What a Man's Gotta Do (25 page)

“C'n I please ride in the front?” came from the deep recesses of Lucas's parka hood.

“Luc, I've told you—”

“Pleeeeeassse? I'm not a baby!”

Shivering in the icy air, Mala yanked open her own door, scowled at her son over the hood. “It has nothing to do with—”

It was only ten blocks to her parents' house. By the time she won the argument with Lucas, she could have been there and back a dozen times.

“Okay, okay, fine. But just this once, you hear me? And buckle that seat belt. Oh, poop! I left my mobile in the house. Sit still, I'll be right back.”

She grunted her way back up the stairs, unlocked the door, tromped around the house for a good half minute until she spotted the phone on the floor beside the dog's water dish—she didn't want to know—then flew back out of the house, stuffing her phone into her purse.

 

The weather had grown steadily colder and more miserable the farther north he'd driven. By the time he got back to Spruce Lake, a late season sleet storm reminded him that this far north, spring showed up when it damn well wanted to, not when the calendar dictated.

The streets had glazed over in spots, making driving treacherous even with good tires and nerves of steel. The Camaro's tires were okay—they'd managed just fine through the winter—but Eddie's nerves were something else again. After all, he was used to leaving.

Coming back, however, was a first.

He'd stayed in Albuquerque for a few days—after thirty-seven years, what else could he do?—until Lita had noticed his
impatience and had goaded Rudy into letting his son go take care of his heart….

Just as Eddie turned onto Mala's street, three or four blocks from her house, the deluge let up enough for him to turn off the windshield wipers. The sight of Whitey in the driveway set his heart to thundering; the sight of the car backing out of the driveway drove it right up into his throat.

He let out a succinct curse as he watched the back end vanish in a puff of exhaust. If the streets'd been dry, he might've sped up to catch up with her, but he didn't dare try a trick like that in this weather, especially not with so many cars parked alongside the curb. Last thing he needed was to sideswipe somebody, lose time exchanging insurance information and what-all.

He saw her signal for a right at Lake Drive, cautiously turn the corner. Her folks lived that way—maybe that's where she was going. Eddie sped up as much as he dared, breathing a sigh of relief when he braked solidly at the stop sign, could see her heading straight over on Lake. Yep, that had to be where she was going. His heart whomping inside him like the bass on a boom box, he turned the corner, figuring he hadn't come all this way to go sit in some motel room and drive himself crazy while he waited until she got back home. Whenever that might be. Besides, he needed witnesses for what he was about to say, and he figured Carrie and Lucas and Bev Koleski would fit the bill just fine.

He was gonna tell her he loved her.

He was gonna ask her to marry him.

And at that last thought, the knot inside his chest he'd been coddling for most of his life suddenly unraveled, leaving in its place the first real sense of peace he could ever remember.

Only to be almost instantly annihilated as a pickup skidded, spun one hundred and eighty degrees and rammed its wonker back end into Mala's left front bumper, sending the puny little car flying off the road and into the trunk of some mother oak.

E
ddie screeched the Camaro to a halt twenty feet behind the Escort and erupted from the car, broken glass and bits of chrome crunching underfoot as he ran. His peripheral vision caught the truck's driver getting out, making his way over, but he was only aware of Mala, passed out over the wheel, bleeding some from cuts on her head and face. Eddie's gaze darted over to Lucas, strapped into the passenger seat, his stomach pitching when he saw the door partially crushed around his leg—

“Eddie!”

The instant Eddie yanked open the back door, Carrie flew into his arms, clearly in one piece but scared to death. Vaguely aware that people were beginning to clump around them, Eddie clung as hard to the little girl as she did to him, asked if Mala had her cell phone with her.

“I-in…her p-purse.”

“Okay, baby? Let me set you down so I can get the phone—”

“I already called 9-1-1,” somebody said. A woman, older, huddled inside a parka, worry crowding dark eyes. “Let me take the baby so you can check on 'em,” she said, her
offer trampled by the driver's horrified, “Oh, God, are they okay? I had no idea that ice was there—”

Eddie wrenched open Mala's door and lunged across her lap to get her purse, tucked beside her seat. Her breath fanned across his cheek, relieving him greatly, only then he looked over again at Lucas….

He tore the phone from the purse as he backed out of the car, called over to Carrie for her grandma's number. Over the sound of sirens wailing, onlookers murmuring, Carrie's tears, Eddie plowed through Bev Koleski's confusion, telling her to come, her granddaughter needed her—

“Mama!”

Eddie jerked around to find Mala had come to, that she was trying to move—

“Mala! Stay put, dammit!”

“Lucas!”

“He's still strapped in the car, honey.” Eddie swallowed down his own fear, rancid and suffocating. “It's okay, looks like his hood kept him from gettin' cut by the broken glass…” He was rambling, anything to keep her from panicking, to keep him from losing it as well. “There—hear the sirens? Help's on its way, okay? You're all gonna be just fine….”

For the first time, Mala noticed Eddie's presence, which only seemed to add to her disorientation. “Eddie? What are you—? Where's Carrie…?” She tried to look over again at Lucas, only to cry out with pain.

Eddie crouched down beside her, grabbed her hand. “Stay still, baby, please. Carrie's okay, just shook up. I called your folks, they're on their way. The ambulance is just now gettin' here, you hear it? Everything's gonna be okay, honey….”

His heart tore in two at the tears slipping down Mala's bloodied cheeks, at the silent sobs she couldn't restrain, in spite of her obviously hurting so bad. “Lucas?” she whispered. “Lucas, talk to me, for God's sake,
talk to me!
”

“He's knocked out,” Eddie shouted over the din of a half dozen vehicles roaring onto the scene. “But he's okay…”

He's gotta be, please, God…he's gotta be…

Emergency personnel suddenly swarmed the scene, all shout
ing to each other and moving with an urgent confidence that went a ways toward settling Eddie's nerves. Dispatch radios squawked as Eddie stood; somebody bumped him so that he stumbled backward, his heart banging inside his chest as he caught, through the crush of uniformed bodies, Mala talking to one of the rescue workers.

“…I never, ever let him sit up front…”

He started back toward her, but somebody yanked him back…his head snapped around as a generator or something thundered to life…he flinched against the lights, flashing, slashing through the late-afternoon grayness, off-sync and dizzying….

Carrie was back, trembling against him, coughing from the thick, diesel-scented exhaust…then she was in her grandfather's arms, nearly choking on her hysteria, going on about her mama and Lucas being hurt….

Eddie briefly met the older man's eyes, saw questions tangled with fear in their dark brown depths. Then Bev's face, still and pale beside her husband's.

“I was following her,” Eddie said, feeling stupid, useless. “The truck skidded, sideswiped her—”

“Somebody said the little girl was in the car,” a medic interrupted. “We really should check her out.”

Carrie gripped her grandfather's neck even tighter, shaking her head, crying. Eddie cupped her fiery curls, linked his gaze with her terrified one. “It's okay, baby, go with the lady, she won't hurt you, your grandparents'll be right there with you….”

“Okay, she's out! Let's get to work on the boy!”
he heard, immediately followed by Mala's, “I'm not leaving until I know my baby's okay!”

Eddie quickly kissed Carrie's forehead, took off toward the sound of Mala's voice. Her neck in a brace, her head motionless between two foam wedges, she'd been strapped on to a board and moved away from the car. But nobody had immobilized her mouth, which was arguing to beat the band.

“Sorry, ma'am,” the attendant was saying. “You're hurt yourself, gotta get you to the hospital.”

“I'm not going anywhere!”

“Mala, hush.” Eddie stooped beside her, took her hand before she had a chance to find her voice again. “I'll stay with him,” he said, only then somebody said something about “cutting him out” and Mala lost it for good.

“What the hell are they talking about?” she practically shrieked, her eyes wild with fear.
“No!”
she shrieked again when the attendants made to move the board.
“What are they going to do to my son?”

“Now, ma'am, everything's gonna be fine—”

“Hey.” Eddie reached out, snagged the attendant's arm. “I understand you're only doin' your job, but she's gonna be a basket case unless you get somebody over here to tell her what's goin' on.”

The attendant shot him a dirty look, but not three seconds later, a firefighter was crouched on Mala's other side, somebody Mala knew, apparently, telling her that although Lucas' vitals looked good, his leg was caught, probably broken, and no, they wouldn't know the extent of the damage until they cut away the vehicle to get to him.

Even in the strobing lights, Eddie saw the color drain from Mala's face. “Oh, dear God…he'll be petrified! Don't you understand? I've got to stay! I can't let him go through that alone.”

“Mala,” the firefighter said, “there's nothing you can do in your condition.”

“I told you,” Eddie said, “I'll stay with him.”

“Sir? I'm sorry, but I can't let you do that.”

Eddie's head jerked up, saw in the kindly gray eyes across from him everything the man wasn't telling. His stomach pitched, then held firm. “And the only way I'm leaving,” Eddie said through a strange and sudden calm, “is if one of y'all knocks me out and hauls me away.”

Mala's hand tightened around his. “Warren?” she said to the guy. “Please? If it was Stacy…?”

After a moment, the man sighed, then nodded. “Okay. But you do exactly what we tell you, you got that? And the instant one of us tells you to move, you
move!
”

“Yes, sir. I got that just fine.”

The firefighter got to his feet and strode away, barking orders to his crew as the medics finally lifted Mala into the ambulance, while Eddie saw a pair of rescuers lug what looked like a large lawnmower engine with rails attached to it over to the car, followed by somebody else holding the biggest pair of pliers Eddie'd ever seen.

“Wait! Eddie?”

“Lady, please…”

“One more second, then I'll shut up, I promise.” Mala grabbed Eddie's hand again, tugged him toward her. “You sure you want to do this?”

He bent over, kissed the tip of her nose. “Never been more sure of anything in my life, darlin'. Like I said, only way I'm leavin' is if somebody carries me off.” He skimmed a knuckle across her tear-soaked cheek. “Or tells me she changed her mind.”

“Like hell,” she whispered.

“Okay, buddy—can we
please
get her out of here now?”

Eddie gave her hand one last squeeze, then folded his arms across his chest as he watched them lift her onto a gurney, then into the ambulance where Carrie and an attendant waited; a second after that, Mala's folks said something about going on to the hospital. Eddie nodded, only to jump out of his skin when Bev reached up and hugged his neck so hard she nearly threw him off balance.

By the time they'd gone, Eddie realized the police had cleared everybody else away, that he was the only person left who wasn't a pro. Anxiety spiking his chest, Eddie walked over to the car, more than half scared of what he'd see. Both driver's-side doors had been popped off, the post between them severed; two firefighters were inside the car, working on Lucas even though he was still trapped. Eddie got close enough to see that the boy had come awake, and even though he could hear how the firefighters were trying to reassure him, he figured the kid could stand to hear a familar voice right about now.

“Please, sir—get back!” some guy shouted. Not the one
who'd told him he could stay, somebody else. “We've gotta work fast to get this sucker peeled back, get him outta there.”

“Somebody—Warren?—told me I could stay with him,” Eddie yelled back.

“You mean, in the car?”

“Yeah.”

“Forget it, buddy, we can't take the risk, not with a civilian—”

“I'll take that chance!” Eddie roared over the awful, head-splitting noise. He glanced over, saw that Lucas had caught sight of him, his eyes wide with surprise and terror. The kid screamed; Eddie yanked his head back toward the firefighter. “You give him something for the pain?”

Sympathy shot from hazel eyes. “Sorry. But we can't, not until we know more.”

“Oh, for God's sake—”

“Look, it kills us just as much as it does you to know he's hurting, we've all got kids of our own, but we don't dare—”

“Then at least let me stay with him, dammit!”

“Not if you're gonna go nuts on us, buster!”

Eddie gulped down a breath, held up his hands. “Sorry,” he said, more steadily. “I'm fine, I swear. And I'll do whatever you say. Just, please…let me stay.”

Seconds later, Eddie was bundled into a firefighter's coat and hat and told to crouch across the driver's seat while they worked on the roof. The minute he crawled in, somebody threw a heavy, musty-smelling blanket over both him and Lucas. Eddie grabbed the boy's tiny, trusting hand in his.

“You gotta stay real still, buddy, y'hear?”

“I'm scared, Eddie.” He could barely hear the kid's whisper in the muffled darkness, over his own pounding heart. He tried to get closer, but the gearshift jabbed him in the ribs.

“Yeah. Me, too. I don't much like bein' in the dark.” No reply. “How you feelin'?”

“My leg's stuck. An' it hurts. A whole lot. Where's Mama?”

“She got a little banged up, but she's gonna be okay. They took her and Carrie to the hospital already.” After another few
seconds of silence, Eddie asked, “You feel like cryin'?” The little hand squeezed his, making something squeeze around Eddie's heart at the same time. “It's okay, you know,” he said. “If you want to—”

A godawful ripping sound exploded over their heads.

“What's that?”

“They're takin' off the roof, I reckon.”

“Oh. Yeah. I forgot. They told me they had to do that before they can push out the part where my leg's stuck.”

Eddie desperately tried to think of something comforting to say, couldn't come up with a damn thing. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware that the air was thick and hot and metallic-smelling under the blanket, that his muscles were cramping up some in the awkward position. But that was nothing compared with what Lucas was going through, was it? And if he could, he'd gladly trade places with the boy, take on his pain.

They sat listening to the horrible noise for a minute or two, Lucas hanging on for dear life to Eddie's hand. But not crying. Not even a sniffle. Then: “Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Am I gonna die?”

A knife slicing through his gut wouldn't have hurt near as much. “No, Luc, you're not gonna die, where'd you get that idea?”

“My leg hurts really, really bad.” The boy's breath was coming in short, shallow pants. “W-worse than it did.”

“Hang on, buddy. It won't be much longer now.” His mouth was so damn dry… “I broke my arm one time when I was a kid, it hurt like holy…the dickens.”

“D-did you cry?”

“Probably. It was a long time ago. I don't remember.”

“So, if I don't cry, does that mean I'm braver than you?”

Took Eddie a second to get his breath back after that one. “Yeah, big guy. It sure does. And you know something else?”

“W-what?”

“Next time somebody says you're a wuss, you tell 'em to come see me.”

“Will you beat 'em up?”

“Nah. But I'll stand by and watch you do it.”

He thought maybe he heard a tiny laugh, followed by a stifled wince. Then, “Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

The car shuddered as, with a shrieking, grinding sound, the roof got turned inside out. Damp, chilled air swamped him; somebody snatched the blanket off them, ordered Eddie to get out. As he backed away, keeping Lucas's gaze hooked in his, the kid said, “I knew you'd come back.”

For the first time in probably thirty years, tears stung Eddie King's eyes.

 

Rubbing the muscles bunched up at the base of his skull, Eddie dragged into the E.R. waiting room nearly two hours later to run smack into Marty Koleski's glare. The older man stood up, tossing the magazine he clearly hadn't been reading onto the cluttered table bracing the corner seating unit. Worry pinching his jowly features, he crossed his arms over his open baseball jacket.