There was the sound of a vehicle approaching, of rubber crunching gravel, and I looked up the hill I’d driven down moments earlier, and saw a blue sedan with a sign attached to the roof. I blinked, saw that it said “Braynor Taxi.”
It came to a stop behind my car, and a man I recognized got out of the back, came around to the driver, who had his window down, and handed him a couple of bills.
“Thanks,” he said, then turned and took in all the activity. The ambulance and police car, all the people standing around.
“What the hell’s all this?” he asked as the cab started backing up the lane. Then his eyes landed on me. “Zachary?”
I looked at him, stunned. “Hi, Dad,” I said.
“That a new car?” he said, pointing at the Virtue that was still holding me up.
“Fairly,” I said, just now taking my hands off the hood.
“Don’t tell me,” he said. “You didn’t bother to rust-proof it.”
“It’s got lots of plastic panels,” I said. “You don’t have to.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see.” Now he’d noticed Chief Thorne. “Christ, Orville, what’s all the commotion?”
“Hi, Arlen. Jesus. Have to say, it’s a pleasure to see you today. Where the hell have you been?”
Dad bristled. “Uh, just in town, Orville.” He sounded defensive.
“How early did you go in? We been here some time now.” Orville Thorne was sounding a bit defensive himself. “Did you, were you in town overnight?”
Dad sighed with annoyance. “Orville, I have to paint you a picture, for Christ’s sake? What the hell’s going on here?”
The others—the ambulance attendants and the doctor for sure—were looking at Orville with some disapproval, like maybe he’d missed something he should have thought of. He must have sensed it, because he coughed nervously.
“Well, shit, Arlen, there’s something here in the woods you should have a look at,” he said tentatively.
As Dad glanced toward them, Orville took his arm to lead him that way, but instead, led Dad right over his foot, and Dad tripped, one of those fluky kind of things, and went down.
He yelped, and when he tried to get back up, couldn’t.
“Jesus,” he said. “My goddamn ankle. I think I must have twisted my goddamn ankle.”
People shook their heads, rolled their eyes. “Nice one, Orville,” one of the ambulance attendants said.
3
I RUSHED FORWARD, but moved aside for the older gentleman in the suit and tie, who creaked like an old door as he bent down to assist my father. Dad was on his side, his craggy face twisted in pain, raising himself up with one arm and reaching back with the other toward his foot, even though he couldn’t get anywhere close to it. “Shit,” Arlen Walker said. “Jesus, that hurts.”
“Don’t try to get up,” I said.
“No chance of that,” Dad said. “How ya doin’, Doc?” he said to the man in the suit.
“Just take it easy, Arlen,” he said. He glanced up at me. “I’m Dr. Heath. I’m your father’s regular doctor.”
“Hi,” I said, moving farther back so Heath and the ambulance guys could do their thing. I drew back up next to Chief Thorne, who was looking uncomfortable and embarrassed.
“I’m really sorry, Arlen,” he said. “It was an accident.”
“Sure, Orville,” Dad said, wincing. “I know. These things happen.”
“I was just trying to help,” the chief said. He suddenly looked very young to me, with soft white skin, a few freckles around his eyes.
The rest of the crowd was taking in the show. There was the sixtyish woman in the kerchief and hunting jacket, a guest I figured, her arm linked with a man of similar age, both of them on the short side. Her doughy face was clouded with worry, but he was a bit harder to read. Just watching. Next to him, only slightly taller, stood a man in a dark green felt baseball cap, with what looked like a basketball hidden under his unzipped windbreaker and striped pullover shirt. His clothes must have cost a bundle to make someone his shape look so good. Even in casual garb, he was the best dressed of all of us. I glanced back at the cabins, spotted a Cadillac STS parked at one of them, and knew that one had to be his.
Next to him, an old-man-of-the-sea. Tall, his face lined with deep creases, a toothpick dancing back and forth between his lips. He was dressed in olive pants and a plaid flannel shirt, and he smiled at me when our eyes met.
“Bob Spooner,” he said, extending a hand. I took it. “I’m glad your dad’s okay,” he said.
“Me too,” I said.