CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Hank crawled off the sofa early the next morning, his head hammering and his stomach churning. Half a bottle of whiskey still stood on the floor close by and he picked it up and took a couple of gulps to wash away the unpleasant taste in his mouth, then lit a cigar. After only a brief moment he was hit by the memory of what had happened the previous afternoon and he was instantly filled with guilt that he had left Myra at the clinic alone. Michaela had been with her, but he should have been there himself. He had been so wrapped up in own pain, he hadn't been able to offer her anything and he felt sick with himself. Even after everything that had happened to him over the years, his determination to get away from his past, he was still exactly what his father had said when he was a child - a failure. Myra was better off without him.

A fist hammered on the door now, startling him and making him knock over the bottle where it emptied the remainder of its contents onto the rug by his feet. He cursed under his breath and stamped over to the door, jerking it open suddenly. Sully stood on the porch, his face stiff.

"What're ya doin' here, Hank?" he asked. "Ya should be with yer wife."

"Who're you to tell me anythin'?" grunted Hank.

"I'm tryin' to help," said Sully.

"Well, don't bother." Hank began to close the door, but Sully's foot blocked it. Hank's temper immediately began to rise.

"Runnin' away from it ain't gonna help either of ya," Sully said. He was as good at sticking his nose in other people's business as his wife and needled Hank with his comment.

"Go to hell!" growled Hank.

"Just listen to me, will ya?"

"Leave me alone!" Hank charged towards him now, fists clenched. "Ya know nothin' about it, Indian-lovin' son-of-a-...!" He collided with Sully bodily and the pair staggered back, crashing through the railing surrounding the porch and landing in a heap in the dirt. Hank scrambled to his feet, fists clenched and flew at Sully again the minute he was back on his feet.

"Hank!" Sully blocked the punch and swept Hank's legs out from under him. Hank fell to the ground on his back, winded, finding himself pinned there with Sully's knee on his shoulder. As if the man wasn't irritating enough, he was better at fighting too.

"Get off me!" he panted.

"Well, then, settle down!" Sully shifted back a little and sat on the ground. Hank pulled himself up slowly, but stayed sitting and actually listened as Sully began to talk, much as he hated to do it. He wanted to wipe what now seemed like a smug look off the man's face, but in truth he didn't have it in him and he knew Sully would get the better of him.

"Ya think I know nothin' about it? Just listen a minute. Ya probably forgot Loren's daughter - my wife - died in childbirth a few years back and my daughter with her. My baby daughter who didn't even get to take one breath of air. And then Michaela and me lost our baby just last year. So, yeah, I know plenty about how it feels to lose a child, even one who ain't been born yet. Runnin' away, drinkin' and fightin' ain't gonna make ya feel better and it sure ain't gonna help Myra. Ya need each other."

"She don't need me, she got her women friends," grunted Hank uncertainly. "What use am I to her?"

"She does need you. And you need her. It was your baby just as much as hers and no amount of friends is gonna make her feel better if you ain't there. Tell her what ya feel or if ya can't talk, just be with her. I made the mistake of runnin' away when Michaela told me she lost our baby. She went through it on her own and told me weeks later, but I still ran away, tried not to deal with it. Let me tell ya, it don't help, it makes it twice as hard. Ya gotta face it and help each other get through it. Whatever yer feelin', I can tell ya it's as least twice as bad for Myra."

"I ain't much good dealin' with stuff like this," Hank confessed, wondering what on earth was making him tell Sully anything. Maybe because Sully was probably the only man in town who would understand what he said. "Everybody I ever cared anythin' for either died or left me."

"Well, Myra ain't dead. I'm guessin' she loves ya, since she's got yer ring on her finger and I don't think she's the kinda person to leave unless she ain't got a choice."

Hank sighed heavily. Myra had left before, but only because of the way he'd treated her. If he'd got his stupid head together and told her how he felt when she got back from her sister's wedding, she probably wouldn't have gone.

"How'd ya get through somethin' like this?" he asked.

"Ya face it. Together. Talk, cry, hold onto each other. Me and Michaela...we planted a tree for our baby. Accept it. It hurts, but ya'll come out the other side." Sully got to his feet now and looked down at Hank sympathetically. "Now go see Myra," he said.

Hank rose slowly, considering what Sully had said. He knew he was right, much as it galled him to admit it. He'd always run away from painful situations and he knew all too well drinking and breaking things didn't help. He liked to think he was tough, that he could handle himself in a fight, beat up the strongest man, disarm a gunman... but he wasn't so tough if he couldn't comfort his wife over this tragedy and in return, gain comfort from her.

"Thanks," he said, barely above a whisper.

Sully just nodded, then turned and walked away.

Hank went back into the house, quickly stripped off his clothes, washed up and dressed again in fresh garments. Fifteen minutes later he left again, ruefully eyeing the broken railing on the porch and thinking he was going to have to fix it or the owners would charge him for it when they came back.

Michaela opened the clinic door when he knocked.

"Good morning, Hank," she said. "Go on up, Myra's awake."

Hank nodded and went upstairs without a word, filled with remorse and pain and fear and not having a clue what he would say to her when he saw her. He certainly wouldn't blame her if she told him to go away. He tapped quietly on the door and then pushed it open when there was no sound from within.

Myra was sitting up in the bed, wearing a prim high-necked, long-sleeved nightgown, her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped around them, tears pouring down her face. She looked like a little lost girl and seeing her, Hank only felt more anguish. She raised her eyes slowly, but didn't speak.

Hank closed the door quietly, giving himself a couple of extra seconds to decide what to say or do. Apologise? Grovel? Tell her everything was going to be alright? In the end he said nothing. He hurried to the bed, sank onto the mattress, drew her into his arms and cried with her. Neither of them spoke for what seemed a very long time, they simply held each other and wept for their lost child. Eventually they drew apart a little, but still held each other.

"I'm sorry," Hank whispered. "I shoulda been here. Like always I had to go runnin' away like a coward."

"It's alright," Myra said softly.

"No, it ain't. Sully had to come and talk some sense into me. Can ya believe I listened to anythin' he had to say?"

"I suppose he knows how it feels."

"Yeah. Lost; empty; helpless," Hank said.

Myra nodded, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "I feel like my heart's breakin'," she said.

"I guess we just gotta keep goin' till it gets better," Hank said. "How're ya feelin'? I mean physically."

"Alright, just real tired. Pain's gone," Myra told him. "Dr Mike said I should just sleep until I feel better."

"Can ya go home yet?"

"Later today."

"Why don't ya get some more sleep then?" suggested Hank, lowering her back against the pillows. "I'll stay, if ya want."

He pulled his boots off now and lay down beside her on the narrow bed, thinking he would just stay there until she fell asleep and then get up and sit in the chair nearby. He rested his arm around her and stared at the door, feeling the agony of the loss, but at the same time realising that sharing it with Myra lessened the pain marginally. He closed his eyes, deciding the bed was preferable to the chair after all.

A tap on the door disturbed them some time later and Hank realised he must have fallen asleep. It was dusk and Myra was still sleeping in his arms.

"I'm sorry, I've disturbed you," Michaela said from the doorway.

"S'alright." Hank drew away from Myra and sat up slowly. "What day is it?"

"Still Saturday."

"Didn't mean to fall asleep," he muttered.

"It doesn't matter. I'll leave you to it." Michaela backed out of the door again and closed it.

Myra opened her eyes now and shifted slightly, looking up at Hank. He lowered himself back down onto one elbow.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Dunno. 'Bout seven."

"I slept all day?"

"Yeah, we both did. How ya feelin'?"

"Sad."

"Me too."

Myra raised her hand to touch his face suddenly, stroking her fingers over his beard.

"I love you," she said softly.

"I love you too." He leaned forward to kiss her. "Ya wanna go home?"

"Yes."

"I'll go back and get one of yer frocks," he said. "Won't be long."

Hank hurried downstairs, spoke briefly to Michaela and then set off back to the house. When he arrived, he discovered the broken railing outside the door repaired and looking better than it had before he and Sully had fallen through it. Sully had obviously fixed it and Hank's eyebrows rose now as he went in to look for a dress for Myra. He and Sully had never got on and often he'd gone out of his way to make things difficult for Michaela's husband; and yet the man had offered advice and comfort and now fixed the railing which Hank himself had been responsible for breaking. He guessed some people just didn't have a mean bone in their bodies - Myra was another like that.

Hank grabbed a dark blue frock from Myra's closet now, folded it and headed back to the clinic. Loren stepped out of his store and called out to him as he passed. He hesitated for a moment, but then just nodded and continued. The last thing he wanted right now was to have people asking him what happened or saying they were sorry.

Michaela was still working at her desk in the clinic when he knocked and slowly opened the door. She got up at once.

"Ya don't have to wait if ya got things to do," Hank said. "I'm just gonna help Myra put this on and take her home." He indicated the dress.

"It's alright, Sully's coming back to meet me," Michaela told him. "I'm glad you and Myra are going to be able to help each other through this."

"Yeah." Hank nodded. "Hey, tell Sully thanks for me, will ya?"

"Of course. What for?"

"He'll know." Hank left her and went upstairs. Myra was already up, having heard him arrive. Now she pulled off the nightgown which was too big for her and he helped her put the dress on. They left the clinic a few minutes later and walked home slowly. Hank waited until Myra was settled comfortably on the couch and then went out briefly to Grace's to collect some food even though neither of them felt like eating.

"I heard yer news, Hank, I'm so sorry," Grace said quietly.

Hank just nodded and Grace handed him a basket.

"I put some of Myra's favourites in here."

"Thanks." Hank put a hand into his pocket to find some money.

"Oh, don't worry 'bout that, it's on the house," Grace said. "Tell Myra I'm thinkin' of her."

"Sure." Hank took the basket of food and returned to the house. Both of them nibbled half-heartedly at some of the fried chicken and had a glass of cider. Myra went to bed early and rather than stay up drinking, which was tempted to do, Hank joined her. The first day was over; now they just had to figure out a way to get through the next one and the next, until the pain started to go away.