Walt got there just as Macawi took refuge in the men's latrine at the other end of the hall. He'd been violently ill the first time he'd been present for Autumn's dressing change. This was the first time he'd ever experienced anyone screaming like that, though. He wondered what the hell they'd been thinking, bringing her out. Wondered what would have to happen before they tried it again.
Walt listened patiently and with great concern as the nurse told him what had happened. He shook his head and slapped his hat against his leg, his face grim. Then he did what he always did when he came to visit her. He pulled out a paperback, pulled up a chair, and read aloud from the romantic comedy Cady had picked out for her sister. Nothing in it to remind her in any way of the accident. Nothing in it to add any pain to her subconscious.
Macawi re-entered her room and came to a complete halt.
"Sheriff," he nodded.
"Officer Mathias," Walt nodded. His frown wrinkled his forehead. "You're a long way off the res. What can I do for you?"
The younger man shook his head, then moved toward the young woman in the room.
"I wish she had a private room," he murmured as his fingertips traced the corner of her brow. He took up a position on the opposite side of the bed, checking lines and blankets and wrappings. "Did they tell you what happened?"
Walt nodded. "Was it you here with her?"
The young Indian nodded. "They don't tell me anything. I just come sit with her. Talk to her."
He tried to judge the older lawman's face. It was as impenetrable as always.
"What set her off?"
"They tried weaning her off the pain meds. I think they planned to give her a morphine pump. They never got to, though. She was disoriented—kept asking about her team. She asked a couple questions, figured out she was home, asked a couple more. I could see her fighting it, see her fighting to hang in there. I laid into the nurse's button, Walt, I swear to God I did. They didn't get in here until after she'd started full-out screaming. I've never seen anything like it. Every muscle in her body was rigid. Her neck and back and arms. I couldn't let go of her; she had my hand so tight—I couldn't back out of the way when the staff got in here."
Walt, like any father worth anything, felt his own stomach clench up. He fought back tears and nausea at the idea of his child in pain.
"I appreciate that you were here with her," he admitted. "I came as soon as her doctor called. As soon as they said they wanted to bring her out from under the constant sedation. I was on my way…"
Macawi nodded, accepting the man's words. He didn't need them. He reached out his hand—freshly washed and dried so that only the half-moon scars of her nails remained. Walt leaned forward to shake it, his keen eye taking in every detail.
"Left her mark on you," he said.
Macawi nodded ruefully, dropping the damaged hand to pull it through her hair once more. "I wish I could wash her hair. Trim it up for her."
Walt tilted his head, taking in the shaggy length. The fire that had burned through his daughter's wetsuit had left her long hair in ravaged condition.
"Cady said that she was trying to grow it out."
Macawi shrugged. Someone had looped the mass of it up and out of the way on a couple of occasions. He figured that it was her sister who came in, removed the binding, and brushed it out. Still…
"She'll have to have it cut. She won't like to have been left like this. And she's worn it short before."
It wouldn't have to be severely short. If it was evened up the longest length would probably just cover her long, slender neck. That neck still sported a large bandage where the wound-care team had applied some salve. The skin grafts had started lower, closer to her shoulder blade, extending down toward her ribs. The flesh was like a patchwork quilt. Pink, raw skin that they though could be saved, new skin grafts, the places where they'd used wound vacs on her at the hospital in Astoria.
"What happened?" Macawi asked. He looked up. "She asked me. I don't know. I know there was an accident; I don't know anything else."
Walt shrugged. "That's pretty much all anyone knows. She went out on a call. Whether they got to where they were going & pulled somebody in or not I don't know. I know that there was time for a distress call. I know that she was able to pull herself onto an inflatable. That there was fire. Fuel from the transport burning on the surface of the ocean. Part of the problem was getting the melted material off her shoulder. I don't know whether it came from her wetsuit or the life raft or what. They found her, pulled her out, and got her to the hospital. You know Cady and I went out there? When she was able—when it looked like it was going to be a long road, we had her moved out here."
"They're first rate. Not as famous as some, maybe, but they've got the experience here to deal with it. They see a lot of—"
"I know. With the fires and all. Its where they send a lot of the local firemen who get burned badly. What the hell are you doing here, Mathias?"
The Indian shrugged. "I can't see to leave. Can't seem to stay away. I had a witness here for a day or so just after she came home."
"The abuse case?"
"Yeah."
"Witness all right now?"
"She's where she'll never be hurt again. The husband where he'll burn forever."
"Tough."
"Not nearly tough enough. I wish I could have hurt him before I sent him to hell. The girl was thirteen. He doused her with kerosene and set the trailer on fire. She watched him kill her mother, then she was left to die the most horrific way I can think of." His eyes met the sheriff's. "No tough. Nowhere near tough enough."
Walt nodded. "And then my daughter came in at the tail end of it."
Macawi nodded. His hand trembled as he let it glide over the young woman's face again. "She did. And I've spent many hours with her, telling her how brave and strong she is. How much faith I have in her. You'll not keep me away this time, Sheriff."
Walt considered the declaration. "Seems to me she made up her own mind last time."
"Because of you. Because you made it difficult. Do you know how it tore at her? Having to sneak around behind you? Having to hide what we had?"
"Couldn't have meant as much as you think. She left you. A long time ago. And went a long ways away to get as far from you as she could."
"She left you, too, Sheriff. You broke her heart, too."
In light of recent trouble with Cady and Branch Walt considered the circumstances surrounding his daughters' love lives.
"I wasn't wrong to encourage her to finish school first, to get her degree. It was important to me. Important to my wife. We were in agreement on that."
"And I was a wild child from the reservation. That's all you saw."
"That's what the facts were, Macawi. When you got a scholarship to the university we weren't the only ones surprised. When you chose to pursue law enforcement it seemed like the county joke. Nobody took you seriously."
"She did. Autumn always did."
Walt waited. "She didn't date in college. Never brought a boyfriend home…"
"Because you'd already encouraged her to leave him flat. You'd taken the ring he worked hard and saved for and you tossed it away. Did you want to hear that she spent her nights with me? That if it wasn't for her I'd never have learned how to survive in that world of books and buildings and blacktop? You watched her swim. You watched her win. You cheered her successes like they were yours. But she wasn't, not really. She hasn't been in a long time."
