open. On the top shelf, a half empty wine bottle and two cans of beer mocked her.
She piled the containers into her arms and lunged toward the utility room door. In the small grassy area nestled between the back of the house and the garage, she
hurled the bottle against the wooden siding. It bounced, but didn’t break. Nostrils flaring, she tossed one can, then the other, as hard as she could. Each popped and fell to the ground. She sank to the grass, weeping, quivering against the brisk breeze. She lifted her fist toward the night sky. Clear with half moon and stars twinkling as if all was well. As if nothing had changed.
Yet, the world she knew was over. Crawling on her hands and bare knees, she scooped up the containers, rose and tossed them into the garbage can by the garage door. A quick glance around—the neighbor’s house to the left dark, so was the house to the right. All quiet. Their dog must be inside.
Rubbing her arms, she traipsed back inside the house, washed her hands, and slipped under the covers, tucking them securely around her like a cocoon. She counted the ticks of the clock, listened to the tree branch scrape the window pane. Then she pictured Joe’s arms wrapped around her, his warm breath in her ear whispering, “I love you, Tater Tot. I always will.” Over and over, “I love you. I love you. I love you . . .”
Her feet kicked through the moist meadow, tall grass whipping her legs. Wildflowers, colorful, vast, stretched to kiss the rainbow’s end. Joe appeared on the horizon, waving, smiling. She picked up her pace, straining to reach him, but he faded from view. Tripping on a rock, she fell and rolled into the opening of a dark forest. Trees groaned and grabbed at her. Wind swept her onto a gurney, whirling her faster and faster through the woods. Her hands clutched the sides while silent screams
tore at her throat. One tree missed, then another and another. Or did she fly right through them?
An arrow aimed at a target, the stretcher crashed through a window into a hospital room and skidded to a stop. Breathless, Celeste squinted against the bright light which spilled through the door and crawled over the floor, but did not reach her. At the door, Joe, wind rustling his dark hair, held a baby’s hand. A baby with no face. Grinning, they waved and floated from the room. She wanted to leap off the gurney, run after them, but her body was strapped down. “I need to get to Joe . . . Joe . . . Joe . . .”
She woke with a start, head throbbing, and reached for the nightstand lamp. Wind whistled around the corner of the house. An eerie, ghostly sound. The oak tree outside the bedroom window bent under the strain. Wet leaves clung to the screen. She clutched the covers, afraid to move. Three a.m. by the clock. Trembling, tee shirt damp, she mustered her courage and traipsed to the kitchen for a cup of hot tea.
Before long, the kettle whistled along with the wind. She poured the water into a mug, plopped in a teabag, and trudged to the bathroom for acetaminophen.
Back in bed, she hunkered down and sipped her tea. She needed a connection to Joe. Something that would help her make sense of his needless death. Someone who could . . .
Randall Longely. No. She scrubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand. Randall . . . Randall . . . Laverty. That was it. She’d go see him. Talk to him.
If anybody understood what Joe had suffered, Randall did.
###
Outside Randall’s room at St. John Regional Burn Center, a nurse helped Celeste into a gown and gloves. “These will help protect the patient from bacteria. Burn victims are very susceptible to infections.” She shoved her hands into her uniform pockets. “You understand the severity of Mr. Laverty’s burns, don’t you?”
“I think so. Yes.” A revolting stench took her breath away.
“I ask because many first-time visitors to an acute burn unit aren’t prepared for what they’re about to see.”
Someone screamed from a
She piled the containers into her arms and lunged toward the utility room door. In the small grassy area nestled between the back of the house and the garage, she
hurled the bottle against the wooden siding. It bounced, but didn’t break. Nostrils flaring, she tossed one can, then the other, as hard as she could. Each popped and fell to the ground. She sank to the grass, weeping, quivering against the brisk breeze. She lifted her fist toward the night sky. Clear with half moon and stars twinkling as if all was well. As if nothing had changed.
Yet, the world she knew was over. Crawling on her hands and bare knees, she scooped up the containers, rose and tossed them into the garbage can by the garage door. A quick glance around—the neighbor’s house to the left dark, so was the house to the right. All quiet. Their dog must be inside.
Rubbing her arms, she traipsed back inside the house, washed her hands, and slipped under the covers, tucking them securely around her like a cocoon. She counted the ticks of the clock, listened to the tree branch scrape the window pane. Then she pictured Joe’s arms wrapped around her, his warm breath in her ear whispering, “I love you, Tater Tot. I always will.” Over and over, “I love you. I love you. I love you . . .”
Her feet kicked through the moist meadow, tall grass whipping her legs. Wildflowers, colorful, vast, stretched to kiss the rainbow’s end. Joe appeared on the horizon, waving, smiling. She picked up her pace, straining to reach him, but he faded from view. Tripping on a rock, she fell and rolled into the opening of a dark forest. Trees groaned and grabbed at her. Wind swept her onto a gurney, whirling her faster and faster through the woods. Her hands clutched the sides while silent screams
tore at her throat. One tree missed, then another and another. Or did she fly right through them?
An arrow aimed at a target, the stretcher crashed through a window into a hospital room and skidded to a stop. Breathless, Celeste squinted against the bright light which spilled through the door and crawled over the floor, but did not reach her. At the door, Joe, wind rustling his dark hair, held a baby’s hand. A baby with no face. Grinning, they waved and floated from the room. She wanted to leap off the gurney, run after them, but her body was strapped down. “I need to get to Joe . . . Joe . . . Joe . . .”
She woke with a start, head throbbing, and reached for the nightstand lamp. Wind whistled around the corner of the house. An eerie, ghostly sound. The oak tree outside the bedroom window bent under the strain. Wet leaves clung to the screen. She clutched the covers, afraid to move. Three a.m. by the clock. Trembling, tee shirt damp, she mustered her courage and traipsed to the kitchen for a cup of hot tea.
Before long, the kettle whistled along with the wind. She poured the water into a mug, plopped in a teabag, and trudged to the bathroom for acetaminophen.
Back in bed, she hunkered down and sipped her tea. She needed a connection to Joe. Something that would help her make sense of his needless death. Someone who could . . .
Randall Longely. No. She scrubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand. Randall . . . Randall . . . Laverty. That was it. She’d go see him. Talk to him.
If anybody understood what Joe had suffered, Randall did.
###
Outside Randall’s room at St. John Regional Burn Center, a nurse helped Celeste into a gown and gloves. “These will help protect the patient from bacteria. Burn victims are very susceptible to infections.” She shoved her hands into her uniform pockets. “You understand the severity of Mr. Laverty’s burns, don’t you?”
“I think so. Yes.” A revolting stench took her breath away.
“I ask because many first-time visitors to an acute burn unit aren’t prepared for what they’re about to see.”
Someone screamed from a
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