“Divine Providence, Doc?” Colleen crossed her arms over her heart.
“I doubt a theological debate is the best medicine for a possible concussion,” Cal interrupted. He touched my shoulder again. “Neither is anxiety. Rest. Let us worry about Enid.” He nodded to Goldie, and the two of them slipped from the room.
Colleen moved as if to follow, but did not. She let the door fall shut behind them, then swung back to look at me, her eyes subtly invading my thoughts.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
We spoke the words together; our voices harmonized. Self-conscious laughter followed. I’m not certain why two human beings should be embarrassed at having spoken in unison, but it seems we were.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Sore, but whole. You, on the other hand, have a nasty gash on your forehead and a knee the size of a cantaloupe.”
I put a hand to my head, gingerly. A gauze bandage blocked inspection. “I, too, am fine.”
“Yeah? How many fingers am I holding up?” She showed me her fist.
“None,” I said, smiling. “Or all. It depends on how you look at it.”
She retreated again behind folded arms. “Doc, who’s Nurya?”
Breath left my body in a rush, leaving me winded. “What?”
“When you were coming around, you seemed to be having one hellacious nightmare. You shouted for Nurya. When you saw Magritte, you said the name again.” Color swept her face. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m just too damn nosy. Forget I asked.”
So, she had not come into the room with the others. She had been there all along. It was she the flare had spoken to before leaving to find Cal.
“Nurya was my daughter. My little girl.” Even now, after so many years, the tears emerged easily.
Colleen sat on the edge of the bed-coiled, tense. “What happened?”
I could not look at her face, so I read answers from the pine knots in the ceiling. “You remember Chernobyl, yes?”
“Well, sure. It was all over the news. Even teenagers pay attention to the news sometimes. Christ, don’t tell me she got caught in that.”
“No. I got caught in that. Because of my expertise in triage. The disaster was… worse than even the American media made it. Doctors were brought in from everywhere. I was to set up a triage unit, then go home. But I couldn’t go home. There was too much to be done. What I failed to realize was that there was something to be done at home, too. My wife, Yelena, had contracted meningitis. She wouldn’t tell me this, but Nurya said her mother wasn’t feeling well. I simply didn’t hear her over the cries of the dying.”
I hesitated, testing the words as if they were an unknown trail. “Yelena was driving herself to hospital when she lost control of the car. It plunged into a stream. They drowned.”
Colleen had been watching my face. Now, she turned away. We sat in silence for a time, not looking at each other.
She was the first to speak. “My dad died when I was fifteen. He was two thousand miles away on some damned military training junket. He served in Vietnam for two tours of duty and then went to Texas to die of a heart attack giving a friggin’ seminar. He’d had a two-pack-a-day habit for years, and I’d just managed to nag him into giving up cigarettes. For a long time I thought maybe I just hadn’t nagged enough.” I could feel her eyes shift to my face; it was a gentle pressure. “It’s not your fault, you know.”
“Is it not?”
“You were needed-”
“At home. I was needed at home. There was nothing I could do for those poor souls that any other qualified physician could not have done. But only I could have made a difference to my family.”
Colleen made no reply. I had silenced her, and her silence was damning. Physician, heal thyself.
“So you came to America to start over,” she said after a
moment, “as a hot dog vendor.” The expression on her face
was so dubious it made me laugh.
“It was a life.”
“This is better.” She said the words with stark certainty
and meant them for both of us.
Our eyes met and locked. Detente.
“Yes, better,” I agreed.
“Doesn’t make us freaks, does it?”
“What if it does?”
She looked away. “Yeah, what if it does? Thanks, Doc.”
Her eyes met mine again at a slant. “You must have a real name.”
“Doc will suffice.”
She pursed her lips and gave me a look of grave disapproval.
“Viktor,” I said. “My name is Viktor. With a k.”
“Well, Viktor with a k, thanks.”
“For what?”
She didn’t answer, but stood and looked down at me and smiled. “Huh. Turnabout. Last time it was me flat on my back.”
The door opened. Colleen tensed; an instinctive movement. It was Magritte with a nurse and food.
“Well, I guess I’ll just go check on our progress,” Colleen told me. “Later.”
“Yes, later,” I agreed, but she had gone.
TEN
CAL
“So, you’re a lawyer, Mr. Griffin. A most maligned profession.”
Mary seated herself across from me in front of the fireplace in her office. Between us, a low coffee table of burnished pine held an odd collection of artifacts: arrowheads, a grinding rock, a rattle made of wood and leather.
“ ‘And He said, Woe to you, lawgivers also,’ ” I quoted, “ ‘for you load men with burdens hard to bear and you yourselves do not touch the burdens with one of your fingers.’ Gospel of Luke, Chapter Eleven, verse forty-six. Even God doesn’t think much of us as a tribe.”
“But I’ll bet you were one of the virtuous lawyers, weren’t you?”
I shook my head.
Her eyebrows rose. “A cynic?”
I laid a hand over my heart. “A fallen idealist.” “But repentant?”
I shrugged, smiling in the face of accusing memories. “Were you any good at it?”
I had to think about that. “I … yes. Yes, I was good at it. But not cutthroat enough to be truly great.”
“Are you cutthroat enough to take Enid away from us?” Mary McCrae didn’t pull punches.
“I don’t want to take him away. I just want to borrow him.” “For how long?”
“I don’t know. As long as it takes.”
“Days? Weeks? Months?”
“In months it could be too late.”
“For what?”
I had to search my head and heart for the right words. “I think the Source is gaining strength. I think that’s why things are continuing to change. At some point it may be too late for anyone to do anything.”
“So, if Enid were to go with you, you might be able to ‘pull the plug on the Source,’ as Goldie put it … or you might not.”
I nodded.
“And if not?”
“Then we do what we can and come back here to re — group.” If we’re still alive.
“Either way it could be weeks before Enid returns. If he returns. And while he’s gone-”
“I know. You’re stranded.”
“Worse. We have no consistent way to protect the flares, as you call them.”
“You protect them now while he’s away. How?”
She studied me, as if trying to decide how much to tell me. “A battery of sorts. Look, Mr. Griffin, let’s assume for a moment our… flares could be shielded inside the Preserve long enough for you to get where you’re going and back. Enid’s talent is essential to us in other ways. We wouldn’t survive long without it. Refugees aren’t the only thing that comes in from outside. Everything does: food, clothing, equipment. Even if I could ensure everyone’s safety, I must be able to open the door.”
I read her eyes. “Goldie,” I said.
“Goldie. You think that’s an unreasonable request?”
“No, but I can’t ask him to stay. I can’t afford to have him stay. He’s our bloodhound. He’s how we track the Source.”