Good Medicine (16 page)

G
ARRY SIDLED PAST HER
without waiting for an answer. He tossed an overnight bag onto a chair and surveyed the room.

“Well, isn't this cozy. Nice little hideaway you've got here, Jordie. A touch primitive, but what the hell, it's summer, right? You can pretend you're camping out.”

Jordan couldn't get her breath. Hands shaking, heart pounding, she hurried to the sink and gulped down a glass of water. She turned to face him.

In the month since she'd last seen him, he'd grown shockingly thin. He'd been a good-looking man, with thick, curly blond hair and a trim body, but now the drug use was showing. His face was ravaged, his eyes sunken, hair lank and in need of a trim. There was a noticeable tremor in the hand that held the cigarette he was lighting. He looked exactly what he was—a junkie.

“Put that out. No smoking in my house.” Her voice was reedy and thin, but her tone was defiant enough.

“Still got that ramrod up your ass, I see.” He stubbed the cigarette out on her plate.

That made her mad, which was a good thing. The rush of adrenaline steadied her. “What are you doing here, Garry?”

“Now that's a dumb question for a smart doc, wouldn't you say? I come to see my wife, and she asks what I'm doing here.” He was walking around the room, picking things up and setting them down again.

She didn't want him to touch anything of hers.

He shot her his little-boy-lost look, but now the effect was anything but charming. He looked slightly manic. “I just got out of a treatment center and want to get back together, Jordie. I still love you, in spite of everything you've done. This thing with that lady lawyer of yours, this separation agreement, now that's crazy. She's stonewalling reconciliation and billing you top dollar for nothing. We can sort things out ourselves.”

Jordan felt violated by his presence and more than a little frightened. She tried to think clearly, figure out what to do. The RCMP constable was only in town three days a week. She tried to remember if this was one of those days. But even if he was, what could she tell him? Garry wasn't violent, at least not yet. And they were still legally married. How she wished now she'd gone ahead with the restraining order Marcy had suggested.

“At least the Indians here are friendly,” he said, flopping down on the sofa, propping one ankle on the other knee, spreading his arms wide. Jordan noticed that he wore long sleeves. “The skipper on that water taxi was
really interested when I explained that you were my wife. He didn't seem to even know you were married, babe. You trying to keep me your dirty little secret?”

So the entire village would know by now that Garry was here, and that he was her husband. Jordan's insides shriveled, and her thoughts flew to Silas. She should have told him everything about Garry, the drugs, the phone calls, the humiliation. Silas thought she was divorced. Why had she tried to hide the facts from him?

“Come sit down here beside me,” Garry wheedled, patting the sofa. When she didn't move, he got to his feet and came toward her.

Jordan tried not to flinch when he put his hands on her shoulders, but when he yanked her close and tried to kiss her, bile rose in her throat and she shoved him away. It was all she could do to keep from wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Putting the table between them, she leaned against the back of a chair. Her knees were trembling.

“Don't touch me again, Garry. Whatever was between us is over, you must realize that. The drugs destroyed my feelings for you. I
do not
love you anymore. All I want from you is a divorce.”

“Aww, don't be like that.” The bravado suddenly deserted him, and his voice lost its brazen cockiness. “Please, Jordan, I'm begging you. I came all this way to talk to you, it's important. Couldn't you spare me a few minutes?”

Something like panic flitted across his face, and reluctantly, Jordan felt a stab of pity for him. He was pa
thetic. He'd had such potential, he'd had every advantage, and he'd blown everything. She sank down on a chair.

“What is it, Garry?”

“I got fired.” His face twisted into bitter lines. “I used most of my severance to pay debts, and to go to Edgewood.”

It was one of the best treatment centers around. “How long were you there?”

“Three weeks.”

Not nearly long enough, in her estimation. Minimal stay was usually five. He'd walked halfway through, just as he'd done with all the other programs she'd set up for him.

“Mom and Dad won't give me any money or let me stay with them,” Garry whined. “I'm clean, but now there's nowhere to go. I used the last of my money on this trip. I need a loan, Jordan. Just until I get on my feet.”

Before she could answer, Jordan heard a tap at the door and Christina walked in without waiting for a response, something she'd never done before.

She nodded in Garry's direction. In a breezy tone, she said, “Hey, Doc, you're gonna be late for that thing at the school.” Her eyes flicked between the two, and Jordan knew that Christina was there in case she needed help. Obviously the word had gone out.

“Christina Crow, this is Garry Hughes, my—my, um, former husband.”

“Hey, a real pleasure, Chris.” Garry pulled himself
together and gave her a hideous facsimile of his once-charming grin. “If you've got things to do, Jordie, I'll just hang around here until you get back.” He winked at Christina. “And go easy on that
former
bit, babe. Far as I know we're still husband and wife.”

Jordan opened her mouth to protest and thought better of it. There was no point arguing with him over that. There were far more important issues at stake here.

Christina's presence bolstered both her courage and her resolve. “You're not staying here, Garry. And we have nothing to talk about, so it might be best if you catch the water taxi back to Tofino. It leaves in—” she glanced at the clock “—about two and a half hours.”

“Jordan,
please.
” It shocked her to see tears gather in Garry's eyes and trickle down his cheeks. He turned away, so Christina wouldn't see. The desperation in his voice was palpable. “Look, if it's that important to you, I'll sign the damned agreement—I've got it with me—in return for a loan.”

It
was
that important to her. She gave in. “There's a coffee shop, go there and wait. I'll be about an hour and a half, I'll meet you there.”

“Thanks. If I could just use your bathroom…?”

She couldn't very well refuse. She pointed, and he went down the hallway.

“You okay?” Christina's voice was low and concerned.

“Almost. I'll be better when he's gone.”

“He's a junkie, right?”

“He says he's clean, but…I've been down that road too often with him.”

Christina sighed and nodded. “Yeah, don't I know that story.” She added, “You want me to get Silas?”

“No.”
Jordan drew in a shaky breath and got control of her voice. “No, absolutely not, but thanks. It'll be fine. Just—just keep a close eye on the drug cabinet in the clinic, okay? And tell my afternoon patients I'll be late. I'll get there as soon as I can.”

“You sure you're okay with—?” Christina gestured at the hallway.

“Yeah. He's not physically dangerous.”

“Just a train wreck in every other way, huh?”

“You've got it.” Jordan gave her friend a rueful grin, and Christina left by the door that connected to the clinic. She left it ajar.

When she was gone, Jordan suddenly remembered that her medical bag was in her bedroom, across the hall from the bathroom. She walked over and glanced down the hall just as Garry opened the bathroom door.

“So, could you show me where that coffee shop is, Jordan?”

Eager to get him out of her space, she grabbed her handbag and carefully locked the door behind them. She pointed out where Mabel's diner was and hurried in the opposite direction to the school, praying that she'd be able to compose her thoughts enough to be able to give her presentation and then deal with the students' questions.

But all she could think of was Silas, and the sickness
in her gut made her dizzy. He'd know by now that Garry was here. He'd know Garry was a junkie. He'd know she'd been dishonest with him.

And she also knew that Silas valued honesty above everything else.

T
HE CAREER FAIR TOOK LONGER
than she'd expected. The moment she was able to slip away, she called Marcy. She needed legal advice.

“I'm sorry, but she's in court all day,” the secretary said.

Jordan left word for the lawyer to call when she was free, but for right now, she was on her own. Swallowing two antacid tablets, she headed over to Mabel's.

“There she is, my doctor wifey. Over here, Jordie.”

Mabel's was crowded, but Garry's loud voice overpowered the quiet hum of conversation in the small diner. Every eye in the place turned toward her, and Jordan felt her skin grow hot. She avoided looking at anyone as she walked over to where he was sitting.

He got to his feet and ostentatiously held a chair for her. He put his hands on her shoulders and pretended to rub her neck. Skin crawling, she jerked away.

Garry looked different than he had a few short hours ago. His skin was flushed, his eyes unnaturally bright. When he sat down again, his hands moved restlessly, picking up and setting down the salt and pepper, the ketchup. He plucked a napkin from the holder and began shredding it. He was high. Jordan could hardly believe it. Where had he gotten drugs? Certainly, there
were people in Ahousaht who dealt, but it wasn't the same as the city, where it was easy to score. A person had to know who to contact, and she couldn't see Garry managing it in the short time he'd been here.

He must have brought it with him, she decided wearily.

“Coffee, Doctor Jordan?” Grace filled a mug and set a menu in front of Jordan, refilling Garry's mug and giving him a wary, sidelong look.

“Just coffee, thanks, Grace.” Jordan curled her fingers around the mug, shivering in spite of the afternoon heat. She glanced at the table nearest to her and met the concerned gaze of a burly logger, Rupert Joe. She'd treated him the week before for an infected eye.

“Hey, Doc,” he rumbled. “How's it goin'?”

“Hi, Rupert.” Jordan tried to smile, but she wasn't successful.

Garry reached under the table into his overnight bag and drew out dog-eared legal papers. With a flourish, he set them on the table. “So, here's your separation agreement, Jordie. Now, what's it worth to you?”

Well, that was direct enough. “How much do you want?”

“Fifty thousand should do it.”

Jordan stared at him in disbelief and then she laughed. She couldn't help it. “I don't have anywhere near that amount.”

“You have a pension plan, you can borrow against that. Besides, the banks will loan you any amount of money. You're a doctor.”

“No, Garry.” It was senseless to argue with him—madness to agree to pay him money. She owed him nothing. It had been a bad idea, meeting him here. Marcy would find a way to get the agreement signed. Jordan pushed her chair back and got to her feet.

“Thirty, then.” He shook the papers at her. “Thirty thousand—it must be worth thirty to get this thing signed, right? You're getting off cheap. It'll probably save you another trip to the psych ward. You don't want to do that again, do you? Think of it as an investment in your mental health, babe.”

Even though everyone was pretending not to listen, Jordan knew they couldn't help but overhear. Rupert wasn't looking at Garry, but she could sense that the big man was ready to come to her rescue if she needed him.

These were her patients, her friends, and Garry was deliberately humiliating her in front of them. Shame lodged like a sick ball in the pit of her stomach. Her legs shaking, she walked to the counter and put ten dollars down. When Grace hurried over to make change, Jordan shook her head and bolted for the door.

She made it outside before he caught up to her and grabbed her arm.

G
ARRY PULLED HER AROUND
to face him. “Okay, bitch. Ten. Ten thou, I'm gone, you're a free woman.”

She jerked her arm out of his grasp. “I'm free, anyway, Garry. I was free the moment I realized I wasn't responsible for you. If I have to fight you in court, I will.” She took a shaky breath. “Unless you leave Ahousaht this afternoon, I'll call the RCMP and get a restraining order. And if you insist on following me now, or give me any hassle whatsoever, I'll wave to the loggers watching us through that window, and believe me, they'll see to it you don't ever follow me again.”

He was still holding the separation agreement in one fist, and now he threw his bag to the ground and ripped the paper into shreds, tossing the pieces in her face.

The door of the café burst open and Rupert charged out. Like a human wall, he positioned himself between Jordan and Garry.

“You doing okay here, Doc?” He put a massive hand on her shoulder.

Jordan couldn't answer. She was trembling so hard she could barely stand, and Rupert must have felt it.

His voice was soft and lethal. “Maybe you oughta get on that boat, eh, mister? It's the last one out of here today.”

“Gee, I'm too late,” Garry sneered. “I seem to have just missed it.”

Jordan turned and looked down at the wharf and her heart sank.

Charlie Tidian was already backing the water taxi out of the dock.

Rupert put his fingers to his mouth and gave a shrill, high-pitched whistle that made Jordan jump. A man on the wharf turned around, and Rupert motioned to him, waving at the boat.

That man, in turn, put his fingers to his mouth and emitted another earsplitting whistle, and Jordan saw Billy pop his head out on deck.

The man on the dock waved his arms, pointing at Rupert.

The boat made a slow U-turn and returned to the dock.

Rupert picked up Garry's pack in one massive paw and took hold of his upper arm with the other. “C'mon, mister. Looks like Charlie's waitin' for you, so get a move on.” He hustled Garry down the incline and onto the wharf. Jordan saw him toss the pack on the boat and all but throw Garry over the rail.

Shaking, she watched as the ferry chugged into the inlet and headed around the point. Down on the wharf, Rupert waved an arm at her, and she lifted her hand and waved back.

For now at least, Garry was gone. She drew in one deep, shuddering breath, and then another. The shaking eased as she walked back to the medical center, forming a plan of action. She'd call Marcy and instruct the lawyer to go ahead with the restraining order. She'd tell her to make sure Garry knew it was in place.

And then she'd find Silas, apologize and tell him everything. But first, she had patients waiting for her.

By the time she reached her apartment, she was calmer than she'd been in several hours.

Glancing into her bedroom, she stopped short, shocked and outraged. She knew immediately where Garry had found the drugs. Her medical bag was on the bed, wide open, and it was obvious the contents had been ransacked. A quick assessment revealed he'd taken her supply of morphine, Ativan, Benadryl, Tylenol 3—and even Gravol.

Disposal syringes were missing, as was her triplicate prescription pad, which meant he'd be able to write himself orders for small amounts of morphine. He'd stolen a similar pad once before and knew exactly how to fill it out and counterfeit her signature.

She didn't hesitate. She found the number for the RCMP detachment in Tofino, identified herself, and in a few succinct sentences, told the constable exactly what had occurred and what was missing from her bag.

“Garry Hughes is on the water taxi arriving soon from Ahousaht,” she explained. She described him and added, “We were married, but are now separated. If you need confirmation I can supply my lawyer's number.
He's an addict and a thief, and I'm prepared to press charges.”

Her voice was steady and cool, and when she hung up, she felt nothing but satisfaction. Now if only she could stay this calm and clear when she talked to Silas.

S
ILAS WAS OUTSIDE THE CABIN
chopping wood when Eli and Michael rode up on their bikes.

“Afternoon, gentlemen.” He swung the axe up and brought it down with a satisfying thunk, and the stubborn block of alder finally split in half.

“You want some lemonade?” They came frequently to talk to him, and Silas always listened, never judging or lecturing them about the gossip they innocently relayed. He filed away snippets that often helped him understand more fully when someone came to him for help.

He brought out three glasses, the bottle of lemonade and a container of oatmeal cookies a grandmother had traded for his arthritis tonic and set it all on the chopping block.

The boys were thirsty, and he refilled their glasses twice. They were making inroads on the cookies when Michael announced, “Dr. Jordan's husband came to visit her today.”

Eli nodded and swallowed. “Yeah, Uncle Silas. He's not nice like Dr. Jordan is. He swore at us, he called us little bastard half-breeds.”

Silas was unprepared for the onslaught of emotion those simple statements caused, on all sorts of levels.
He waited a heartbeat, struggling to stay neutral. Casually, he said, “He obviously doesn't know that you're Nuu-chah-nulth warriors.”

“Right.” Eli crammed in another cookie and washed it down. His voice took on a confidential note. “And anyhow, he's a junkie, that's what Mom said.”

“Yeah.” Michael nodded vigorously. “Junkies do drugs, we aren't ever gonna do drugs, right, Eli? Cause they make you stupid, that's what our teacher says.”

“She's right about that.” Silas felt the muscles in his stomach tighten. “And who was Christina saying that to, about the man being a junkie?”

“To Doctor Jordan,” Eli said. “We were under the window. When he swore at us, we followed him to Doctor Jordan's place and hid, because maybe he was going to hurt Doctor Jordan and we'd have to help, right? He was real mean to her, he kept saying they were still married and she should give him medicine because he was sick, and money to get divorced.”

Silas felt sick. “That was thoughtful and brave of you, to watch out for her.”

Eli beamed. “Yeah, but we didn't have to help her because Mom came then, she asked Doctor Jordan if she was okay, and if she should get you.”

Silas swallowed. “And what did the doctor say?”

“She hollered no, no, not to get you, that she was okay,” Michael reported. “And then she sent the man to Mabel's to wait for her so she could give him money.”

“But he didn't go there, not right away,” Eli said. “We followed him. He walked all around town and he
talked to those two guys who live in Johnny Swann's old house. They were sitting out on the porch drinking beer.”

Like attracts like, Silas thought. The men were bootleggers, and probably also dealt drugs, although he had no proof of that.

“They gave him money for something,” Michael said.

Silas puzzled over that one. What would a junkie be selling? Wouldn't he more likely be buying?

Eli bobbed his head. “Yeah, and then he went to Mabel's and after a while Doctor Jordan went there too, and then they had a fight outside Mabel's, right, Michael? And he threw ripped-up paper in her face, and then Big Rupert Joe, you know Big Rupert Joe, eh, Uncle Silas? Billy's father? Well, he stood up for her and he got Charlie to turn the boat back and then he took the man's arm and made him run down to the wharf, and Rupert boosted him over the side like this.” Eli stood up and demonstrated.

Jordan, why didn't you tell me?
“So the man's gone?”

“Yeah, he's gone back to the mainland.” The two sweaty boys nodded in unison. “And Doctor Jordan went back to her house and now she's at the clinic with Mom.”

When the lemonade and cookies were gone, Eli and Michael thanked Silas and took off down the trail on their bikes.

He sat on the chopping block for a long time, not
hearing the staccato drumming of the scarlet woodpecker in the old tree or the monotonous rain warning the birds were making. He was listening to Jordan's voice inside his head. It wasn't difficult to recall every single thing she'd ever said about her marriage, her words were branded on his brain.

Garry, she'd said his name was Garry. That he'd been in an accident. That he was a weak man. She'd never once mentioned drugs, and she'd referred to him as her ex-husband several times. Silas remembered that clearly. She hadn't been divorced for long enough, she'd said. It had indicated that she was free, just as he was, and he'd felt relieved.

So she'd outright lied about that, if the little boys had their story straight. And if Garry was a junkie, Christina would recognize that right away. He'd wanted money, did that mean that Jordan was supporting him?

She'd set herself apart from the rest of them at the healing circle by not revealing her experience with despair. And she'd lied to him.

The only condition he'd set was that they be honest with each other.

Anger and a sense of betrayal churned in his gut, along with regret and a fierce longing for something he was afraid to name.

He'd begun to care for her far more deeply than he wanted to admit, even to himself.

Half-breed,
her husband had called Eli and Michael. It was what his schoolmates had called Silas, in that fancy private academy his father had forced him to attend.

Ironically, it was also what some of the kids here in Ahousaht had also called him, when he held himself apart during the long, painful summers he spent here as a boy. It was implicit in the words his father had thrown at him in that final, awful rage when Silas told Angus he was moving to Ahousaht.

“I've given you every advantage,” Angus Keefer had said in that cold, quiet voice. “You could have a brilliant academic career, you could have all this—” Angus had swept an arm around his luxuriously appointed study “—and more. You have the brains, the education, the opportunity. But I can see that you don't have what it takes to overcome your heritage. You want to take the lazy route and go native, go ahead, Silas. Just remember that if you do, you're no longer my son.”

Until now, Silas had truly believed he'd grown beyond the old feelings of exclusion and rejection. He'd believed himself capable of handling any emotional challenge with calm and rationality.

The pain in his gut said otherwise.

Grandmother, help me.

He waited, but this time Sandrine didn't respond.

He needed to get away, but he'd made a commitment to Patwin. He couldn't walk away and leave his brother. But he could take him along, if only Patwin would agree to come.

Silas went into the cabin and stuffed a bare few essentials into a pack, and then he closed the door behind himself and headed into town.

His mother's house smelled as it always did, of cook
ing and herbs and clean laundry. Rose Marie was out, and there was no answer when Silas called for Patwin, but he had a nagging sense that his brother was there. Silas knocked on Patwin's bedroom door, and when there was no answer, he opened it.

Patwin was sprawled across the bed. He tried to raise his head, but his neck was still too stiff. Instead, he gave Silas a loopy grin and said something, but his words were garbled and slurred.

Silas was across the room in two strides, fear a claw that squeezed at his heart. He took Patwin by the shoulders and dragged him to a sitting position. He sniffed Patwin's breath. Not alcohol, so that meant—

“What did you take?” He shook his brother hard, not caring that it would hurt his bruised throat. His voice rose. “You stupid idiot, what the hell did you take?”

Patwin laughed drunkenly, and swearing, Silas let him flop back on the bed.

Frantically, Silas searched the bedside table, the dresser drawers.

Nothing. He spotted Patwin's jacket, slung over a chair, and he stuck a hand in the pocket, pulling out packaged disposable syringes and two small vials of morphine.

Rage filled Silas as he put together what Michael and Eli had said about the transaction at Johnny Swann's. Garry hadn't been buying, he'd been selling. And what he'd sold had ended up in Patwin's veins.