“You gave us all a scare, ma’am,” the sheriff said, holding his hat in his hand. “I can get an ambulance up here in ten minutes if you think you need one.”
“Sheriff Fisk . . . why didn’t you . . . ?” Michelle could not parse the queerness of the moment. Was she still unconscious in the woods from the fall? “Bogan, right?” she said, looking at Elmer. He seemed confused and took a step back.
Michelle had recognized Fisk immediately, and Elmer, but she could tell by the way they regarded her that the recognition wasn’t mutual.
“Don’t you remember me?” she asked Sheriff Fisk. “How about you, Elmer?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I ain’t never seen you before,” the deputy said.
Fisk said something to Cliff about Michelle being in shock. Then Cliff was leading her by the arm toward the couch, and they continued speaking as if she weren’t there. She jerked her arm away from Cliff, and backed up, away from the sheriff and Elmer.
“It’s okay, ma’am,” the sheriff said, his palms opened as if to suggest he wasn’t going to harm her. He turned toward Elmer and whispered something. “Now why don’t you have a little rest,” he said, turning back to face her. “Your husband here has some coffee on the stove. Would you like some coffee?”
“I don’t want any coffee,” she said. “I want to know what’s going on here.”
She saw Cliff nodding and smiling, agreeing with the sheriff. They spoke in tones reserved for the elderly, or the dangerous. Cliff hurried to the kitchen and returned with a steaming cup and saucer.
“Come on, Michelle,” he said, setting the coffee cup on the end table. “Sit here and warm up. Let’s get you out of that coat.”
When he reached for her, she jerked her wrist back. “Don’t touch me, Cliff.”
Cliff straightened like he’d been slapped. Elmer had left the living room and she wasn’t sure where he’d gone. The sheriff looked at the floor and Michelle couldn’t understand why he hadn’t acknowledged her, why he was acting so queer.
“Sheriff Fisk? Why don’t you remember me?” Michelle asked. “I spoke to you less than two hours ago. We drove down Pink Souder Road together. The chopper? Dell?”
Fisk’s eyes burst open wide. He looked at Cliff but said nothing.
“Baby, we’re here to help,” Cliff said. “Let me take your shoes off. They’re soaked.” Michelle noticed a scar across Cliff’s forehead, one that had never been there before. And when he reached out to her, she saw the little finger on his left hand was missing.
“What happened to you, Cliff?” she said. “Where’s your finger?”
Cliff shook his head, tears pooling along the bottom of his eyes. He looked over at the sheriff, then back at her. The sheriff took his eyes to the floor once more.
Michelle hurried past Cliff and Sheriff Fisk.
“Where are you going?” Cliff said, following her.
She ran into the bedroom and jerked drawers open on the dresser then rummaged the closet. “I want to go home,” she said. “I don’t know what this is all about, but I want to go back to Atlanta. Now.”
“What are you looking for?” Cliff said. She heard a siren coming up the mountain, getting closer. She pushed past Cliff, headed for the kitchen. The sheriff was no longer in the living room.
“Where’s my purse, Cliff? What did you do with my purse?”
“Calm down, Michelle. It’s right in here.” He walked back to the bedroom. “Here. You left it by the bed where you always leave it.” He picked it up and handed it to her.
Michelle jerked the purse open and stirred the contents with her fingers, then dumped everything out on the floor. She dropped to her knees and pushed her hand through the pile, scattering cosmetics, deposit slips, and amber pill containers across the carpet. It didn’t even seem like her purse—what were the pill bottles for? “Where are they, Cliff? Where are my keys to the Cherokee?”
Cliff looked distressed, his head cocked slightly to the side. “The Cherokee? Michelle . . . you know we don’t have the Cherokee anymore.”
Michelle looked up at him. “What? It was right there in the driveway when I left the cabin . . .” She pictured it clearly, the rain beating sparks along the hood, sheets of water running down the windows. She had seen it in the driveway less than an hour ago.
Cliff sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. When he looked up at her, his eyes were red, his face damp with perspiration. He was about to speak, his mouth was open, but no sound came out.
“What is wrong with you, Cliff? What . . . ?” Michelle tried to speak. She couldn’t tell if her words were getting out. Then, like a welcome interruption, or a desire for something familiar, her thoughts went to Cassie. The swim team.
The siren outside the cabin shut off abruptly.
“Cassie made the swim team, Cliff,” Michelle said. “Not only that, they voted her captain. Did she tell you?”
Cliff shot up from the bed and left the room.
Michelle saw red lights pulsing on the branches outside the bedroom window. Then along the walls. “What . . . ?” She put her hand to her cheek, slid her fingers to her lips, and felt weak, dizzy. “I . . .” She twisted her neck to the side, as if to relieve a catch. A clatter of metal and voices rose beyond the bedroom, the sound urgent, racing closer. She ran her hand along her throat, finding a bit of dead leaf stuck to her skin, then rested her palm on her shoulder.
“What’s going on, Cliff?” she whispered, then repeated it louder so he could hear. Cliff was gone from the room.
Michelle felt something inside her become unmoored, flesh from bone, organs from veins, dissolving, turning to dust.
Gentle voices coaxed her onto the gurney. Someone covered her with a blanket. She noticed a cobweb hanging from the blade of the ceiling fan as they wheeled her through the living room. “Cliff?” She thought she saw Elmer’s face, distant and blank as the moon, when they lifted her into the back of the ambulance. “Cliff?” She heard crying, doors slamming, the siren coming up, drowning out the sad noises. Cliff was suddenly next to her, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. He touched her forehead. Michelle hadn’t remembered taking her coat off, but it was gone. So were her shoes.
“It’s going to be okay, baby,” he said. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Cliff?”
Chapter 4
“Where am I?” Michelle said, looking over at Cliff. He was beside her hospital bed reading a newspaper. He put it down as soon as she spoke to him. “Where am I?” she asked again. The room smelled of rubbing alcohol and disinfectant.