Chapter Six: The Music Stopped
(November 8th & 9th)
Steve checked his watch. He had just enough time to stop by Amanda's lab before he went to Bob's and then on to practice and class. He wanted to tell her how the Porter case had turned out. Thanks to Amanda's work, Agnes Porter's story had completely unraveled, and she had eagerly accepted the DA's plea bargain offer of life in prison to avoid the death penalty. Steve was always pleased to have a case wrapped up so neatly that he didn't even have to appear in court, and he wanted to thank Amanda properly. The holidays, and his progress with the violin, had him in a good mood despite the pain in his backside, and he was feeling generous, so on the way to the lab, he stopped at the hospital gift shop and paid the outrageous $3.50 price for a single rose to present her as a thank you gift.
Suddenly remembering it was Sara's birthday, Steve debated whether to get her a gift. She was so plainly attracted to him, he was half afraid to even acknowledge her special day for fear of encouraging her, but then again, she had plainly stated that she knew her crush would never amount to anything, and somehow he doubted anyone else would remember her birthday. After hunting through the selection of stuffed toys for about ten minutes, he found a musical teddy bear playing, of all things, a violin. When he wound it up, he was surprised to find it played Happy Birthday. It was so perfect he had to buy it. He thought it was an odd thing to have in a hospital gift shop, but he supposed sometimes people did end up in the hospital on their birthdays, and a distraught family member might at the last moment suddenly remember and not want the occasion to go unnoticed.
As he left the gift shop, Steve's mind was awhirl with a half dozen thoughts. He had to wonder why a usually stable and sensible man such as himself could be moved to spend a fortune on flowers and a toy at the hospital gift shop when he'd passed at least half a dozen gift and flower shops on the way from the precinct. Then he thought about Frank Porter's children and wondered how they would mark the upcoming holidays. He frowned as he worried over Sara's long bus ride home, and decided that if she didn't have a proper coat tonight he would insist on driving her home himself. Next, he remembered Rachel Wood's card, and decided he'd wait to call her on the weekend. He wanted to talk to Sara and MinJe first. He hated to simply abandon them, especially Sara, now that he had found a private teacher, but he also wanted to learn as much as he could as fast as he could, and he didn't think Cole Simon could teach him enough.
"Hey, Steve," Alex greeted him, "I heard you caught yourself a woman!"
Steve, his train of thought running simultaneously down several different tracks, didn't hear the slightly lecherous tone behind the congratulatory note in the young man's voice, and naturally assumed Alex was referring to the recently closed Porter homicide. He murmured his thanks, and continued on his way to the path lab as the young man fell into step beside him.
"So, how do you do it?"
Steve shrugged modestly and said, "Same way I always do, Alex. Watch for clues, gather evidence, and when I'm ready, I move in."
Shocked that his friend seemed so unmoved by his latest conquest, particularly because his involvement with her had created such a rift with his dad, all Alex could find to say as their paths diverged and he headed off to the ER was, "Ok, I'll see you later."
Steve muttered a goodbye, still distracted by the thoughts running through his head, and walked down to the path lab.
"Hey, Jesse," Alex said, walking into the ER. "I was just talking to Steve about his new girlfriend, and you won't believe what he told me . . . "
After giving Amanda her rose and the details of Agnes Porter's confession, Steve headed off to Bob's. Kerry was there when he walked in, and she looked profoundly apologetic.
"Don't worry about it," he told her when she explained to him how Jesse had gotten her to confess he wasn't there. "I shouldn't have put you in that position to begin with. Now he knows, so you don't have to keep it a secret if he calls again."
After making sure the kitchen was well stocked for the night, he loaded a take-out box with specialties from Bob's for himself, Sara, and MinJe, and headed off to practice.
"It's not like we'll never see each other again," Steve tried to console Sara after he'd told her and MinJe of Rachel Wood's offer to give him private lessons. He'd made the mistake of mentioning it over the takeout dinner from Bob's and Sara had left her plate largely untouched. "I'm still going to need somewhere to practice, and I can't get my money back from the college now that the class has started. I figured I'd at least take advantage of the practice time I paid for."
"So you're just going to come by and practice, then take off and leave us alone with the Mole, huh?" Sara pouted.
"Sara," MinJe said gently, "the first night of class you knew Steve was very talented. Now that he has discovered that for himself, he should have a teacher who can help him make the most of his abilities. Mr. Simon cannot do that. You should be happy for Steve, not selfishly sad for yourself. You know, this would be great with kim chee," he added as an after thought, grinning at Steve and holding up his plateful barbecue.
"Oh, Steve," Sara said dramatically, throwing her arms around his neck, "I'm going to miss you."
"Sara, honey," Steve said laughing slightly and holding her at arm's length, "you've only known me a week."
"It's been long enough to know you're nice to me," she murmured, "Please don't go."
"I'll be here Monday at six thirty to practice with you, just like I have all this week," he promised, "but, Sara, I've discovered something about myself that I never knew was there before, and I have to explore it. You've been able to make music all your life, but this is new to me, and I really want to be good at it. I can't do that in this class. Please try to understand."
Sara wiped her nose on the sleeve of her too-thin jacket, and Steve decided then and there that he would drive her home that night whether she wanted him to or not.
"I understand," she sniffled, "but that doesn't mean I'm happy about it!"
Shrugging, Steve said, "I guess that will have to do. I'm sorry, Sara, but I need to do this."
The three of them headed to class, then, Steve limping slightly because the muscles in his sore back end had stiffened up while he sat in the practice room. As they approached the building, Steve reached into his pocket, and felt the plush little bear he had bought for Sara at the hospital gift shop. Taking Sara by the hand, he stopped her and had her close her eyes. Then he wound up the little toy and presented it to her. When she first heard the music, her eyes popped open wide and she reached out and grabbed it away from him.
For a moment, she just held it, smiling softly then she looked at him and grinned, saying, "Steve, it's perfect. Thank you."
She gave him a hug round the neck and a kiss on the cheek, then put the little bear in the outer pocket of her backpack so he could peek out and watch the world go by, and, taking Steve's hand and MinJe's, dragged them along behind her as she went into class.
"Sara, slow down," Steve pleaded, his sore behind making him drag his feet.
"But I want to show Amy before class starts!" She explained her enthusiasm. "She said you wouldn't remember."
The fact that Sara needed to prove their twelve-year-old classmate wrong reminded Steve of just how young she was, and made him feel terribly old. The fact that she was so excited by his small gift, reminded him of how just how desperately she needed someone to care about her, and it made him feel terribly sad. Unwilling to deflate her mood even one little bit, he just nodded and hurried along, gritting his teeth against the pain emanating from his sore hip.
"I don't want you to drive me home," Sara protested as Steve blocked her from leaving the classroom. He was determined that he would drive her home so she would get there at a reasonable hour and not have to walk from the bus stop to her house in the cold, and now, the freezing rain that had started while they were in class.
"Sara," Steve admonished her, hoping she would not be headstrong and try to push him out of the way because his backside was aching too much to allow him to resist her if she did, "you are not dressed warmly enough to wait on the bus and then wait on your transfer and then walk home from the bus stop. I know you don't really want to go home to the fighting and arguing," he said, finding it hard to believe that things were really as bad as she had described, "but it's below freezing tonight, and with the wind chill, it's like it's below zero. A city bus has no seatbelts, so if there's an accident, you're going to get tossed about. Please, Sara, humor me just for tonight."
She pouted a bit, then nodded. "But you are not walking me to the door, got it?"
"Oh, no ma'am. I wouldn't dream of it," he smiled, pleased to have gotten his way, and relieved that he wouldn't have to climb in and out of the truck on the icy ground.
Forty minutes later, she directed him to pull up outside a rundown duplex in Compton. Every light in the house was on, and Steve could hear the television blaring from the street. Over the noise of the TV, he could hear a baby crying, children fighting, and two adults screaming at each other.
Before he could say a word, Sara kissed him on the cheek and said, "Thanks for the ride, and for remembering my birthday."
She slipped out of the truck and trudged carefully across the icy street. The teddy bear peeking out of the compartment on her backpack seemed incompatible with the surrounding squalor.
Steve sat in his truck for several minutes, just staring at the house. He couldn't believe Sara lived like this. He found it hard to believe anyone lived in such circumstances, but he knew some people did. He just couldn't fathom how Sara could be so bright and cheerful and so delightful coming from a background like this.
Suddenly, he wanted to go rescue her, but, knowing that simply carrying her off was not the answer, he finally forced himself to put the truck in gear and head cautiously off to Barbecue Bob's, driving slowly on the icy roads.
Steve moaned softly. He'd lost count again, and despite the comfy cushioned bench, his butt was throbbing painfully. It was past midnight, and he was alone at Bob's, sitting in a booth, trying to total the day's receipts. He'd already called his dad and left a message telling him he'd be late tonight. As bad as the roads were, he might even spend the night in his office. His thoughts kept drifting to Sara and ways he might be able to help her. He wondered if anyone would notice if she never came home. Given the horrible family life she must have, it was no wonder she hadn't wanted him to drive her. She probably didn't want him to see how she lived. It was one thing to talk about a miserable, unhappy home to her friends in class, he supposed, but quite another to let them actually see it.
As he attacked his figures one more time, a sudden banging at the door startled him nearly out of his skin. Looking toward the door where he'd hung out the sign that said 'CLOSED', he saw Sara's tear stained face peering in at him, mascara tracing black lines down her cheeks. Soaking wet hair plastered her face, her left eye was blackened, and her lip and nose were bleeding.
"Oh, Steve!" she sobbed as he let her in. "Thank God you're here."
A little boy of about eight years old with white blond, downy hair and frightened blue eyes followed her in. He was carrying a squalling infant. A girl of about five with stiff brown braids hanging down past her shoulders clung to the sleeve of the boy's coat. She was carrying Sara's backpack and violin.
"Sara, sweetie, what happened?" he tried to speak soothingly.
"NOOO!" she screamed as he touched her elbow to guide her gently to a chair, and that was when he noticed she was holding her left arm protectively and it was bent at an unnatural angle just below the elbow.
"My mom left," she sobbed, and stopped talking as if that explained it all.
"Hey, buddy, I got a family to get home to, ya think I can get paid?"
Steve looked up to find that a rather surly looking man had come to the door after Sara and the children. Glancing outside, he saw the cab with the off-duty sign alight.
"Why didn't you take her to a hospital?" Steve asked in consternation. "Can't you see she's hurt?"
"She didn't ask me to take her to a hospital, mister. She asked me to bring her here. I don't get paid for taking people where they don't want to go."
Steve crossed the restaurant in a few quick, limping strides, grabbed a twenty from the cash drawer he'd been counting, stuffed it in the man's shirt pocket and shoved him toward the door saying disgustedly, "Keep the change and get out."
Steve turned back to his unexpected guests. Sara, who had been on the verge of hysteria moments ago, was now sniffling quietly and seemed to have regained some composure.
"Sara?" he said softly and winced as she started at the sound of his voice. Then she grimaced in pain as she jostled her broken arm.
"Sara," Steve tried again. "Will you be ok for a minute while I look after the little ones and get my truck? I need to get you to the hospital."
She nodded, and choked out two words, "Go, Steve."
Looking to the frightened children, he said, "My name is Steve, and I'm Sara's friend."
The little boy looked up at him with midnight blue eyes and said, "My name is Timmy. This is my sister Samantha," he added indicating the little girl. Rocking the squalling infant, he finished the introductions, "This is my baby brother Mitchell. His diaper's dirty. Sara said you would help us."
Nodding, Steve said, "I will, Timmy. I'm going to go get my truck and warm it up. Will you look after your sisters and brother until I get back?"
Timmy nodded back. "Yes, Sir," he said seriously. "I'll take care of them."
Steve gave Timmy a gentle squeeze on the shoulder, then left the restaurant at a run, slipping and sliding across the dangerously icy parking lot, praying he wouldn't fall like he had that morning. Moments later, he was pulling his truck up at the door, the heater, running full blast, had barely dented the cold, but he was afraid if he waited for the truck to warm up, Sara could slip into shock and he might lose her before he got to the hospital. First, he helped Sara in, then he lifted the children in beside her. Timmy held the baby the whole time and Samantha never said a word.
As he drove to Community General as fast as the treacherous roads would allow, he tried to gather more information. "Sara, tell me what happened, please?" he asked over the wailing of the baby.
"My mom and step-dad were fighting when I got home," she sobbed. "At first I thought it was nothing new, so I just went into my room and tried to study. Then I heard her say their marriage was over and she was going to leave me to look after the kids. She said I was eighteen and in the eyes of the law I was grown now and he was welcome to me."
She started shaking, and Steve slowed down even more so he could slip one arm around her and still safely drive.
Sara continued talking through chattering teeth and stifled sobs. Steve had to strain to hear her over baby Mitchell's screaming. "Eventually, they settled down, and I thought they were done for the night. Then he kicked my bedroom door open and threw me down on the bed. I tried to get away, and he hurt my arm."
"Sara, did he . . ."
"Yes! Oh, God, Steve, please don't say it in front of the kids. He said mom wouldn't anymore, and since she had left, I might as well be good for something, and . . . he did it."
She leaned into him, then and began to sob harder. For the rest of the drive to the hospital, the only sounds in the cab of the truck were Sara's weeping and the baby's crying.
"So," Jesse said cheerfully as he came into the lounge for a cup of coffee around one o'clock in the morning, "are you about to head home for the night?"
Yawning and stretching, Mark said, "No, I think I'm going to spend the night here again."
"Mark, you can't keep avoiding Steve. This isn't like you."
Mark frowned, and said, "I'm not avoiding him. We talked about an hour ago. The roads are bad with ice, and he's planning to stay the night at the restaurant. I gave him my word I would stay put here until the roads are better."
"Oh, I see. Is it really that bad out there?"
"Well, think about how many wrecks we've had," Mark told him. "It's been freezing rain since about nine o'clock, and the city's about shut down because of it. I have a feeling the only reason things have slowed down in the ER is that people are finally home for the night."
Jesse made a face as he drank down the last of his coffee. It was black and bitter and tasted bad enough that he almost wished he hadn't drunk it. He rinsed the cup and set it on the drain board to dry, then offered his mentor a hand up. As they stepped out of the Doctor's Lounge together, Jesse nudged Mark in the direction of the elevator and said, "Go on, get some rest. If we need you, I'll have you paged."
Mark made a face and said sarcastically, "Oh, thanks a lot," but as the elevator doors slid shut, he gave Jesse a genuine, albeit tired, smile and waved. Jesse waved back and headed toward the ER reception desk.
"Jesse!" Steve yelled as he burst through the door of the ER with Sara cradled in his arms. "I need help."
The well-oiled machinery of the ER snapped into action and suddenly there was a gurney available for Steve to gently lay Sara down on.
"The kids," she murmured, and Steve looked to the nurse.
"There are two children and a baby out in my truck. The baby needs a fresh diaper, can you look after them?" Barely sparing the time for a nod, the nurse headed out to collect the children and bring them to the waiting warmth of the hospital.
As Jesse gently examined Sara, Steve held her good hand and spoke to her soothingly.
"Sara, sweetie, this is my friend Jesse. He's a real good doctor, and he'll take care of you." He did not notice Jesse's raised eyebrow or the appraising look he gave Sara upon hearing Steve's tender words.
"Nurse, call Dr. Sloan for me."
"No!" Steve snapped. "Don't bother him. I'll talk to him later."
"Doctor?" the nurse questioned.
Not knowing his father was still at the hospital, Steve gave his friend a pleading look and a shake of the head. He really didn't want Mark driving those treacherous roads under any circumstances, but especially not when he thought his son needed him. Having just sent Mark up to his office for a sleep, it never occurred to Jesse that Steve would think he was at home.
Having enough to contend with in Sara's injuries, he decided he didn't need to agitate his friend right now, so he shook his head and told the nurse, "Leave it for now. I'll talk to him later."
"Steve?" Amanda's voice called, and Steve looked over his shoulder to see her lovely face frowning in concern. "I stepped out for some air, and saw your truck. Are you ok?"
"Amanda? Yes, I'm fine. Why are you still here?"
She sighed with relief, and as Steve went back to murmuring encouragement to Sara she explained, "I didn't beat the rain, and since the kids are fine at Mom's, I decided it would be safest to just stay here for the night." Moving over to put a hand on his shoulder, she looked down at Sara and asked softly, "Who's your friend?"
"Sara," Steve said, stroking her wet blond hair gently, "this is Dr. Amanda Bentley. She's another good friend of mine." He caressed the girl's hand softly, not noticing as Jesse cut him another questioning look, he said, "I need to go talk to Amanda a moment, sweetie. Will you be ok with Jesse?"
She nodded, and winced in pain. "Check on the kids while you're gone, will you?"
"I will, honey," Steve promised. "You just listen to Jesse and let him take care of you, ok?"
"Ok."
Out in the hall, Steve came directly to the point. "Her mother moved out, and her step-father raped her tonight, Amanda. She showed up at Bob's with her brother and sister and the baby while I was doing the books. I know her arm is broken, and it's hard to say what else. I'm going to contact her real father and send some uniforms over to pick up her step-dad. I need you to stay with her while Jesse does a rape kit."
"I can do that, Steve, but first of all, how old is she? If she is a minor, you know we need consent from the custodial parent."
"She turned eighteen today," Steve said bitterly.
"Oh, my," Amanda said, "poor kid."
Seeing the nurse he had sent out to the truck for the children, Steve flagged her down and asked about them.
"They're ok," she said. "Frightened, but unharmed. I changed the baby's diaper. He has a pretty bad rash. Now, they're all three in the lounge. The little one is sleeping, and Dr. Martin is playing with the other two, trying subtly to check them over. If you ask me, all three show signs of neglect and some abuse."
Steve nodded. "I'm not surprised. Could you see if they've eaten, and if not, could you get them something?"
"Ok, I'll do that," the nurse smiled, and then patted his arm saying, "Your friend will be ok."
Steve nodded his appreciation.
As the nurse left, Jesse came out to join them. "All right," he said, "her arm is broken and will require surgery to repair, but it will eventually be fine. She has a mild concussion, her nose, fortunately, is not broken, and it has stopped bleeding. I'm a little worried about her eye and would like to have an ophthalmologist look at it soon, and, um, Steve . . . "
"I know she was raped, Jess," Steve said, saving his friend the discomfort of having to say it. "I need to talk to her a few minutes, and then Amanda is going to sit with her while you do a rape kit."
"Steve," Jesse said, "I'll need parental permission to do that, and to treat her injuries."
"She's eighteen, Jess," Steve told him, his voice tight with anger, "and her mother just abandoned her. Her step-dad did this to her, and she hasn't seen her real father in years. You don't need her parents for anything."
As Steve pushed past Jesse on his way to the treatment room, he again missed the young doctor's troubled glance.
"So," Amanda said, turning to her friend, "any idea how they know each other?"
Jesse cut Amanda a very unhappy look and muttered, "I think she's his girlfriend."
"Oh, my God. Jesse, what is he doing with her? She's so young."
"Sara, honey, are you awake?"
Sara opened her eyes and turned her head toward him.
Steve moved over and placed a hand softly on her head. "How're you doing?"
"It hurts, Steve," she said, and her tears started to fall.
"I know, baby, but Jesse will take real good care of you, and when he comes back, he'll give you something for the pain if you ask him."
"O-Ok. How are the kids?"
"They're fine," he said. "Another one of my friends, another doctor, is playing with them now, and the baby is sleeping and has a fresh diaper." He dabbed at the tears that wouldn't stop and said, "Now, Sara, I need to ask you a few questions."
"About what?" She sounded scared.
"You don't have to tell me what happened, honey, I'll call for a female officer to take your statement," Steve reassured her, stroking her hair. He knew how difficult it was for rape victims to talk about the assault with the people closest to them, "I just need to know the name of your step-dad so he can be arrested and I need to contact your real dad so he can be here for you."
"My dad is named Richard Andersen. He lives in Burbank."
Steve grunted, trying to keep his opinion to himself. He knew homes for sale in that area started in the low $300,000's, and he couldn't understand why a man with that kind of money would let his daughter suffer such a horrible existence.
Sara gave him the phone number of her dad's house and then told him, "I won't press charges against my step-dad, Steve."
Her statement didn't surprise Steve. He knew it was common for rape and assault victims to want to sweep the incident under the carpet and try to forget it ever happened. He also know, more times than not, it didn't work.
"Sara, sweetie, listen to me," he soothed her. "Right now, you're scared and hurting and probably just want to pretend this never happened. I can understand that. Later, you might be angry, and you might want justice. It will be a lot easier to let us charge him now and then drop the charges if you decide not to go through with it, than it will be to get a conviction if you wait to press charges."
"You don't understand anything," Sara started to sob. "I have to go back to that house. What's he going to do to me if I have him arrested?"
Steve took a deep breath, trying to steady his temper. He was furious at the people who had put her in such a difficult situation, and didn't want Sara to get the idea he was mad at her. He knew abuse victims often felt trapped and believed any attempt at escape would be futile, so he knew he had to give her a way out.
"Honey, you're legally an adult now, you don't ever have to go back. You can stay with my dad and me at the beach until you find somewhere to go."
"Oh, yeah?" she suddenly shouted at him, and he was surprised by her anger. "And just who will look after Timmy, Samantha, and Mitchell if I do that? Or should I just abandon them like my mother did me?"
Of course, the children, he had forgotten all about the children, and he felt like an idiot. At least now, he knew what the real problem was, and he could try to resolve it.
"Sweetheart, I know people who will take care of them. You told them I would help you. Trust me, baby, let me help."
"But Steve . . ."
"Sara, I can find people to look after them and you, and I can put your step-dad in jail so you never have to see him again."
She hesitated a bit and then said, "My step-dad is Mitch Reeder. Mom named my baby brother after him."
"Ok, sweetheart, we'll get him."
He turned leave, intent on tending to business, but she called him back. "Steve, please make sure he goes to jail. He'll kill me if he gets out."
Steve went over to her, and took her good hand in his, "I will, honey, it's my job, and I'm good at it. I've been doing it since before you were born."
She nodded, trusting his words, and he leaned over to drop a kiss on her forehead. The soft sound of Jesse clearing his throat pulled him away, and he saw that Amanda and another young woman were with him and they were ready to do the rape kit.
Stroking Sara's hair, Steve explained, "Sara, Jesse's going to do a special examination now called a rape kit. It's to make sure you haven't been physically injured and to gather evidence in case you decide to go through with charging your . . ." Now that the monster had a name, Steve found he couldn't call him her step-dad. "In case you want to follow up the charges against Mitch."
"W-Will it hurt?" Sara asked plaintively.
Stepping forward, Jesse tried hard to reassure her. "It might be a little uncomfortable, Sara, but it shouldn't hurt. If it does, all you have to do is tell me, and I'll give you something to make you more comfortable."
"Ok."
"Ok, Sara," Steve crooned, "that's a brave girl. Now, Amanda is going to sit with you while I call your dad and send some men over to pick up Mitch."
As he stepped away, Sara grabbed his hand, and begged, "Please, Steve, don't leave me."
Steve froze in his tracks, lost for words and desperate to get away, knowing he could never hold onto his emotions through the whole exam. He shot Amanda an anxious look, and she came over to take Sara's hand. To his credit, Steve didn't run out immediately. He would wait until Sara told him he could go.
"Sara," Amanda said in that gentle cajoling tone that almost always got Mark, Steve, and Jesse to do what she asked, "I've had a few friends who have been through this sort of thing before. From talking to them, I know that you don't want Steve here." She started to stroke the young woman's brow, trying to establish contact and, along with it, trust.
"I know you think you do," Amanda continued as Sara tried to protest, "but if he stays here now, tomorrow, when the shock has worn off and reality sets in, when you really need him, you won't be able to face him knowing he's seen this. Let me stay with you for now so Steve can make his calls, then, when you're in a room, Steve can come sit by you until your dad gets here, ok?"
Sara stared at Steve for several seconds, wanting to argue, but finally, she closed her eyes and nodded, conceding to Amanda's greater experience. Steve gave her one last quick kiss on the forehead, and said, "I'll see you again as soon as you are in your room, sweetie. Until then, Jesse and Amanda will look after you."
Sara nodded, and Steve left. The last thing he heard was Jesse saying, "Ok, Sara, I'll give you something for the pain as soon as the phlebotomist draws some blood. I'm just going to roll up your sleeve here . . . "
"Oh, yeah?" Steve said into the phone. "Serves the bastard right. Thanks for calling. I'll be waiting for him."
After hanging up the phone at the nurse's station, Steve went over to the security guard and indicated to him the door of Sara's exam room. Jesse and Amanda were still with her, but they would be finishing up soon, and then she would be off to surgery to set her broken arm.
"The man who assaulted the girl in that room," he told the guard, "is being brought in by two LAPD officers to be stitched up. It seems in trying to evade arrest, he slipped on the ice and slid into a half-full barrel of empty beer bottles. He knocked it over, and some of them broke, cutting him up pretty bad."
The guard nodded to indicate his understanding.
"The young lady has been severely traumatized, and shouldn't be upset anymore than she has been already. So, if she should even hear his voice, I want you to shoot him, got it?"
"Yes, Sir!" the guard said sharply, then, confused, he asked, "Do you mean that?"
Steve seemed to reconsider his orders for a moment, then looked at the young man and deadpanned, "Yes, but use your discretion, I have enough of a backlog as it is."
The guard frowned, then smiled and said, "Don't worry, Sir, I'll take care of it."
Steve nodded, and patted the guard on the shoulder. "Good man," he said. Then he went over to the exam room and knocked softly on the door. When the nurse opened it a crack, he heard Sara softly crying and Amanda gently shushing her.
"I need to speak to Dr. Travis for just a moment."
The nurse nodded and went back in the room. A few seconds later, Jesse came out. After explaining the situation with Mitch Reeder, he asked, "Is there any way you can have her out of here before he arrives? She just doesn't need to see him."
"We'll be done in about five minutes," Jesse said. "Then we'll be taking her up to OR to take care of her arm. If you can stall him until then, they should completely miss each other."
"Ok, I'll do that." Squeezing his friend's shoulder, he added, "Thanks, Jess, this means a lot to me. I really care about Sara, y'know?"
"Yeah, I know," Jesse said flatly, and closed the door in Steve's face.
If Steve didn't know better, he might have thought his friend was mad at him, but he realized that doctors, like homicide detectives, had to shut down their emotions at times in order to do their jobs. Knowing Jesse would be as sickened as he was by what Mitch Reeder had done to Sara, he naturally assumed this was one of those times.
As he walked out to the ER entrance, he flipped open his cell phone, scrolled down to a number, and pressed dial. On the fifth ring, his call was answered in a language that wasn't English.
"Yoon MinJe?" Steve inquired, not sure who else lived in MinJe's house. He noticed as he waited for the groggy reply that the air seemed warmer now and water was dripping from the roof over the ambulance parking area. By morning, things would probably be wet, but back to normal.
"This is MinJe," the voice answered, irritably.
"MinJe, this is Steve Sloan," he said, pacing back and forth in front of the ER doors. "I'm sorry to call you so late or early or whatever you want to call it, but Sara has been hurt, and you are the only other person I know who would care. I'm at the Emergency Room with her now."
"What hospital, Steve?" Steve could hear the grunts and groans of an old man getting up much too early in the morning. "What happened?"
Just then, Steve saw a black and white pull into the drive. "We're at Community General. I'll fill you in when you get here. Right now, I have something I need to deal with."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned off the phone and approached the black and white.
"Mitchell Reeder, you are under arrest for assault and battery, aggravated assault, and the rape of Sara Andersen." The man was a bloody mess, staggering drunk, and reeking of cheap liquor.
"You have the right to remain silent. If you give up the right to remain silent, any thing you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult with an attorney and to have an attorney present during question . . ."
"Yeah, yeah, we've been through it once already."
"I know," Steve said, "but we're going through it again so I know it was done properly." As he spoke, Steve gave the uniformed officers a look that suggested they would be still and accept his criticism if they didn't want to be walking a beat by sunrise.
As he finished the Miranda rights, he told the officers, "Once he has been treated and is properly admitted and under guard in the secure wing, I want you both to report to me in the OR waiting room so I can explain a few things."
Steve felt bad saying what he did, but he had to make it look like further criticism of the officers, otherwise, a halfway clever attorney could twist it to look like the police were withholding medical treatment from a prisoner, and his little gambit to spare Sara further trauma could end up costing the city millions of dollars. To their credit, both men nodded, and to Steve's credit, they were more curiously worried about why the respected lieutenant was being so hard on them than they were offended that he had questioned their procedure.
As Mitch Reeder was being led away, a green SUV screeched to a stop behind the black and white and a man leaped out screaming, "Reeder, you son of a bitch, if you've hurt my daughter, I'll break your neck!"
That would be Richard Andersen, I suppose. Steve stepped smoothly toward the man who was now charging the ER doors in pursuit of Mitch Reeder. He grabbed Andersen around the waist, and using his superior strength and leverage, deftly spun him around, and pushed him against the police car.
"Mr. Andersen, calm down. The last thing Sara needs is for you to go to jail, too, for assaulting Reeder." Steve gasped slightly as the sore muscles in his behind latently protested the sudden demand he had put on them in turning Andersen away from the ER.
Andersen banged his fists on the roof of the black and white and fought back a bit, and Steve suppressed a moan of pain as he struggled to keep his footing on the icy blacktop while he tried to subdue the upset man.
"She's ok, Sir," Steve said soothingly, "or she will be, but she's going to need you when she comes out of surgery, so you need to get control of yourself."
Andersen went still all over and echoed back, "Surgery?"
"Yes, Sir, she has a broken arm, and they need to operate to set it properly." Steve let him go and stepped back. He noticed the man sagged against the police car. Richard Andersen was distraught, a frantic father, certainly not the image of the disinterested, too-busy-to-be-bothered corporate man Steve had been carrying in his head the past week.
"H-How did you know my name?"
"Steve Sloan," he said, showing the man his badge and ID. "I'm a friend of Sara's and I'm the one who called you. She's already been taken to surgery. We can talk in the OR waiting room."
Andersen nodded, and let Steve guide him gently to into the building and back the hall to the elevator.
"I tried to get custody three times, but she always told the family court judge she wanted to stay with her mother. Actually, she said she needed to stay with her," Richard Andersen rambled, trying to explain his distant relationship with his daughter to Steve and MinJe.
"I never understood that. Sometimes my ex-wife drank too much, but she's not an alcoholic, and she's not an invalid. I know she and Reeder fight, but Latasha can defend herself, she is not a fragile woman. She never looked after Sara all that well, and I know she didn't need Sara to look after her."
"Sara looks after us," Timmy piped up.
He and Samantha were playing quietly on the floor by the windows in the waiting room under the watchful eyes of Steve, MinJe, and Richard Andersen. Baby Mitchell had been sleeping peacefully in an armchair until he'd woken wet and crying, and now, he was cooing and babbling in MinJe's arms, dry and happy because the old man had changed him.
Alex, knowing a call to a social worker would have the children removed to emergency foster care before their sister was out of surgery, had convinced a senior doctor to have them admitted for 'testing'. The elderly physician, a pediatrician, knew a sympathetic social worker who would allow them time to find a suitable place for the children before they got sucked into the system.
"Sara takes good care of you, does she?" Steve asked, beginning to fit the pieces together.
Samantha nodded in her quiet, wide-eyed way, and Timmy explained. "She makes us breakfast and helps us dress for school and helps us with homework and washes and mends our clothes, and last summer, when I found a pigeon with a broken wing, she helped me take care of it until my dad broke its neck because he didn't want no flying rats in the house."
When the children were once again absorbed in their play, Steve turned to Sara's father. "Mr. Andersen, do you think she might have needed to stay for them?"
"She never said that, Lieutenant, but she loves them, and I think she'd sooner die than see them hurt." Andersen was starting to choke up, and he buried his face in his hands for a moment. When he looked up again, he was red-eyed, but in control.
"My new wife Margaret and I live well, and we're happily married. I didn't make the kind of mistakes I did with Tasha. I made sure we were both ready and both wanted the same things before I asked her to marry me. I have a good, secure job, now, and we have a big house, but no children to make it a home. If that were all it would take to get Sara to come live with me, I would have happily taken them in, too. I'm sure it would have been easy, because Tasha and Mitch never wanted to raise kids together."
Without warning, MinJe turned to Steve and handed him the baby. Little Mitchell cried at first, a bit startled by his change in circumstances, but Steve started making faces at him, and he began to laugh.
"I will require the use of a telephone," MinJe said.
Too confused to question, Steve just nodded at the one on the wall of the waiting room and said, "Dial nine to get an outside line, then just dial the number." Then he looked at the clock on the wall and wondered who MinJe could be calling at four in the morning.
As he and Richard Andersen sat quietly worrying about Sara, MinJe had an animated telephone conversation with someone who was apparently, and justifiably, annoyed at being awoken so early. He mentioned Sara's name several times. Steve was disappointed that the conversation was in Korean, because he was itching with curiosity to know who the other person was.
He had just gone back to making faces at the baby when he distinctly heard MinJe say in English, "I am your father! You should do as I say!"
Steve grinned so widely it made the baby laugh. He may not have known the words, but he knew the story by heart. Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one.
"Thank you. You are a good son."
He gave in right on cue, just like I do, every time.
MinJe came back and joined them. Steve noticed he did not take back the baby. "My son can help. He is a family court judge. He will be here within the hour."
The three men sat in silence, waiting for word on Sara's condition, as the children played and the baby alternately slept and laughed at Steve's funny faces. Steve even slept lightly for a while, and felt incredibly guilty when he awoke with a start and woke the baby. Waking him is better than dropping him, but I'm sure he knows something is really wrong, and he needs his sleep as much as I do. When Steve's mouth opened in an exaggerated yawn, the baby let his mouth gape open, too, in miniature imitation, then the infant giggled and grinned when Steve laughed at him and started making faces again.
"Lieutenant," a voice called softly, making him blush in embarrassment to wonder how long the speaker had been watching him, "Reeder is in the secure wing under guard, and we are reporting as ordered."
MinJe was dozing in his seat, so Steve handed the baby off to Richard Andersen and went to speak with the officers in the hall.
" . . . so you see, I needed to review the charges to give them time to move her," Steve was explaining to the officers. "It wasn't a criticism of you, but I couldn't appear to be preventing him from receiving treatment."
"Hey, it's ok, Lieutenant," the older officer said.
"Yes, Sir," his partner added. "We know enough about you to trust your judgment."
Steve smiled, and said, "Thanks, Officers," he looked at their badges, "Miles and Grant. I'll remember this. If you ever need a good word, give me a shout and I'll see what I can do."
"Yes, Sir," Miles said.
"Thank you, Sir," Grant added.
As the two officers were walking away, Steve saw a distinguished-looking Asian gentleman about his own age approaching. "Judge Yoon?" he said as the man drew closer.
"Yes, that's me," he said, extending his hand, "and you are?"
"Steve Sloan. Your father's just down the hall along with Sara's dad."
MinJe and his son, Judge Michael Yoon, had just finished introductions when Richard Andersen stopped in mid sentence to look anxiously at the door. Steve shifted in his seat, gritting his teeth against the complaints from his sore rump to see what had caught the man's attention. He saw Jesse standing in the doorway, wearing his look of sympathetic, professional concern that was so convincing on such a youthful face only because it was genuine.
After making the introductions, Jesse sat down to discuss Sara's condition with her father, and all talk of legal procedure and custody agreements was abandoned. Under normal circumstances, Jesse would have preferred to protect his patient's privacy, but from what he had gathered, every one who ever gave a damn about the young woman was in this room now, and with so few people to support her, they all needed to know how she was faring.
"Sara's arm will be fine. There was minimal nerve damage, and the bones were easily set. It will take a few weeks, but it will heal perfectly."
"Oh, thank God," Andersen whispered, and Jesse noted Steve breathing a big sigh of relief as well.
"Mr. Andersen," Jesse continued, once the man had collected himself, "while her arm was the worst of her physical injuries, she . . . well, she was . . ."
"Lieutenant Sloan told me what that bastard did to her, doctor. I know no operation can heal all her injuries. I'll be there for her. When can I see her?"
Jesse smiled, pleasantly surprised at the good feeling he was getting about Sara's father. After the way Steve had talked about Sara's parents earlier, he hadn't expected the man to care much about his daughter's condition. His smile quickly turned to a frown as he wondered why Steve would slander the man in such a fashion.
"Uh, she'll be moved to a room soon. The floor nurse will call you when she's settled." Tapping Steve on the elbow, he asked, "Can I talk to you a minute, about another matter?"
Steve nodded.
"Mr. Andersen," Steve said, "when you talk to Sara, tell her I'll stop by tomorrow." He looked at his watch, it was four thirty. "Well, later today, I guess, if she's up for visitors."
Richard Andersen nodded. Steve shook his hand again, and excusing himself, followed his friend out of the waiting room and down the hall. At the end of the hall, Jesse pulled him into the stairwell, and all his good advice forgotten, he shoved his friend against the wall as he had done to Mark earlier. Steve grunted in surprise and a little pain as his hip had tightened up while he was sitting and was now protesting the rough treatment.
"Steve Sloan, what in the hell are you doing with that little girl?" So much for getting him to open up about his feelings. Travis, you're an idiot.
"What do you mean, Jesse?" Steve said, shoving him away. "Sara's a friend."
Oh, man, can you salvage this situation?
"Are you sure she's just a friend, Steve?"
"Yeah. I think I know who my friends are, don't I?"
Jesse wasn't at all comfortable with the way Steve was looking at him. He didn't want to hurt his friend, but he didn't want to get hurt either.
"Jesse, what are you implying?"
Might as well confront him. He could hit you, but he'd never hurt you, would he?
"Steve, are you sure you and Sara aren't more than just friends? Are you sure the two of you aren't a couple?"
There was a long silence, then Steve laughed in disbelief. "Man, Jess, you had me going there for a minute."
Jess isn't smiling. Why isn't he smiling?
"It was a joke, right?"
When Jesse shook his head no, Steve suddenly felt ill.
"My God, Jess! That's sick. I'm almost thirty years older than Sara. She's just a child! I'm old enough to be her father. What you're suggesting, it's . . . it's perverted!"
"Steve, I only ask because I'm worried about you. Your dad was at the community college yesterday, Thursday night, to lecture an advanced nursing class. He saw you and Sara together."
Steve's expression shut down completely, and he said, "What did he see?"
Jesse fought against his better judgment as he struggled not to duck while telling Steve what Mark had seen. "He said he saw the two of you kissing. He saw a lover's quarrel, and he saw you make up. Oh, and he saw her feeding you."
Steve turned quickly away. The sudden motion startled Jesse, and while he didn't duck he did flinch. When Steve turned back to face him, he ducked.
Clenching his fists and his jaw, Steve struggled not to whack Jesse a good one. He couldn't ever remember being so angry. Maybe his best friend didn't realize he wouldn't dream of taking advantage of an attractive girl like Sara, but surely, his own father should know better. He felt utterly betrayed.
"For the record, Dr. Travis," his emphasis on the title made Jesse flinch, "Sara Andersen and I are, have always been, and will always be, just friends. There is an innocent explanation for everything my father saw Thursday night, but under the circumstances, I am not inclined to explain. Perhaps later, we can discuss this more completely, but until the two of you can get your minds out of the gutter, leave Sara and me alone. Thank you so much for your concern."
Without another word, Steve turned and jogged down the steps, too angry to feel the soreness in his rear. As he burst out the stairwell exit door onto the ice-covered landing, he slipped, and had to cling to the rail to keep from falling as his feet shot out from under him. Fortunately, he didn't land on his behind again, but when his pant leg slid up and his calf scraped across the rough edge of the top step, now encrusted with ice and an ineffectual layer of rock salt, he swore aloud, cutting loose with a stream of curses that would certainly have earned him a gentle admonishment from his father. As he carefully made his way across the parking lot to his truck, the irony of the situation struck him and he laughed sarcastically.
Who in the hell cares about a little profanity when, according to Jesse, he thinks I'm a virtual pedophile now.
As he got into his truck, the sense of betrayal came back anew, and he let out the anger by slamming the truck into reverse and stomping on the gas. The tires spun until they bit through the ice, and when they finally found traction, Steve spun the wheel, expertly backing the truck out of the parking spot. Braking proved to be an unexpected problem though, and when he slid backwards into the shrubbery growing at the edge of the lot, Steve cursed himself, his truck, the ice, the bushes, Jesse Travis, and, almost, his father.
Knowing he needed to calm down if he hoped to get home in one piece, Steve cut off the engine and sat there breathing deeply for several moments. When that didn't feel like it was working, he turned the key to bring up the power again and popped a CD in the player and poked at the buttons until he found 'The First Noel.' As the CD played, he tried to pick out the violin part. His eyes drifted shut as he got lost in the music, and, though he wasn't exactly playing the 'air violin', one hand unconsciously mimed working the frets while the other waved back and forth in the air in time with the strokes he would use with his bow.
By the time the tune had ended, Steve's mind had cleared and his anger had dissipated. It had all been a simple misunderstanding, and he was touched that his dad and Jesse cared so much that they would risk broaching such a difficult topic as his love life to help him when they thought he was in trouble. He probably wouldn't have even blown up at Jess if it hadn't been such a long, stressful day already. In the mood for some more cheerful music, he slipped out the Christmas Classics CD and put in Kids Holiday Favorites. He was hoping to be able to play a couple tunes especially for CJ and Dion by Christmas Eve.
As he pulled carefully out of the lot, Steve started working out what he would say to ease his father's worries without giving away his Christmas surprise. Then he would think about mending fences with Jesse. He was sure glad he hadn't hit Jess. He didn't mind eating a little crow to make up for his harsh words, but to have actually struck the smaller man would have been unforgivable.
As he headed toward PCH, Steve noticed that the most frequently used streets, though wet, were no longer slick and treacherous with ice. The friction of constant traffic and the heat of thousands of engines had apparently warmed the road and melted the ice away. As the CD began to play 'Jingle Bells,' he nudged his truck into a higher gear and gave it a little more gas.
As the truck picked up speed, Steve's spirits rose further still. Tonight was Jesse's last nightshift at the hospital for a while. Tomorrow, he would be free to help out at Bob's, and Steve wouldn't have to scramble so hard to cover his shifts and get to practice and class on time. Also, with Jess there to help close at the end of the night, they would both get out of there faster, because one of them could make a new batch of sauce and finish off the last of the cleanup while the other took inventory, wrote out orders for supplies, and counted the receipts.
The receipts. Steve looked at his watch. It was five in the morning, still dark and wet, but morning nonetheless. At least he had the day off. Might as well make a little detour and take care of the deposits. Dad will have breakfast ready about the time I get home, then it's time for a shower and some sleep. At the next intersection, Steve signaled and turned the truck toward Bob's.
By the time he pulled into the restaurant parking lot, Steve was humming along with Burl Ives as he sang 'Frosty the Snowman,' and he suddenly wondered if Sara had ever seen snow. The thought of what had happened to her last night shattered his mood and left him somber. Distracted, he pulled into his parking space too quickly and winced slightly as his beloved truck slid to a stop and the front tires bounced against the curb. The parking area had seen less traffic than the main roads and was still icy. Gently, he backed off a little.
He felt bad about leaving the hospital without speaking to Sara. While it was true, her father had been there, she would probably be expecting to see him as well when she woke up, and he couldn't help but feel he had let her down. He knew he had been so angry with Jesse that he would have only upset her had he stayed, but he felt guilty nonetheless. He wanted to make it up to her somehow.
As Burl Ives sang, "Bumpity-Bump-Bump! Bumpity-Bump-Bump! Look at Frosty go! Bumpity-Bump-Bump! Bumpity-Bump-Bump! Over the hills of snow!" a grin spread across Steve's face. Once a year, the Police Athletic League sponsored a weekend trip to Big Bear for at-risk kids. Steve usually went with a group from Brendan Kelley's Never Say Die gym. Maybe, if Sara were feeling better, he'd invite her to go along. Even if she didn't want to ski, there were plenty of things to do at the lodge. She could play video games in the arcade, or go for a hike on one of the well-maintained winter trails. Sometimes, a group of kids even got a counselor to chaperone them into town for some shopping and a trip to the bowling alley or the movies. There was usually at least one group of six- to eight-year-olds, so Timmy and Samantha could probably come, too.
Feeling more cheerful by the minute, Steve stepped out of the truck, and barely caught himself as he slipped on a patch of ice. Now his hip and his leg hurt, and he was feeling the wear and tear of the past twenty-four hours in every muscle and joint of his body. He made his way carefully to the door and let himself into the restaurant.
By five thirty, Steve was groaning in frustration as he realized he hadn't miscounted twice. He had simply forgotten to account for the twenty dollars he had paid Sara's cab driver. He knew he didn't have the cash on him, so he wrote an IOU on a convenient napkin and slipped it into the cash drawer. Then he put the money into the cash bag along with a completed deposit slip.
After he put the cash drawer back in the register, he paused a moment by the phone. He just wanted to go home as soon as possible and get some rest, but for some reason, he felt compelled to call Jesse and apologize. His hand lingered over the receiver a moment as he wondered how his friend would receive his call. Maybe he should give Jesse a day or so to cool down. He had every right to be angry about Steve's overreaction to his friendly concern. He hesitated a moment more, then, shaking his head, he picked up the receiver and placed the call. For some reason, he felt, the sooner he put things right between himself and his best friend, the better.
"Community General Hospital," the nasally operator's voice said.
"Dr. Jesse Travis, please. Tell him it's Steve Sloan, and it's important."
After a moment or two on hold, Jesse's slightly frantic voice came on the line.
"Steve! Are you ok?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, Jess." Steve was puzzled. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, that is, uh, you were just so angry when you left, I, uh . . ."
"You were worried, weren't you?"
"Yeah, I was."
Steve chuckled. "Thank you for your concern," he said, sincerely this time, "but I am all right." He heard a big sigh.
"Uh, listen, Steve," Jesse began, "what I said about Sara . . . "
"No, Jess, wait a second. You listen to me first."
"Steve, I just think . . . "
"Jesse, will you shut up and let me talk, please?"
"Ok, Steve, shoot."
"First of all, I really do appreciate your concern and Dad's. Not everyone has someone who cares enough to look out for them when they seem to be in trouble."
"You know, that's all it is, Steve, we care, and we're worried."
"I know, and I'm sorry I got so angry."
"Steve, maybe you need to talk to your dad about Sara . . . "
"I will, Jess, but right now I need to talk to you," he insisted. "Sara and I are just friends. Now that I think about it, I can imagine how things must have looked to my dad the other night, but Jess, I promise you, it was all completely innocent."
"Steve, your dad said he saw you kissing."
"Ok, yes. She told me in so many words that she has a crush on me. I think she was just testing me to see what I'd do."
"What did you do, Steve?"
Jesse sounded so serious, for a moment Steve's anger flared again, but he quashed it down, knowing his friend was just worried. "I told her I was old enough to be her father and that it would never work."
Steve heard another relieved sigh and had to smile. Even over the phone, he could read Jesse's emotions like a book, or maybe a billboard.
"So," Jesse asked, trying to sound casual, "how do you two know each other?"
"Jess," Steve asked, "do you trust me?"
"Well, yeah," Jesse said, as if the answer should be obvious, which, in reality it was.
"Ok, then trust me when I tell you that Sara and I are just friends. That's it," then, knowing Jesse would need more explanation, and would feel awkward asking, he added, "I can't tell you how we met, or why I was at the community college, because it is all part of something extra special I want to do for Dad for Christmas. If I tell him anything about how Sara and I met, he will know right away what's up, and my Christmas present to him will be ruined. Do you understand?"
"Yeah, I guess," Jesse said, not sounding convinced.
"Good. Now, how is Sara?"
Jesse was suddenly back in professional mode. "She is resting comfortably. She woke up for a little while, and was very happy to see her dad. Calling him was the right thing to do. She asked about you, too, but when we explained that you had urgent business to attend to, she just made us promise you'd be allowed to see her later. She asked for the bear you bought her, and once she had it, she went right off to sleep again. You know, if you tell me how you met her, I'll keep it a secret."
Steve laughed aloud then. "No offense, Jess, but you keep secrets like a sieve holds water. How are Timmy, Samantha, and Mitchell?"
"They're fine. Judge Yoon has already issued a temporary custody order placing them with Sara's dad until Mitch Reeder's arraignment."
"Wow, that was fast!"
"Yeah. He said he was 'shoving it through a loophole backwards' at his father's request. By the way, how'd you meet MinJe?"
"The same way I met Sara," Steve said patiently, "and no, I am not telling you."
"But, Steve!"
"No, Jess," Steve said, using a warning tone, "I'm not telling you, and don't even hint to my dad that it has something to do with Christmas. If you ruin this surprise, I will hurt you."
"Well, what if he asks me?"
Steve considered that a moment. "Tell him I have convinced you that everything is innocent between Sara and me . . . I have convinced you, haven't I?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah, you have."
"Good. And tell him if he has other questions he needs to ask me, ok?"
"Ok, but you know it's going to drive me nuts not knowing what you're up to."
Steve laughed evilly, "I know." A pause, then, "Uh, Jess? We are ok, now, aren't we?"
The warmth in Jesse's voice answered his question even better than the words. "You're my best friend, Steve. We're always ok."
This time, Steve sighed with relief. "Ok. I'm going to drop off the receipts from Bob's on the way home. Talk to you later, and thanks, Jess."
"Don't mention it. See ya."
His heart lighter after he hung up, Steve did one last check of the restaurant to make sure everything was ready to go when Bob's opened for business again in six hours, then he headed out to his truck. This time, he remembered the ice, and walked more carefully.
The next song on the CD was 'Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer,' which Steve abhorred, so he hit the skip button, and started singing along with 'Santa Claus Is Coming to Town' instead. He was tired, so he put the window down slightly to circulate some fresh air into the cab of the truck, and he turned up the music to help him stay awake. Citizens' Bank was coming up on the left, and then he was home free, off to breakfast with his dad and a good long sleep.
He and Jesse had particularly decided to keep their business accounts with Citizens' because the bank had branches with night deposits along each of their routes home as well as on the way to the precinct and the hospital. The four strategic locations ensured that neither of them would ever have to carry the night's take far or hold onto it for long. Jesse liked the arrangement because he didn't like taking responsibility for that much cash, and Steve was pleased because the sooner they deposited the money, the less risk they had of the restaurant being robbed.
By the time he slowed down for the turn into the bank's lot, Steve was feeling quite pleased with himself, not only for his shrewd business sense in choosing a bank with so many convenient locations, but also for his inspired idea to surprise Sara with a ski trip to Big Bear. He was delighted that he had smoothed things over with Jesse, thrilled that MinJe's son had worked out something to help Sara, Timmy, Samantha, and little Mitchell, and looking forward to having breakfast with his dad. He knew, that though it would be difficult to quell Mark's curiosity about what he was doing on the community college campus, now that he wasn't so angry, he could easily calm his father's concerns. All in all, his mood was soaring, despite his fatigue.
Then everything went to hell.
The main entrance to the bank's parking lot was a long, smoothly paved driveway that sloped steeply away from the road. The bank was far out of town, it had been closed for the day when the freezing rain had started last night, and most of its nighttime depositors had decided to wait for better roads before venturing into the treacherous parking lot. Steve was a good driver. For a brief time, he had driven stock cars for a living, and the LAPD had trained him in pursuit driving, but nothing in his experience had prepared the life-long California beach boy for the slick sheet of ice he hit when he turned into the lot.
As soon as the back wheels of the truck hit the mirror-polished surface of ice, it started to fishtail. It was a rear-wheel-drive vehicle, and with no weight in the empty truck bed, there was no traction from the tires. With the truck quickly picking up speed as it slalomed down the hill, Steve tried frantically to straighten its path, but he overcorrected, and held his breath as the vehicle slipped sideways and tipped up on two wheels momentarily. The CD was blaring 'All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth.' When the truck miraculously righted itself, he began to breathe again and continued to steer desperately down the slippery slope.
Seconds felt like ages as he fought to control his descent, and suddenly, he spotted a large pothole directly in his path at the bottom of the driveway. He knew at the rate he was traveling, hitting the obstacle could cause a blowout of disastrous consequences. Turning right to the drive through was out of the question. He didn't have enough control over his direction to be sure he would actually get through one of the lanes, and there was too much concrete, glass, and electricity for him to feel comfortable crashing the truck to stop his momentum.
With the pothole looming ever larger and the truck still gaining speed, at the last moment, Steve turned the wheel hard to the left. The truck swung about one hundred and eighty degrees and continued sliding, backwards now, for a few more feet, before, quite unexpectedly, the tires bit the blacktop and shot the vehicle forward. Startled, Steve shouted, and then yelled in frustration at his total loss of control as he bounced up over the curb and across the sidewalk to crash into a tall lamppost with an echoing 'bong.'
Suddenly, the truck was still. With a shaking hand, Steve reached up and cut the ignition. The CD player shut down and the music stopped. Glancing down at the floor on the passenger side, he saw that his mother's violin, which had been living under the seat since he'd left class, had survived the ordeal none the worse for wear. He closed his eyes, thankful to still be in one piece, and took a few deep breaths to steady his shattered nerves.
Finally settled and ready to go make his deposit, he opened his eyes to see the heavy lamppost come crashing down on top of him.