Kim had never felt worse in his life. Images of Becky kept flooding his mind and bringing forth new tears. The next instant, he found himself denying the whole, horrid experience and attributing it to an extension of his nightmare where Becky had fallen into the sea.
The sound of the refrigerator kicking on in the kitchen made him think he should try to eat. He couldn't remember the last time he'd put anything significant in his stomach. The trouble was he wasn't hungry in the slightest. Then he thought about taking himself upstairs to shower and change clothes, but that sounded like too much effort. In the end, he decided he'd just sit there and wait for the phone to ring.
The old Toyota pickup had no heat and Carlos was shivering by the time he turned off the paved road onto the gravel track that led around the Higgins and Hancock stockyard. He switched off the single functioning headlight and proceeded by knowledge of the route and shadowy glimpses of the fence posts to his right. He drove all the way around to the point where the stockyard funneled into the chute leading into the plant. During the day, this was where all the luckless animals entered.
He parked the truck in the shadow of the building. He took off the heavy mittens he used to drive and replaced them with tight-fitting black leather gloves. Reaching under his seat, he extracted a long, curved kill knife, the same kind he used during the day. By reflex he tested its edge with his thumb. Even through the leather he could tell it was razor-sharp.
He climbed from the cab. Blinking in the rain, he quickly climbed the fence and dropped into the trampled mud of the stockyard. Mindless of the cow dung, he sprinted down the chute and disappeared into its dark depths.
With an oyster fork in one hand and a cut-crystal glass of bourbon in the other, Bobby Bo mounted his coffee table and drew himself up to his full height. In the process, he knocked over an hors d'oeuvre plate of marinated shrimp to the delight of his two professionally cut standard poodles.
Bobby Bo loudly clanged the fork against the glass. No one heard until the quartet stopped playing.
"All right, everyone," Bobby Bo yelled over the heads of his guests. "Dinner is served in the dining room. Remember to bring the number you drew out of the bucket. That will be your table. If you haven't drawn a number, the bucket will be in the foyer."
The crowd began to move out of the living room en masse. Bobby Bo managed to step down from the coffee table without further mishap other than to scare one of the dogs, which yelped and fled into the kitchen.
Bobby Bo was on his way to the dining room, when he caught sight of Shanahan O'Brian. Excusing himself, he stepped over to stand beside his head of security.
"Well?" Bobby Bo whispered. "How did it go?"
"No problem," Shanahan said.
"Is it going to happen tonight?" Bobby Bo asked.
"As we speak," Shanahan said. "I think Daryl Webster should be told, so he can tell his security not to interfere."
"Good idea," Bobby Bo said. He smiled happily, patted Shanahan on the shoulder, then hurried after his guests.
The doorbell shocked Kim out of his melancholic stupor. For the moment, he was disoriented as to the origin of the noise. He even started to reach for the phone. He'd expected the phone to ring and certainly not for the door to chime. When he realized it was the door, he looked at his watch. It was quarter to nine. He couldn't believe that someone would be ringing his doorbell at such a time on Saturday night.
The only person he could imagine it might be was Ginger, but she never came over without calling. Then Kim remembered he'd failed to listen to his answering machine, so she could have called and left a message. While Kim considered the possibilities of this, the doorbell sounded again.
He did not want to see Ginger, but when the doorbell sounded for the third time followed by some knocking, Kim pushed himself out of the chair. He was just thinking of what he could say, when to his utter surprise, he found himself looking at Tracy, not Ginger.
"Are you okay?" Tracy asked. She spoke quietly.
"I guess," Kim said. He was nonplussed.
"Can I come in?" Tracy asked.
"Of course," Kim said. He stepped back to give Tracy room. "Sorry! I should have invited you in immediately. I'm just surprised to see you."
Tracy stepped into the dimly lit foyer. She could see that the only light in the house was in the living room, next to an easy chair. She slipped out of her coat and rain hat. Kim took them.
"I hope you don't mind my coming over here like this," Tracy said. "I know it was a little impulsive on my part."
"It's okay," Kim said. He hung up Tracy 's things.
"I didn't want to be with anyone," Tracy explained. She sighed. "But then I started thinking about you and worrying, especially with how agitated you were when you ran out of the hospital. I thought that since we've both lost the same daughter, we're the only ones that could have any idea of how we feel. I guess what I'm saying is I need some help and imagine you do too."
Tracy 's words snatched away any remnants of denial Kim was entertaining. He felt a keen wave of grief he'd been doing his best to avoid. He breathed out heavily and swallowed as he choked back tears. For a moment he couldn't speak.
"Have you been sitting here in the living room?" Tracy asked.
Kim nodded.
"I'll get a chair from the dining room," Tracy said.
"Let me," Kim volunteered. He appreciated having something physical to do. He brought the chair into the living room and placed it within the penumbra of light from the floor lamp.
"Can I get you something to drink?" Kim managed. "I poured myself some scotch."
"Thank you, but no," Tracy said. She sat down heavily, then leaned forward, cradling her chin in her hands with her elbows on her knees.
Kim lowered himself in the club chair and looked at his former wife. Her dark hair, which was always wavy and full, was matted against the top of her head. The small amount of makeup she normally wore was streaked. She was clearly pained, yet her eyes were as bright and sparkly as Kim remembered.
"There's also something I wanted to tell you," Tracy said. "After I had a little time to think, I believe what you did today to Becky took a lot of courage." She paused for a moment while she bit her lip. "I know I couldn't have done it even if I was a surgeon," she added.
"I appreciate your saying that," Kim said. "Thank you.
"I was appalled at first," Tracy admitted.
"Open-heart massage is a desperate act in any circumstance," Kim said. "Doing it on your own daughter is… well, I'm sure the hospital isn't looking at it the same way you are.
"You did it out of love," Tracy said. "It wasn't hubris like I thought at first."
"I did it because it was clear to me the external massage wasn't working," Kim said. "I couldn't let Becky just fade away like it seemed she was doing. No one knew why she was arresting. Of course, now I know why and why the external massage wasn't working."
"I had no idea this E. coli could be such an awful illness," Tracy said.
"Nor did I," Kim said.
The phone's jangle startled both people. Kim snapped up the receiver. "Hello," he barked.
Tracy watched as Kim's face registered first confusion, then irritation.
"Hold it," Kim snapped into the receiver. "Cut the spiel. I'm not interested in your company's Visa card, and I want you off this line." He hung up forcibly.
"It looks like you are expecting a call," Tracy said captiously. She stood up. "I'm intruding. Maybe I should go."
"No," Kim said. But then he immediately corrected himself. "I mean, yes, I'm expecting a call, but no, you shouldn't leave."
Tracy cocked her head to the side. "You're acting strange," she said. "What's going on?"
"I'm a basket case," Kim admitted. "But…"
The phone interrupted Kim's explanation. Again he snatched the receiver off the hook and said a frantic hello.