“Hey, you.”
Asher smiled. Nora had always answered his phone calls this way.
“Hey, sweet lady. We just got back to the hotel. Hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No, but you did interrupt a date I have with a long soak in a hot bath. I worked through a backlog of work after I got home. How’s your dad?”
“Lord, thanks for planting that thought in my head. You ina tub of bubbles is an image to sleep on. As for Dad, he’s sort of conscious, and sort of not, and for brief periods of time. We’re hoping to get some answers tomorrow. Once we do, we’ll be headed to Crossroads. The forensics team is through at the crime scene, so we’re free to resume residence.”
“I know you and Gunner are going to begin investigating, but I’m hoping for a few fly bys while you’re here. The grown-up version of you is still a little intimidating. I think I just need a little acclimatizing.”
He laughed, and the sound filled every sad, empty place within her.
“I’m not a storm front, darlin’. Just a bigger, older version of me.”
“I was just teasing a little. I always felt safe with you. I still do. But it’s almost like starting over, isn’t it?”
“Not starting over, honey. We just needed a jump start to get us back on track and we’re already good to go. Now, you go run that bath and relax. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay. And Ash… I’m glad you called. I needed to hear your voice.”
He heard the loneliness in her words, and it broke his heart.
“I love you, Nora. I promise. We’re not lost anymore.”
“Lost isn’t always geographical, Ash. Sometimes people just lose themselves.”
The call ended.
Nora held the phone against her ear for a few seconds more, reluctant to give up the connection, then laid it on the bed and began stripping off her clothes.
Asher sat with the phone in his hand, staring down at the floor and listening to the sounds of his brothers’ voices, while knowing he was too many miles away to comfort her.
* * *
Everett and Freddie Brandt were still holed up in their Amarillo apartment, watching every newscast, praying there would be some mention of Kingston’s death.
Everett was pissed. Kingston needed to be dead. He should have been dead. He still didn’t understand how he’d survived. He would have bled out in minutes. How was he found that fast? What were they missing? There weren’t any vehicles nearby. The residential part of Crossroads was well off the highway that fronted it, and the weather was damn cold. Windows would have been closed.
Freddie was asleep in the other room, and they were out of beer and nearly out of food. Everett’s disability check was by direct deposit, and it was due to show up in his account by tomorrow. They had to get out and get groceries. Maybe show up at a pool hall and drink a beer. Maybe play some pool.
As soon as the late-night news was over without so much as a mention about the shooting in the Tumbleweed Bar, Everett turned off the TV and went to his room. Ignoring the ashtray full of cigarette butts and a trashcan full of empty beer cans, he shoved the dirty clothes off his bed and stretched out on his belly on top of the covers.
He heard what sounded like the lid of a trashcan hitting the pavement. Or maybe it was a hubcap. Damn wind. In this part of the state, if it wasn’t tied down, then it was rolling, like the ever-present tumbleweeds.
He rolled over onto his side, grabbed what he thought were the covers, and pulled them up around his neck. The wind was just a lullaby he’d heard all his life. He fell asleep within minutes, covered with what was left of his SpongeBob sleeping bag from childhood.
* * *
Jacob Kingston had been hearing something beep for a while now. It sounded like the same beep the refrigerator made when someone left the door open too long. He kept trying to wake up enough to get out of bed and go shut it before everything spoiled. He tried to call out for his boys. It was probably one of them that had left the door ajar. He was saying their names in his head, but they didn’t answer, and the door was still beeping as he slipped away into the shadows again.
* * *
It was just before sunrise. The nurses were changing shifts. The night nurses had checked out and were going home, and the day nurses were starting their day as always by checking the vitals on every patient.
The nurse at Jacob Kingston’s bedside had just replaced a bag on his IV drip, and was checking the dosage when she heard him groan. It was the first audible sound he’d made since his arrival. And when she saw his pulse rate rising, and his eyelids fluttering, she quickly alerted the nurses’ station.
* * *
