Page 52 of Torch Songs

To his surprise, there was only a very limp Olivia, emerging from one of the hospital rooms to sink into one of the gawdawful chrome-and-vinyl torture masterpieces the hospital called “chairs” propped up against the wall. She gave him a weak smile and a wave, and Guthrie returned it, on the verge of saying something when the voice on the other end spoke up.

“Even so,” she said, “this doesn’t give a complete stranger any right to involve himself in April Hawkins’s transportation—”

“Lady, she came to me and begged. You may be a stone-cold bitch, but I am not. If you could maybe pull the ice tray out of your ass, you could see these are special circumstances and letthe poor kid come home and leave her alone about it. This is her brother, and I haven’t known the two of them long, but I can tell you that’s a big furry deal to them, so maybe you need to defrost a bit and make like a Disney princess and fuckin’ let it go.”

Across from him, Olivia snorted into her hand and then motioned for him to keep going. He gave her a droll arch of the eyebrows and waited to see what Robot Ice-Princess had to say.

“If you can assure me Ms. Hawkins can be here today—”

“We. Are. In. Colton. And neither of us has slept. Do me a favor—you’re on your computer right now. See how long it’ll take me to drive from Colton, California, to Bodega Bay, in traffic.”

There was a pause, and she said, “Six hours.”

“Yes, ma’am, and that’s without stopping for food or using the bathroom. I made that drive in traffic yesterday, and then I stayed up most of the night waiting for them to drag April’s brother out from the canyon. Did you find the footage? ’Cause you should. It was horrifying. And now April still doesn’t know if her brother’s going to be okay. I might—might—bring her home tomorrow, depending on what the doctors say. I’ll call you to let you know.”

“You can’t just keep her—”

“I can and I will. You people are fuckin’ exhausting. Jesus.”

He hit End Call and stared at the phone, hoping he hadn’t caused April too much trouble but not sure if he could do anything about it if he had. With a groan, he leaned back against the wall and searched around for another chair like Olivia’s to sink into and saw only the one in the bench next to her.

“Go ahead,” she said, patting it. “Aaron’s in there resting. We’re still waiting for Larx to come out of all his tests and stuff.” She shuddered. “Apparently, his concussion is worse than we thought. They’re—” She swallowed hard. “—worried. They might have to, you know. Drill.”

“Bwah,” Guthrie said with feeling. He got the concept; drill through the skull to relieve pressure, but that didn’t change the fact that they were punching aholethrough someone’shead.

“Right?” Olivia’s voice rose a little with suppressed worry, and he patted her knee.

“It’ll be all right,” he said gruffly. Tad was still in surgery, and April was down in the cafeteria, getting them some food. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but the halfway house had been hounding her so relentlessly that he’d set her phone to forward their calls to his and then answered.

The woman on the other end hadn’t just been “unfriendly,” she’d been downright rude. No amount of explaining that this had been a bona fide emergency could convince her that April hadn’t violated the terms of her living arrangement willy-nilly, and Guthrie remembered Tad’s worry about his sister in Bodega Bay. He was willing to place a good weight of her fragility on her hatred of her halfway house, but God, who was he to say?

He hadn’t wanted April to hear him dealing with the people, because he wasn’t sure of his temper, and he’d been right. How was she supposed to respect these folks when Guthrie was about ready to run them over with his truck?

“Who were you talking to?” Livvy asked. “You sounded pissed.”

“April’s halfway-house people.” Guthrie growled again. “She… she literally hopped on two busses to come find me, because she was worried, and they’re all freaked out and threatening to kick her out because she didn’t tell anybody. I asked the lady if she would have let April go if shehad,and she said she was required by law to tell the police if April threatened to leave town, and there were no exceptions.” He shook his head. “And part of me gets it—but part of me is, like, the girl isn’t high, she hasn’t been looking for drugs over the last two days, she’s been looking for her brother! And I feel like maybe there shouldbe a happy medium between letting folks in this living sitch run around and do all the drugs again, and the Spanish fucking Inquisition!”

Olivia let out a short laugh. “You’re a good friend, Guthrie. Is she really holding up?”

He nodded, surprised at this. Tad had beensoworried. “She just… I mean, I’m not gonna lie. I’m hoping she can sleep on your folks’ couch again, because she was so happy to spend the night hugging that big doofy dog. Your house, the kindness, even the kids made her laugh. But before that she’d held it together until the very end. You’ve got no idea. The hospital was our third stop, and the amount of folks not fucking knowing what was going on was astro-fucking-nomical. I mean…damn.”

“I do know what you mean,” she said. “That’s what was going on in the hospital when the plan sort of came together. I got through to search and rescue, and we started asking ourselves, ‘But what can theydo?’ and it occurred to some of us that they couldn’t doanything. The dads and Eamon are such a force of direction for the town. I think people really got to see what life would be like without them. Which, you know, is sort of good, because it means they’ll start setting up fail-safes so shit doesn’t fall apart again.”

“Well, they got themselves out of a terrible situation, and they got supplies up to Tad and that other kid. I mean, it’s a whole town of gen-u-wine heroes, you know?”

Livvy snorted. “You think what you did for Tad and his sister doesn’t qualify?” she asked.

He stared at her. “No. It’s… anybody would have—”

She cocked her head. “Not just anybody, Guthrie. Somebody who cared.” She paused and then spoke into the silence before he could. “How’s your job?”

He gave an exaggerated sigh and flopped back against the wall. “They asked me if I could come in today, and I said no. I’m waiting to be fired by text.”

“Mm. That’s too bad, honey. I’m sorry. It shouldn’t be that way. You and April—you did a big thing. It’s not right people keep trying to punish you for it.”

“No,” he said, considering, “but for us, I think the doing the good thing is the reward.” He thought of Tad’s expression as Guthrie had bent down to kiss his sweaty forehead. He’d looked so relieved, so happy. Guthrie had helped do that. “Tad’s okay. It’s all either of us wanted.”

He felt some of his weariness start to catch up to him, and his eyes fell to half-mast in the ensuing silence. He’d gotten a few hours of rest in the cramped back of the truck, but his busy mind, full of the what-ifs of Tad’s rescue, hadn’t made for much real sleep. In the quiet hum of the hospital corridor, Olivia laced their fingers together and laid her head on his shoulder, falling into a doze. Guthrie used her head to rest his cheek and did the same thing.

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