“Really,” she said between clenched teeth.
The doors from the hospital opened and an older man pushing a walker stepped through. He was accompanied by a woman who looked to be his daughter, as she, thirty years or so younger, was helping him guide the walker through the second set of doors. Hattie stepped out of their way, and in so doing put more distance between her body and Cade’s, so she could actually start breathing again.
Once the doors behind the couple had closed, she said, “I didn’t mean to get into it with you, but no matter what you think, I do care about Dan and this, what’s happened to him. It’s horrible.”
“Yes, it is.”
“And I have this need to come and see him, to somehow convince myself that he’ll be okay.” When Cade didn’t respond, she said, “I don’t even know why I’m trying to explain myself. It’s not as if you’d believe me.” She started for the interior doors, when she felt his fingers clamp over her elbow.
“Hattie,” he said, his voice so soft she barely heard it.
Jerking her arm from his, she whipped around to stare him squarely in the face. When he didn’t immediately speak, she said wanly, “This is just so . . . exhausting.” Then she stepped through the doors and into the hospital lobby, hazarding one last glance over her shoulder, watching the exterior doors part. In the hazy blue glow of the security lamps, Cade walked quickly outside, kicking his pace into a jog as he crossed the parking lot to his truck.
Hattie attempted not to notice but found it impossible. She didn’t know whether she hated Cade or if her feelings ran in another direction entirely. But she didn’t have time to examine them now. After most of the day spent at the office, she’d gone home for dinner; then she’d felt compelled to drive to Missoula and see for herself that Dan was, if nothing else, stable.
Her mother had eagerly come to watch the girls again, and Hattie had already missed their bedtime, again, but she planned to make it up to the twins tomorrow. So thinking, she hurried through the second set of doors and stepped into the main vestibule of the quiet hospital and made her way to ICU where yet another deputy was guarding the outer area. A chill passed through her as she thought about anyone trying to kill the sheriff. Would the assassin try again? She hated to think so, but it was the question she’d read in the newspaper and seen on the news; she’d even heard speculation about it while grabbing a quick lunch at the local sandwich spot where two women who looked to be in their seventies were gossiping while a young waitress attempted to take their drink orders.
“. . . can’t believe they haven’t found whoever did it yet,” one of the women said to the waitress. Dressed in jeans and a Christmas sweater, she’d added, “It’s just awful! There’s just no respect these days, y’know. Oh . . . and I’ll have an iced tea. With extra lemons. Three slices.”
Her friend, a woman in a blond wig set in a 1950s “flip” style, nodded vehemently. “I know! It’s awful. To think, on Christmas morning! What’s the world coming to?”
“It’s probably an ex-con. Lord knows there are lots of those. And being the sheriff and all, he’s a major target.”
Blonde agreed. “You’d think the police would be all over it.”
“Would you like anything to drink?” the waitress interjected. Barely out of her teens, her hair pulled into a ponytail, she was standing on one foot, then the other, waiting for the women to order.
“Do you have Diet Coke?” the woman in the wig asked.
“Pepsi.”
“That’s fine, thanks. Oh, and a glass of water.”
Her friend agreed. “Yes, for me too. And don’t forget the extra lemons.”
“I’ll be right back to take your order,” the girl promised as she’d hurried to the drink station.
The woman in the wig had reached into her purse for a small vial of pills and shaken one tablet into her palm. “I’m just shocked that someone would take a potshot at the sheriff. I mean, hasn’t that family had enough to deal with? His younger brother, you know, hung himself a few years back. Left two little kids.”
Hattie had felt the muscles in her back tighten. She’d wanted to step in and say something in Bart’s defense, but she’d held her tongue rather than make a scene as she’d stood in line to order, deciding at that moment she’d take her Caesar salad to go.
Now, as she identified herself to the security guard, she wished she’d told those old hens exactly what she’d thought, but what was the point, really? Shoving her annoyance aside, she waited to be buzzed into the ICU, feeling compelled to be here, to even hold a vigil at Dan’s bedside, though she knew it would do no good.
But he deserved someone to care about him.
And she did.
She always had.
At first as a teenager in the throes of what her mother had called puppy love, or so she’d thought, and then over the years into something that ran much deeper. She touched the fingers of his left hand, to reassure him, but there was no response.
“Hi, Dan,” she whispered, blinking rapidly. “It’s me. Hattie.” She rubbed the tips of his fingers and felt her throat clog. “The girls and I, we can’t wait for you to come over again.” Her words caught in her throat and she wondered if that day would ever come.
Of course it will. It will just take time. He’s strong. In the prime of his life. A fighter!
She hoped for some sign that he was improving, that he’d heard her, but there was no rapid movement of his eyes beneath his lids, no twitch of his lips, no faint shift of his finger caught between hers.
“Just wanted you to know that we all love you,” she said. Then, realizing that there was nothing she could do for him, she reluctantly left the building and drove home through the cold, dark night.