Childress, Texas

August 1, 2000

5:17 a.m.

Jack slowly got out of his black F-150 (plaid shirt in hand) and slammed the door behind him. He left his luggage in the back of the truck, didn't feel like messing with it at the moment, though he did grab Ennis' shirt, wouldn't have wanted to leave that behind.

He dragged his exhausted body up the cement steps to the laundry room door. He turned the handle, found that it was locked, and cursed under his breath. After fishing his house key out from his pant's pocket and fumbling to get it securely in the lock, he opened the door. He hesitated before stepping inside, took a deep breath, then walked into the house he felt was no longer his.

The lights were off, but he hadn't expected anything less; it was early morning and Lureen usually didn't get up until seven, didn't have to be at the office till 9 or so. He shrugged and shuffled into the kitchen, barely able to lift his feet off the ground. He was suddenly reminded of the days when Lureen was always getting onto Bobby about picking his feet up when he walked. Jack chuckled tiredly to himself.

"Can remember the days when my mama used ta get onta me 'bout shufflin' round too. Guess it's a Twist boy family trait."

Jack's chuckles were cut off immediately when thoughts of Twist family traits led him back to Eliza. Jack winced and pushed his worries away, trying to tell himself that nothing bad had happened during the night, that she was still in her hospital bed, that she wasn't dead yet.

"Jesus, Jack. Calm down. Nothin' you can do 'bout it right now, so jest relax, okay?"

He told himself he just needed to get some sleep, a little shut eye, and then he could get up in the morning, go see Eliza who was still alive! But the thought of sleep also stopped him in his tracks. Jack stood aimlessly in the living room, starring down the hall at the closed door of bedroom him and Lureen had always shared. He knew she was in there, all set for the night, masked, frosted, curled, and all sorts of shit, and he just didn't have the desire or the energy to go lay in bed with her. He looked down at the plaid shirt in his hand.

"Somethin' 'bout it seems wrong, anyhow."
Jack shook his head. He couldn't do it. Instead, he felt his way to one of the guest rooms they had at the opposite end of their large ranch house and sprawled out on top of the bed the minute he was in the door, not bothering to pull down the sheets, never releasing the shirt from his hand.

Jack was so exhausted he wasn't sure he could sleep. He blinked.

"Yer jest makin' all kinds a' sense this mornin'."

He chuckled to himself. Honest to God, his body was so tired; he couldn't fall asleep. He flipped over on his back and stared at the ceiling. Part of it might have been the fact that he'd gotten used to sleeping on the ground for a week—sleeping in a bed seemed slightly foreign.

"You mean sleepin' without Ennis seems foreign."

Well that too. Jack turned his head to the window and looked out side at the fading moon in the brightening sky, looked out to the horizon where he could see the first light from the sun, that hazy sort of light that fills the sky right before the sun pokes its head up from the ground. Jack smiled. Up in Riverton Ennis would still be sleeping, being able to sleep past five with a week of vacation left. He'd be alone in his bed, curled on his right side the way he liked, his shirt off, his face the mask of peace, snoring softly.

Jack felt a ball of emotion form in the back of his throat and he swallowed hard, forced it back down to where it came. He brought the shirt up under his head and rested his face against it like a pillow.

"Like you said before, there's nothin' you could a' done but leave. You jest did what ya had ta do, and that's that."

But it still didn't change the fact that he ached deep inside his chest; that his lungs hurt, that his back hurt, that his bad hip and knee hurt—everything seemed to hurt for Ennis. What he would have given to spend that extra week with Ennis, just like the "old times"; drinking, talking, fucking—fantastic.

Jack rolled back onto his stomach, face completely in the shirt, Ennis' smell enveloping him, and then covered his head with a pillow. He felt horrible.

The whole way back to Childress he hadn't listened to the radio at all, only the sound of the wind blowing against his truck, the sporadic rain, and the occasional whoosh as an 18-wheeler passed him. Soft, sad sounds to keep him company on the lonesome road.

He'd tried driving straight through the night from Ennis' house, but by the time he'd hit the New Mexican border, he'd been about to pass out. He'd had to pull over, told himself it wouldn't do anyone good if he fell asleep and crashed into a telephone pole. So he'd parked at a little rest stop and had tried to make himself comfortable so he could relax his eyes. He dozed for a restless two hours—constantly plagued by dreams and the subconscious urge to keep going. He woke and kept driving.

Driving against the slate morning sky gave Jack a sense of calm that he'd been lacking before he pulled over to sleep. He'd realized in the early dawn, twelve hours after leaving Wyoming, six hours after making his way down I-25 through Colorado, that no matter how fast he drove, he wouldn't be able to get to his granddaughter until the hospital opened for visitors. The urgency had suddenly disappeared, but the worries had remained, strong as ever.

Jack rolled onto his back again and took in a deep breath, attempted to clear his mind—no such luck. He looked at the clock and saw it was almost 6 am. His thoughts returned to Wyoming, and Jack had to wonder if Ennis was having as hard a time sleeping. He turned his face away from the clock and the window and stared at the wall for a few seconds, then finally closed his eyes.

The possibility of having asked Ennis to come to Texas with him crossed his mind. When he'd first gotten the call, he'd been completely consumed with worry and fear, and he hadn't even considered it. Of course now it was too late, and besides, Jack wasn't sure if Ennis would have agreed. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made that Ennis didn't come with him (how would he have explained showing up with his fishing buddy from Wyoming?). But no matter how inconceivable it seemed, it was an extremely comforting idea.

Jack sighed. It hadn't happened that way, so there was no use thinking about it too much. He opened his eyes again. He had to stop the cogs from turning wildly and get to sleep—he needed to get some rest before he went to the hospital.

Thoughts of the hospital brought the cold fear hurdling back, and Jack squeezed his eyes shut against images of a rainy day in the graveyard, mourners standing silently in a line, dressed in black suits and dresses, a small coffin with lilies—her favorite flower. Jack's body shook with a heavy sob and he felt the repressed tears start to fall over his nose on to the shirt that laid under his head.

He didn't know what he'd do if she died. He'd be lost; he'd be crippled without his little girl, crippled with guilt because he hadn't been there when she needed him—her small body, born with bad lungs, defenseless without the protection of her parents and her "Poppa". He should have been with her to protect her, but…

Jack wiped the tears from his face. He tried once again to calm his tired mind, to soothe his weak body till sleep was possible. Jack let thoughts of the cool mountain air and the endless blue sky fill his mind—the smell of pine and cooking bacon and the sound of running water from the stream near by. He smiled as he neared sleep, as he neared his true home.

The mountain sheltered him in the early morning hours.

Jack woke with the sun streaming in the window, shining on his back, making him warm and uncomfortable. He sat up slowly, groggy and still tired, head pounding, and slightly unsure of his surroundings.

He felt like he'd been hit by an 18-wheeler—his neck was stiff, his muscles sore, his throat dry and painful. He swallowed slowly and then put his feet on the ground, noticing how he hadn't even taken off his boots. He sat on the edge of the bed, blinking for a few minutes, then suddenly realized he was in the "green" guest bedroom of his own house (Lureen had decided to theme the three guest rooms; red, green, and blue). The door was closed, but he couldn't remember if he'd shut it or not.

He got up and slowly left the bedroom to walk into the kitchen. He stood by the breakfast table, one hand rubbing his sore hip, trying to figure out what was different about the room. All at once it hit him: there were no dishes in the sink, no food lying out like usual—it looked like the kitchen hadn't been used since Jack had left. Now honestly their kitchen usually wasn't that messy, but Lureen was often too busy to clean, and dishes and food ended up scattered around until she got tired of seeing it and either forced Jack to clean or actually did it herself. Sure she'd been at the hospital with Eliza, but this looked positively unlived in.

Jack shrugged. He wasn't sure, but he didn't feel like standing around and pondering the idea all morning. He took a quick look at the clock on the wall and saw that it was nearly ten in the morning; he'd been asleep a little under four hours—enough to a least keep him from passing out during the day.

He walked to the fridge to see what kind of food there was, and once again had a little shock when he saw that it was practically bare, no substantial food except some quickly aging bananas and condiments.

"Jesus. She been eatin' at all, or she been livin' at the hospital?"

Jack shut the refrigerator door and stood in the kitchen scratching his head. It was probably better there wasn't any food; he didn't want to waste any more time, so he could get to the hospital as soon as possible. He crossed to the sink, splashed some water on his face and then stood up, drying his hands and forehead with the loose tail of his shirt.

He walked past the oven door and caught his reflection in the black metal. His hair was sticking up a little and he ran his fingers through it to try and coax it back down—there not bad. But, he couldn't do much about the dark circles under his eyes; they couldn't be rubbed away. Jack blinked a few times, rubbed his face sleepily and then moved past the oven door, tired of looking at the worn old man. He grabbed his keys off the kitchen counter and headed outside to his truck.

When Jack arrived at the hospital, he realized he didn't know what room Eliza was in. He scanned the floor plan near the entrance, but that did him no good, since he wasn't sure if Eliza had been moved to the children's ward or if she was still in intensive care. He asked the front desk what floor she was on and found out she was still in intensive care (or ICU as the woman at the desk called it), which was on the sixth floor—room 611 A.

After waiting at the elevators for what seemed like an eternity, the doors opened and he was crammed into the small space with six other people, two of which were in wheel chairs. Jack sighed and pressed himself farther into the wood paneling, smiling and nodding "understandably" when and old woman apologized for rolling over his foot.

At the sixth floor, Jack squeezed his way past the crowd and onto the strangely bare sixth floor. He did a quick check of the room numbers, saw that 611 A was down the right hallway somewhere and started to make his way past the nurse's station.

"Excuse me, sir. You can't just walk back there."

Jack stopped and turned towards the voice.

"Sorry?"

A young blonde girl was standing up from her seat behind the nurse's station. She had her finger placed on top of a red button. She eyed him wearily.

"You have ta check in here with me first."

Jack blew out a big breath and walked back to the station.

"All right. Let's get this over with."

The young girl took her seat behind the counter—made him wait till she was situated—then patiently folded her hands in front of her keyboard and gave him an annoyed look.

"Who are ya here ta see?"

Jack immediately disliked her. He couldn't put his finger on why, but something about her demeanor rubbed him the wrong way.

"I'm visitin' my granddaughter, Eliza Twist. I was told she was in room 611."

The nurse's dirty blonde hair looked greasy and unwashed under the fluorescent lights, there was red lipstick on her teeth.

"Are you in her immediate family?"

Jack gave the girl an odd look. "…Yes…I'm her grandfather."

The nurse's dull grey eyes rolled in their sockets. She lifter her pointer finger and chewed on the nail.

"I'm afraid that's not the immediate family."

"What? That's fuckin' ridiculous!"

"Sir! Please, you're gonna have ta keep your voice down."

Jack took in a deep breath, bit the inside of his mouth.

"Even if that made any sort a' sense, how would ya explain that my wife, Eliza's grandmother, has been visitin' her since she's been here? Tell me that."

The nurse sighed. "Well, I don't know 'bout that. All I know is that only immediate family is allowed inta ICU, that's a policy and there's nothin' I can do about it."

Jack leaned on the counter, got close to her face to make sure she heard him.

"Now listen ta me. You're jest gonna be a sweet lil' girl right now and let me go on inside, all right? No more trouble, okay?"

She pursed her lips and flipped her hair.

"I'm sorry, there's nothin' I can do."

Jack hit the counter. "Godamnit, I'm her grandfather, I have a right to see her. I spend more time with her than her father does anyway!"

Jack stepped back from the nurse's station, pointed to the young girl behind the counter.

"I wanna speak with yer supervisor, right now. I'm about four feet from bein' royally fuckin' angry, and I don't think you wanna deal with that."

The blonde kept her cool. She folded her hands in front of her once again and told Jack in a level voice that she was the only one on post at the station at the moment.

"I'm sorry. Have a nice day."

A vision of reaching across the narrow counter top and grabbing the nurse's neck in both hands suddenly crossed Jack's mind. He looked across the room at the clock: half past ten. He couldn't stand around. Then he remembered the cell phone in his pocket.

He took a few steps back to the elevator so he could be out of the young nurse's hearing range, and pulled out his phone, found Marla's number and dialed. In a few rings she picked up.

"Hello?" Her voice was quiet and tired, but not as panicked as it had sounded before.

"Marla, I'm right outside ICU. The nurse at the station won't let me pass, because apparently I'm not part of the fuckin' immediate family. Could you come out here?"

There was silence for a second then a few words were exchanged with someone else in the room.

"All right, I'll be out in jest a minutes. Hold on."

Jack hung up the phone and took a seat on the couch that was against the wall right out side the elevators. The nurse busied herself with a magazine.

"Jack! Jack! Thank god!"

Jack stood when he heard his name called. Marla was walking quickly in his direction, a knit sweater hanging from her small frame, her light hair up in a loose ponytail, her large mouth a knot of concern. He opened his arms to her and gladly gave her a long bear hug—a comfort to both of them. He pulled back and looked her in the eye, suddenly horribly aware of all the pain she'd gone through in the past few days just by the lines around her eyes and the way it seemed she'd aged ten years since the last time he'd seen her.

"How is she?"

Marla pulled away and wrapped her arms tighter around her body—how she could have been cold was beyond Jack's comprehension.

She shook her head. "Not much better than when you called yesterday. They've got her stabilized, her fever is down right now, but it's still over a hundred, and it just climbs back up when the sun starts to go down."

Jack hissed. "So the fever hasn't broken?"

Marla sniffed and wiped at her nose with the loose sweater. "No. The doctors say she won't be able ta take much more if the fever doesn't break. Her body can't handle it, and she's been dehydrated now for two days; it took 'em a while ta get the I.V. in her because her veins collapsed just like last time."

Her voice, already shaky, broke. "I don't know if you can understand what it's like, to fear losing your only child every time evening falls."

Jack grabbed the small woman and pulled her to his chest, ran his hand over her hair, hushed her and rocked her. Her shoulders shook Jack could feel wet against the collar of his shirt. He felt tears sting his own eyes. It was hard to console her when he felt her pain. He couldn't loose his little girl—they couldn't loose her.

"She could go anytime now. I don't know what to do. I'm falling apart. I can't loose her; I'll die if she dies. I will, I know it."

He squeezed his eyes shut and gave Marla one last tight squeeze then released her.

"Come on. Let's go see her. I wanna see her."

Marla nodded and led Jack down the right hallway past the nurse's station. Jack gave the girl behind the counter and tip of his hat and a wink.

"Fuck her." He thought with much satisfaction.

The hallway they were walking down was narrow and dull—the hall lined with white tile, dirty gray drop ceilings and green-stripped wallpaper. There were a few posters of classic paintings and a couple nature photographs in black and white. As they neared room 611 A, Jack suddenly stopped. Hanging just outside the door to Eliza's room was a black and white print of a mountain lake by Ansel Adams. Printed on the bottom of the poster were the large words, Grand National Teton Park. Jack paused a minute, took in the clear water and the reflection of the peaks, the surrounding meadow and clear sky. He sucked in a breath.

Marla, who'd been standing next to him waiting, put one arm on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze, misreading his hesitance. He looked down at her and saw she was giving him the best smile she could manage. He smiled back. Marla walked past him into the hospital room, and Jack followed.

Jack immediately felt that tight knot of emotion return to his throat when he saw his little girl and he took off his hat. She was so small laying in the bed with its two guardrails—white against white pillows and white blankets. Her forehead was slick with sweat and there were breathing tubes in her nose, an I.V. in the top of her hand. The skin underneath her eyes was bruised and purple, her face sallow, her cheeks sunken. There was a curtain separating her bed from the one on the farther side of the room near the windows, and the only sound was the day time talk show that the adjacent patient was watching and the slow steady beat of Eliza's heart monitor.

He took in a breath. He hadn't noticed at first, but there sitting next to Eliza's bed was Lureen. She was leaning against the back of the chair, her heeled feet crossed at the ankles, her hands folded in the lap of her business suit. Her hair was straighter that usual (just as blonde he noticed, though), and she wasn't wearing as much makeup. Her eyes were cast down, and Jack couldn't tell if she was sleeping or looking at the floor.

He ignored her momentarily and stepped to the side of Eliza's bed, set his hat at the foot, and then gently took her free hand in both of his and kissed it. Her hand was limp and so small, Jack felt like the gentlest squeeze would break it. He released it, layed it down carefully on the rough hospital blanket and took a step back.

"Baby, I am so sorry. So sorry." He shook his head, felt tears welling in his eyes, wanted to fight it, but figured if there was ever an opportunity to cry, this would be it.

"You should be sorry."

Jack heard Lureen's words from behind him, cold and full of anger. Marla moved to the opposite side of the small bed and sat in the chair, settled herself down to watch the blipping line of her daughter's heartbeat.

Jack took in a breath, and turned around, faced his wife. Her face was blank, her eyes distant like she wasn't looking at him.

Her lips trembled slightly and then she took in a breath.

"Where've ya been, Jack?" The angry edge to her voice had dissolved, and now it was quiet, trembling, full of emotion like he hadn't heard in years.

Jack bit the side of his mouth, played with his hands.

"I told ya, I was out campin' in Wyoming…"

She looked up at him, eyes full of tears, mouth puckered, visibly trying to keep them from falling.

"You didn't tell me how long you'd be gone. You didn't even say goodbye. You…" A single tear made a wet track down her cheek, wetting her caked foundation, smearing her light mascara.

Jack bit his lip, nearly drawing blood.

"Damnit. Damnit, look what you've done. It's all fucked up, damn you."

He'd been so selfish. He hadn't thought of anyone but himself, hadn't considered what he was messing with, how he was hurting others, how he was affecting another life, another human being, the woman he'd lived with for thirty four years, the woman he'd started a family with.

Jack was overcome with guilt; he suddenly saw what he'd somehow lost track of: his wife, the woman he had loved, hell, the woman he still loved in a way—his family. He had a vision of Lureen, laying in her bed, hair all brown and perfect, soft, pink nightgown a vision with the blue bundle held against her chest—Bobby.

They'd had so many hard times, some good times, but she'd stayed by him through it all, as a friend and a partner. Maybe she wasn't the one he should have been with, the one that he could have loved selflessly, the one he would have died for, but she was still the one he'd married and now she was the one he'd hurt.

He watched the tear slide down her chin and blossom on her gray silk blouse.

"Lureen, honey, I'm so sorry."

And he was. He was sorry for everything; for not being able to be the husband she'd needed, for not being the dedicated business man she'd wanted, for not being here when she'd needed him, when his granddaughter needed him, and most of all for not being able to love her the way she deserved, the way he loved Ennis.

He kneeled down by his wife, put his hand on her shoulder, touched her chin.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't here with ya. You hear me? I'm so sorry. I had no idea anythin' like this would happen, you understand?"

She was silent. He waited for her to respond and was suddenly surprised when she turned her head and shrugged his hand off her shoulder.

"Don't touch me, Jack." Her voice deep and bitter.

Jack sat back on his heels, confused and a little offended. He'd been trying to console her, to show her some of the support God knew he owed her. He frowned and slowly rose to his feet. He was quiet, waiting for her to continue.

"You think that's gonna make it all better? You think that's jest gonna solve everythin'?"

Jack didn't' know what to say. "No…but I'm tryin'. That's all I can do right now."

Lureen turned her narrowed eyes to him. Her tears had dried and her face was a mask of resentment.

"You fuckin' asshole. Do you know what I've been through while you were away on yer little fishin' trip? Do you have any idea?"

Jack looked down. He knew he had this coming. Suddenly he heard the chair behind him screech on the tile floor and Marla stood up.

"I can leave for a few minutes if you'd like."

Jack turned to look at Marla with her wide, wet eyes, and too big sweater. He turned and looked back at Lureen, make-up streaked, eyes angry. He faced Marla.

"It's alright, honey. Me n' Lureen'll jest step outside. You stay right in here with Eliza. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Jack motioned for Lureen to follow him outside. She stood and straightened the front of her blazer jacket, wiped underneath her eyes with the tips of her painted fingernails. She sniffed, nodded her head once, and then click-clacked her way out into the hallway. Jack picked his hat of the bed, tipped it towards Marla, gave her a smile and then put the Stetson on his head and followed Lureen out the door.

She was standing a few feet down the hall with her back to Jack, hugging herself tightly. Jack came up behind her, but didn't touch her shoulder this time, just coughed softly to announce his presence and waited for her to turn towards him. She kept her back to him for a few seconds and then finally turned, face blank from anger and from tears.

Jack took in a breath. "All right. Now you can say what you want. Go ahead."

Lureen frowned and shifted her weight to one hip.

"Tell me this, Jack. Why do ya always make me out ta be a bitch? You're always the poor 'put upon husband', sad and abused by his over bearin' wife."

Jack raised his eyes brows in surprise. He started to say something but Lureen cut him off.

"You have ta admit ya set yourself up that way. And I can't stand it."

She uncrossed her arms and let them hang at her sides.

"I'm tired of always bein' the bitch. I'm tired of it! Why can't we fer once turn it around ta show me, the 'poor wokin' woman' tryin' ta keep her family together and tryin' ta get her husband ta show interest in somethin', tryin' not ta be the bitch, but always endin' up that way because I get so damned frustrated with the way yer never around, and the way you've never cared about our lives or tryin' ta make them better."

Jack was speechless, honest to God, absolutely speechless. He couldn't think of a thing to say, even though he knew there were so many things he wanted to tell her, so many things he wanted to express; how he'd never wanted this life, how he'd never been happy, how he'd always felt she hadn't needed him, how he'd felt he'd never be the man she wanted because what she really wanted was a man like her father.

Lureen waited for a few seconds, looking into Jack's eyes, trying to find her own answer, when she got nothing she looked away.

"You can't know how upset I was that you were leavin' again, that you were goin' back ta Wyoming. You can't know. I was so angry." She shook her head.

"You left me there. People were askin' where ya went, and I had to tell 'em you had an emergency you had ta take care of. I couldn't' tell 'em that ya jest couldn't wait ta get away from me and go fishin' with yer buddy."

She looked down, wiped at her nose with the back of her hand, then took in a deep breath.

"Then ya don't call, ya don't let me know where you are, what's goin' on, how long yer gonna be there, if ya ever even made it there."

Jack broke his paralysis. "I'm sorry you were worried 'bout me."

"Would you stop apologizin'? And I wasn't worried 'bout you, contrary to what you may think. I was just fuckin' angry. Angry at you fer bein' the way you are, and you not callin' jest gave me more reason to be angry, just proved my point even more."

Jack flinched. Her words stung, but he wasn't very surprised.

Lureen took a step, put her hands on her hips and looked around.

"Jesus. I dunno what I'm tryin' ta say. I was hopin' ta get some sort of explanation from you, but now I don't even care. I really don't. I just hope what ever you were doin' was worth all this fuckin' trouble, that's all."

Jack remained silent. He looked down. Lureen waited once more for some word, for some response, but Jack wasn't ready to give her any. She sighed.

"All right." She fished around in her purse. "I'm leavin'. You're here now, you can take care a' this."

"What?"

"I've gotta get back ta work. Told Bobby I'd be in by eleven, so I could take over fer him." She shook her head. "Poor boy's goin' through hell, but someone's gotta hold down the fort."

Jack just nodded, still a little shocked by this whole confrontation. Lureen finally found what she was looking for, pulled out her compact and checked her hair and make-up. She shrugged, then closed the case and put it back in her bag. She squared her shoulders and looked up at Jack, her face unhappy, but no longer angry.

"I'll see you later. I'll come back by the hospital before I go to dinner tonight."

"You're goin' ta dinner tonight?"

She shrugged. "Business has to go on as usual. That's all there is to it."

Lureen took in Jack's shocked expression.

"I'll see you later." She turned to walk away then stopped.

"Tell Marla I'll see her later."

Jack nodded. "Sure thing."

Lureen hesitated a moment longer. "And…I'm glad you got here safely."

She turned and walked down the hall once and for all and Jack had to smile slightly despite his shock and mixed feelings. He supposed 'I'm glad you got here safely' was the closest he'd get to 'I'm glad you're here', which is all he could ask for.