone who doesn’t try to take care of himself. Your father springs to mind.”

  Oh boy. “You went to see my father?”

  The priest nodded. “At first he wasn’t handling this setback very well.”

  I laughed. “What a surprise.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t find it funny. When I look at your father I see someone who’s afraid to live. Losses terrify him.”

  “He’s not scared. He’s just lazy.” It came out sounding angrier than I meant it to.

  The priest rubbed his fingertips together. “I know it looks that way. But it takes courage to want things, and to pursue them. Staying numb means you can never be disappointed.”

  Unfortunately I knew a little too much about that.

  “But I told your father how we’ll you’re doing. That you go to meetings and help out on Wednesday nights. I get the feeling you haven’t kept him up to date on your progress.”

  “I guess I haven’t.” But why would I? He never cared before.

  “He was impressed, Jude.”

  “But not impressed enough to show up here and drive me home. So I guess I’ll go to the Shipley’s. For a couple days, at least.”

  “Good man. You can use this to arrange the details.” He pulled a small box from his pocket.

  “A phone?” I couldn’t tell because there was Christmas paper on it. “Is that from Sophie?”

  “She said to tell you it’s a gift,” the priest said, handing it over. “She’s worried about you.”

  I flinched. “Yeah. I wish she wouldn’t, though. I’ll be all right. And if I’m not, well…” There were so many ways my life could blow up. I didn’t want her to witness any of them.

  “You don’t think you’re good for her.”

  “Of course I’m not good for her.” Who would argue that point?

  The priest smiled at me. “Maybe you weren’t always good for her. But it’s not a fatal condition. St. Augustine said it best—‘It was pride that changed angels into devils; it is humility that makes men as angels.’”

  I didn’t know what he was trying to tell me, so I said nothing.

  “If you love Sophie, let her make up her own mind about it.”

  Of course I loved Sophie. It’s just that I didn’t trust myself.

  Father Peters stood up and squeezed my good elbow. “Once you’re on your feet, I’ll expect you on Wednesday nights again. Merry Christmas, Jude.”

  If only.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Jude

  Cravings meter: unconscious

  The trip to the Shipleys’ was harder than I thought it would be.

  I sat in the passenger seat of Griffin’s truck, clenching my jaw every time the gravel road became uneven.

  “Sorry, man.” Griff gave me a sidelong glance, his hands clutching the steering wheel.

  “S’ okay,” I said through gritted teeth. My surgical wound was healing up nicely according to the doctor who discharged me from the hospital. But I had all the bone-deep aches of someone who’d been beaten to unconsciousness three days ago.

  Griff parked the truck closer to the farmhouse than he usually did, as if transporting someone’s grandma. “If you can get yourself inside, there’s a piece of pie in it for you.”

  “That’s some serious motivation.” I turned to Griff, “I really can’t thank you enough for this. I hate that you have to take me in.”

  Griffin frowned. “Let me ask you a question—if I showed up on your doorstep after someone beat the shit out of me, would you let me in?”

  “Of course I would.”

  “Right.” He shrugged. “So don’t sweat it. Let’s go eat pie.”

  I couldn’t use my right arm to open the truck’s door. So I slowly turned my torso in order to reach across my aching body with my left hand.

  Griff got there first, though. The door opened before I could get to it. But at least Griff stood back and let me figure out how to use my left hand to exit the truck without killing myself.

  He wasn’t wrong when he pointed out that I’d help him in a heartbeat. It’s just that I was always the one needing the help. I was sick of it. I was sick of me. Everyone else must be, too.

  I’d assumed that the Shipleys would put me in the bunkhouse for a couple of nights. That’s where I’d stayed this summer. But Ruth Shipley had other plans. After I spent half of an achy hour at their dining room table over pie and coffee, she patted my hand.

  “You look exhausted honey. Come with me.”

  When I followed her into the Shipleys’ TV room, I saw that she’d already made up the couch for me with sheets, blankets and two pillows. Just the sight of it made me tired.

  “Why don’t you see if you can nap?”

  I think I fell asleep the second my head hit that pillow. And then I slept most of the next three days. It was the weirdest thing. I hadn’t slept so much in years. I woke up once in a while. Audrey handed me a mug of a delicious, spicy soup, once. Another time, May fed me a cookie. I woke up a couple of times to find Ruth Shipley standing over me with my doses of Suboxone and aspirin.

  Sometimes Griff would sit down and declare that we were going to watch a movie, but invariably I’d drift off after the first hour. My dreams were tangled, incoherent things. I was wandering the edges of town on foot. Sometimes I was following Sophie and sometimes I was trying to evade her.

  Then her brother stepped out from behind a tree, bleeding down his head and neck. “No you don’t,” he said. Gavin swung, and I ducked. Then I tried to make a fist and it didn’t quite work…

  I woke with a gasp to find May Shipley’s worried face leaning over me. “Fuck,” I swore.

  “Sorry!” She took a step backward. “Bad dream?”

  “Yeah.” I was sweating like crazy. “Jesus.” I pushed the covers off and took a minute to get control of my rapid breathing.

  “You okay?” May asked. “You’ve been asleep for so long we’re starting to worry.”

  I scrambled to sit up, and my surgical wound didn’t hurt as much as it had a couple of days before. “I think I needed it. Haven’t slept much for three and a half years.”

  “Aw.” She gave me a sweet smile, and I marveled at how easy I felt with this family.

  “Would it be a pain in the ass if I took a shower?” I asked May suddenly. God knew I needed one.

  “Nope. I was going to offer you that anyway. You’ll need the waterproof bandage. They sent three of them with you from the hospital. Hang on.”

  I sat there another minute, trying to figur
e out how a shower would work. I couldn’t put the bandage on my chest myself because my broken arm gave me shitty dexterity.

  But May just walked into the room and sat down on the narrow strip of couch beside me. “Lift up your shirt,” she said. One-handed, I managed to raise my tee over the bandage.

  She picked at the tape and gauze on my torso. There were two new battle scars on my body—one on the left side a few inches under my heart, and one down the middle. “The incision is looking so much better,” she said, wadding up the old bandage and setting it on the floor.

  I peered down, agreeing with her. The weird thing was that I didn’t remember her seeing it before. The past couple of days were a blur.

  May put the waterproof bandage on me and then stood up. “I’ll start the downstairs shower.”

  “Where is everyone?” I asked, following her. The house was so quiet.

  “They went to the movies in Montpelier. It’s half-price ticket day.”

  “It’s Tuesday? Jesus.”

  May laughed. “True story.”

  She started the shower for me then left the room. I got undressed clumsily then stepped under the spray, holding my arm outside of the curtain. My shoulder began to ache immediately from the awkward angle.

  “Doing okay?” she called.

  “Yeah. Except…”

  “What?” her voice came closer.

  “Can I hand you the shampoo to pour in my hand?”

  “Sure. Give it here, clumsy.”

  “Isn’t this more fun than the movies?” I asked while she squeezed shampoo into my left palm.

  “They were seeing The Revenant,” she said. “I don’t want to watch anyone get mauled by a bear.”

  “No spoilers,” I complained, rubbing the shampoo everywhere I could reach.

  May laughed. “Wash your hair. I’m going to make some coffee. Just leave the water running when you’re done and call me. Towels are waiting out here.”