“Mr. McNally?”
He became aware that someone was addressing him. He opened his eyes. He didn’t recognize the woman who was bending close. She had a hand on his arm, which she was shaking insistently. Her expression showed impatience or concern and since he didn’t know her, he wasn’t sure which. The overhead light was bright and the ceiling tiles looked institutional, designed to dampen sound, though he couldn’t remember the name for them.
“Mr. McNally, can you hear me?”
He wanted to reply but there was a heaviness that filled his body, and the effort was too great. He had no idea what was going on and no memory of events that might explain his lying on his back, immobilized, with this woman leaning over him.
Something hurt. Had he had surgery? The pain wasn’t acute. More like a dull ache that radiated through his body with a thick layer of white on top, as cold and heavy as a blanket of snow.
The woman stepped aside and two copies of Carolyn’s face came into his visual frame, one slightly offset, like a watery duplicate. Nausea stirred as the surface ripples widened and dissipated near the edges of his view.
She said, “ Walker.”
He focused and the two images locked into one, like a magic trick.
“Do you know where you are?”
Again, he wanted to respond but he couldn’t move his lips. He was so tired he could scarcely pay attention.
“Do you remember what happened?”
Her look was expectant. Clearly, she wanted an answer, but he had none to give.
“You were in an accident,” she said.
Accident. That made sense. He took in the words, searching for corresponding images of what had occurred. Nothing came to him. Had he fallen? Had he been struck in the head by a bullet or a stone? Here, he was on his back. Before here was blank.
“Do you remember going off the road?”
Nope. He wanted to shake his head so she’d know he heard her, but he couldn’t manage it. Road. Car. The concept was simple and he got it. He knew there’d been an accident, but he couldn’t imagine his relationship to it. He was alive. He supposed he’d been hurt and he wondered how badly. His brain must still function even if his body was temporarily… or perhaps permanently… out of commission. Carolyn knew and he was willing to take her word for it, but the idea was odd.
“Do you know what day this is?”
Clueless. He couldn’t even remember the last day he remembered. She said, “Monday. The kids and I got back from San Francisco late this afternoon and your car was gone. I unloaded the suitcases and I was letting the kids watch a few minutes of TV when a police car pulled into the drive. There was a wreck on the pass. Your car was totaled. It’s a wonder you’re not dead.”
He closed his eyes. He had no recollection whatsoever. He had no idea why he’d been on the 154 and no memory of a collision. From his perspective, there was only a yawning black hole, a blank wall that separated this current moment from the recent past. Dimly, he remembered leaving the bank on Thursday, but the door had slammed shut on anything after that.
A doctor appeared, a neurologist named Blake Barrigan, whom he recognized from the country club. Barrigan was interested in Walker ’s cognitive functions and ran him through a series of tests. Walker knew his own name. He knew Ronald Reagan was president of the United States, even if he hadn’t voted for the man. He could count backward from one hundred by eights, a task he wasn’t sure he could manage ordinarily. Barrigan was middle-aged and solemn, and while Walker could see his mouth move and knew he was conveying reassurances about his condition, he was too tired to care.
The next time he opened his eyes he was in a private room and people were talking in the hall. He consulted his body; his right elbow ached and his chest felt compressed where they’d apparently taped his ribs. He touched the right side of his head and felt a painful knot. He probably had minor injuries he wasn’t aware of yet. He could smell cooked meat and the scent of green beans with a metallic edge, reminiscent of the canned variety of his youth. The clatter outside the door suggested a meal cart with food trays.
A nurse’s aide came in and asked if he was hungry. Without waiting for a response, she lowered the rail on one side, cranked up his bed, and placed a tray on his rolling bed table, which she pushed within range. There was a carton of orange juice and a small container of cherry Jell-O sealed with an elasticized plastic cover like a little shower cap. “What’s today? Sunday?”
“Monday,” she said. “You were admitted from the ER an hour ago, so you missed dinner. Do you remember coming in?”
“Is my wife here?”
“She just left. A neighbor was watching the children and she had to put them to bed. She’ll be back in the morning. Are you in pain?”
He shook his head in the negative, stirring the headache he hadn’t been aware of. “I don’t understand what happened.”
“Dr. Barrigan can explain everything when he gets here. He has a patient on the surgical floor and he said he’d look in on you again before he left for the day. Can I get you anything else?”
“I’m fine.”
Once his supper tray had been removed, he opened the bed table drawer and found a pocket mirror. He checked his reflection. He had two black eyes, a purple knot on his forehead, and a smoky discoloration on the right side of his face. He must have hit the windshield or steering wheel on impact. He put the mirror away, realizing he was lucky he didn’t have cuts or broken facial bones.
At 9:00 a nurse appeared with a tray of meds. She verified his name by checking his hospital bracelet and then handed him a small pleated paper cup with two pills in it. When he was a kid his mother had given him cups the same size filled with M &M’s.
“To help you sleep,” she said when she saw the look on his face. “Do you need a urinal?”
The minute she said it, he realized his bladder was full and the pressure close to painful.
“Please.”
She set down her tray and removed a lidded plastic urinal from the cabinet beside his bed. The device had a handle and a slanted spout and looked like something his kids could invent a hundred uses for at the beach. “I’ll leave this with you. You can ring when you’re done.”
“Thanks.”
She pulled the curtain along its track, shielding him from the curious eyes of those passing in the hall. He waited until she was gone and then rolled to his left and angled his penis into the opening of the urinal. Despite his best intentions, nothing would come. He tried to relax. He put his mind on something else, but the only thing he could think about was his need for relief. He would have laughed if the need to pee hadn’t been so imperative. He’d suffered something similar when he and Carolyn were undergoing infertility treatments and he was asked to ejaculate into a cup so his sperm could be examined under a microscope and then washed before each of the five fruitless intrauterine inseminations they’d undergone.
He took a deep breath, hoping his bladder would relent. A pointless enterprise. He gave up for the moment and when the pressure was unbearable, he rang the nurses’ station. Fifteen minutes passed before the aide appeared. She palpated his abdomen and then went to consult a nurse, who returned to the room accompanied by a student nurse. She had a catheterization packet with her, and she opened it and took out the Foley, a pair of latex gloves, and a packet of lubricant. She viewed the situation as a teaching opportunity. She grasped his penis and explained how to pass the Foley into the bladder by way of his urethra.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said to him, as an aside.
“That’s fine,” Walker said. If she didn’t get on with it, his bladder would burst. He only half listened, distancing himself from what was going on.
“The size of a Foley is indicated in French units,” she was saying to the student nurse. “The most common sizes are 10 F to 28 F; 1 F is equivalent to 0.33 millimeters or.013 inches, 1/77th of an inch in diameter…”
After she instructed the student nurse in the proper technique, she encouraged her to try her hand at it. The girl was apologetic. Her fingers were ice cold and trembling. After two failed attempts, the nurse took over and inserted the catheter with remarkable efficiency. The relief was a miracle. The whole encounter was humiliating, but he was already converting it to an amusing anecdote he’d tell at the next cocktail party.
He finally managed to fall asleep, though he was awakened four times in the night-twice for a check of his vital signs, once when the pain in his ribs became insistent and he had to ask for medication, and once because an aide came into his room by mistake, thinking he was someone else. At some point during the night he realized Blake Barrigan, the shit, had never stopped by.
At 8:30 the next morning Carolyn arrived. The timing was such that he figured she’d just dropped Fletcher and Linnie off at preschool. At least he was alert now and fully awake, though he still drew a blank when it came to the accident. He knew they had top-notch insurance coverage, so he wasn’t worried about the expense. It was the hassle of paperwork and the inconvenience of being without transportation until he picked up a rental car. The headache was creeping up again, starting at the base of his skull.
Carolyn took off her coat and placed it over the arm of the upholstered chair. It took him ten seconds to register the fact she wasn’t looking at him and another ten to realize how angry she was. Carolyn was ordinarily easygoing, but once in a while something set her off and then there was hell to pay. This mood he knew: cold, withdrawn, her face pale with rage.
“Is something wrong?” He didn’t much feel like the verbal beating he knew would follow. He had no idea what she was so pissed off about, but if he didn’t ask now, she’d freeze him out until he did.
“I take it Blake Barrigan didn’t stop by last night to bring you up to speed,” she said.
Fleetingly, he thought Blake’s being remiss might explain her attitude. Carolyn took these matters seriously. She had high standards for herself and she expected others to anticipate her requirements and behave accordingly. If Blake said he’d stop by, then by god, he’d better do it.
Walker said, “Not that I’m aware. The nurse said he had a patient on the surgical floor-”
“You killed a girl.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard what I said.”
In a flash, he felt his body disconnect from his soul, like a caboose uncoupled and left behind on the track as the rest of the train moved on. He found himself floating in one corner of the room, looking down on himself. He could see the expression of bewilderment on his face. He could see the crooked part in Carolyn’s hair, her features foreshortened from his perspective. For a moment, he wondered if he’d died. Actually, he hoped he had because what she’d told him was too horrendous to absorb. His mouth was so dry he couldn’t muster speech.
Carolyn talked on, her tone indifferent, as though she were speaking of matters unrelated to him. “She was nineteen years old. She was on spring break, her sophomore year at UCST. She’d driven to San Francisco to spend the weekend with friends. She told her mother she wanted to avoid the late-afternoon traffic, so she left the city Monday morning at nine. At four-twenty she came over the hill on the 154, just three miles from home. She was halfway down the pass when you crossed the center line and struck her Karmann Ghia head-on. She never had a chance.” Carolyn closed her mouth, her lips forming a tight line while she got control of herself.
He shook his head. “Carolyn, I swear to god, I don’t remember any of this.”
“Oh, really,” she said, all cynicism. “You don’t remember going into the sports bar at State and La Cuesta Monday afternoon?”
“I didn’t even know there was one.”
“Bullshit. The Whizz Inn? We’ve passed it a hundred times and you always make a joke about the name. You were drunk when you got there Monday afternoon, loud and obnoxious. You insisted on service, but the bartender refused and when he asked you to leave, you were belligerent. He ended up calling the police the minute you were out the door. A motorist saw you getting on the 101, weaving all over the place, but by the time he got to a gas station and called it in, you’d taken the 154 off-ramp and you were heading up the pass.”
“That’s not right. That can’t be.”
“There were three other witnesses-two joggers and a guy in a pickup truck you barely missed. He ended up going off the road. He’s lucky he didn’t end up dead as well.”
“I’m drawing a blank.”
“That’s called an alcoholic blackout in case you haven’t figured it out. Forget what went on and you absolve yourself of blame. What better way to sidestep guilt than to blot it out of your mind?”
“You think I did this on purpose? You know me better than that. When have I ever-”
Carolyn rode right over him. “You know what’s odd? We saw her-the girl you killed. The kids and I must have left San Francisco the same time she did. I didn’t realize who she was until I came across her picture in this morning’s paper. We’d stopped at that Applebee’s near Floral Beach. The kids were cranky and hungry and needed a break. She was sitting in the first booth eating a burger and fries as we walked in. We sat in the booth next to hers and the kids were being silly, peeping at her over the top of the banquette. You know how they do. She started making faces at them, which delighted them no end. She finished her meal before ours arrived and she waved from the door as she went out. She was so fresh and so pretty. I remember hoping Linnie would be as sweet to little kids when she was the same age…”
Carolyn’s face crumpled and she put a hand over her mouth, sobbing like a child, rocking back and forth. She held herself at the waist, as though she had a stomachache.
He wanted to reach out, but he was aware that any gesture he made would seem woefully inadequate. Had someone really died because of him? Carolyn’s anguish was contagious and he felt tears spill from his own eyes, his weeping as automatic as yawning in the presence of someone who’s just yawned. At the same time, in the most detached and clinical part of his brain, he was hoping she’d catch sight of his tears and feel sorry for him. She was capable of mood swings and emotional shifts, being outraged one minute and forgiving the next. He needed her on his side; not an enemy, but his ally.
“Baby, I’m sorry. I had no idea,” he whispered. His voice cracked and he could feel the tension in his chest as he choked back a sound. “I can’t believe it. I’m sick about it.”
Her face snapped up, her tone incredulous. “You’re sick about it? You’re sick? You were drunk on your ass. How could you do that? How COULD you?”
“Carolyn, please. You have every right to be furious, but I didn’t mean to do it. You have to believe me.” He knew he was sounding too rational. This wasn’t a time to try persuading her. She was too upset. But how could he survive if she turned on him? All their friends loved Carolyn. They’d take their cue from her. Everyone said she was an angel; considerate, warm, loyal, kind. Her compassion was boundless-unless or until she felt betrayed. Then she was merciless. She’d often accused him of being cold, but at the core of her being, she was the one with a stony heart, not him.
He said, “I’m not asking for sympathy. This is something I’ll have to live with the rest of my life.” Inwardly, he winced because the tone was off. He sounded petulant when he meant to sound remorseful.
She took a tissue from her handbag and wiped her eyes, pausing then to blow her nose. She made a sound that was an audible sigh and he wondered if the worst of the storm had passed. She was shaking her head with a small sad smile. “Do you want to know what I came home to? You’ve probably forgotten this along with everything else. I found an empty vodka bottle and six empty beer cans tossed in the trash. There was whiskey all over the patio where you’d knocked over the Maker’s Mark. You must have fallen against the table because it was tipped up on its side and there was broken glass everywhere. It’s a wonder you didn’t cut your own throat.”
She paused and pressed the tissue against her mouth. She shook her head again, saying, “I don’t know you, Walker. I have no idea who you are or what you’re about. I’m serious.”
“What do you want me to say? I’m sorry. I’ll never have another drink again as long as I live. I give you my word.”
“Oh, for god’s sake. Spare me. Look at you. You’ve been drunk for days and now an innocent girl is dead.”
He knew better than to go on defending himself. He’d just have to ride it out, let her get it all out of her system, and then maybe she’d relent. He held his hand out, palm up, in a mute plea for contact.
She leaned forward. “I’m filing for divorce.”
“Carolyn, don’t say that. I’ll quit. I promise you.”
“I don’t give a shit about your promises. You said you could quit anytime you wanted, but you meant as long as I kept an eye on you. The minute my back was turned, you were at it again and look at the result. I’m not your keeper. That’s not my job. You’re in charge of yourself and you blew it.”
“I know. I understand. I have no defense. I’m begging you not to do this. We’re a family, Carolyn. I love you. I love my kids. I’ll do anything to make this right.”
“There’s no way to make it right. That poor girl died because of you.”
“Don’t keep saying that. I get it and you have no idea how horrible I feel. I deserve the worst. I deserve anything you want to throw at me-hatred, blame, recriminations, you name it-only please not right now. I need you. I can’t get through this without you.”
Her smile was mocking and she rolled her eyes. “You are such a horse’s ass.”
“Maybe so, but I’m an honorable man. I’ll take full responsibility. You can’t condemn me for one lapse in judgment-”
“One lapse? Perhaps along with everything else, you’re forgetting your previous DUI.”
“That was years ago. The whole thing was dumb and you know it. The cop pulled me over because the tag on my license plate was expired. The guy was a moron. You said so yourself.”
“Not so much of a moron he didn’t smell whiskey on your breath and haul you off to jail. I was the one who bailed you out. Because of you, the social worker nearly tossed out our application to adopt-”
“Fine. All right. I did that, Your Honor. I’m guilty as charged. I’ve apologized a hundred times, but you keep bringing it up. The point is, nothing came of it. No harm, no foul…”
She got up and reached for her coat. “Tell the judge ‘No harm, no foul’ at your arraignment. That ought to be good for a laugh.”
The rest of the day went by in a blur. He feigned more pain than he felt, just to get more medication. God bless Percocet, his new best friend. He picked at his supper tray, then flipped from channel to channel on the TV set, too restless to focus. He ran through the confrontation with Carolyn a hundred times. What he hadn’t dared confess, for fear of her heaping even more venom on him, was that he actually felt nothing one way or the other. How could he regret consequences when the before and the after and the in-between were gone?
At 9:00 P.M. he woke with a start, unaware that he’d fallen asleep. He heard footsteps in the hall and turned to the door expecting to catch sight of Blake Barrigan. He’d never had much use for the guy, but their wives were friends and he was sorely in need of a friend himself just now. Barrigan, like most doctors, was capable of keeping judgment at bay, appearing sympathetic whether he felt that way or not.
When Herschel Rhodes appeared in the doorway, Walker thought he was hallucinating. Herschel Rhodes? Why was he stepping into his hospital room? Walker had known him at Santa Teresa High School, where the two had occasional classes together. Herschel was a homely teen, awkward and overweight, with bad skin and no social skills. To compensate for his failings he was earnest and studious, the poor schmuck. Teachers fawned over him because he paid attention in class and actually participated. That’s how out of it he was. The boy was hell on raising his hand and the answers he gave were usually right. He turned in his class assignments on time, even going so far as to type his term papers, including the copious footnotes. What a little kiss-ass. Herschel was one of those kids shunned and ignored by the popular kids. No one was ever outright rude to him and if he was aware of the smirks and eye rolling that went on behind his back, he gave no indication of it.
He was now in his late thirties, still round-faced, with his dark hair slicked back in a style Walker hadn’t seen since the early 1960s. He’d been a merit scholar and graduated from Santa Teresa High third in his class. Walker had heard he’d graduated from Princeton and had then gone on to Harvard Law. He’d passed the bar the first time around. His specialty was criminal defense. Walker had seen his full-page ad in the yellow pages-murder, domestic violence, DUI, and drug offenses. It seemed like a sleazy way to make a living, but he must have done well at it because Walker ’d seen his house in Montebello and the guy lived well. He’d become better-looking with age, and the traits that were deficits in his teens now stood him in good stead. He was reputed to be a ruthless competitor at anything he undertook-golf, tennis, bridge. “Cutthroat” was the word they used. He played hard, he played to win, and no one got in his way.
Herschel seemed startled at the sight of him. “Jesus, you look like shit.”
Walker said, “Herschel Rhodes, of all people. I didn’t expect to see you.”
“Hello, Walker. Carolyn asked me to stop by.”
“As an attorney or a friend?”
Herschel’s expression was bland. “We’re hardly friends.”
“Nicely put. If you must know, I’m in the doghouse with her, piece of shit that I am. I can’t believe she’s taking pity on me.”
Herschel smiled slightly. “She figured it was in her best interests. You go down, she goes down with you. None of us wants to see that.”
“Oh, god no,” Walker said. “Have a seat.”
“This is fine. I can’t stay long. I hope you know the kind of trouble you’re in.”
“Why don’t you spell it out for me? I’m not sure if anyone’s mentioned it, but the past four or five days are completely blank as far as I’m concerned.”
“Not surprising. You came into the ER with a blood alcohol of 0.24-three times the legal limit.”
“Says who?”
“They drew blood.”
“I had a concussion. I was out.”
Herschel shrugged.
“They drew blood when I was out? What horseshit. Can they do that?”
“Sure, under the implied consent law. When you apply for and receive a driver’s license, you consent to a chemical test on request. Even if you’d been conscious, you wouldn’t have had much choice. If you’d refused, or tried to, you’d have been charged with a refusal and they’d have taken the blood anyway pursuant to Schmerber Versus California-a U.S. Supreme Court case about the need to preserve evidence that’s dissipating.”
“Shit. I love it. Schmerber Versus California. Is that all? Give me the rest of it. You’re bound to have more.”
“You’ll be charged with Penal Code 191.5-gross vehicular manslaughter while intoxicated. That carries four, six, or ten years, unless you have a prior, in which case it’s fifteen years to life.”
“Fuck.”
“When did you get a DUI?”
“Two years ago. Look it up. The date escapes me.”
“You’ll also be charged with VC-20001, subsection C-felony hit-and-run after a fatal DUI accident-”
“What are you talking about? What hit-and-run?”
“Yours. You left the scene. The cops found you half a mile away, trudging down the pass all by your lonesome. One shoe off and one shoe on. Remember the nursery rhyme? ‘Diddle diddle dumplin’, my son John, went to bed with his trousers on; one shoe off and the other shoe on…’ ”
Walker said, “Quit already. I know the one you mean.” He would have denied it, but he suffered a quick flash of himself stepping on a rock. He’d cussed and hopped on one foot, laughing at the pain.
Herschel continued in the same mild tone, his gaze fixed on Walker ’s. Walker wondered if it was malevolence he was seeing in his eyes, Herschel Rhodes’s long-awaited and oh-so-delicious revenge for past slights.
“You’ll also be charged with VC- 23153 A and B-DUI causing injury. If you’ve been convicted of a DUI within the past ten years, you could be charged with second-degree murder under the Watson case-”
“Shit on you, Herschel. I just got done telling you I have a fucking prior so why don’t you stick VC-23153 up your ass?”
“Have you talked to anyone else about this?”
“Just you and my wife. Believe me, that’s more than enough.”
Herschel leaned closer. “Because I have one piece of advice for you, pal: Keep your mouth shut. Don’t discuss this with anyone. If the subject comes up, you button your lip. You’re a deaf-mute. You no speaka da language. Are you hearing me?”
“Yes.”
“Good. The doctor’s talking about releasing you tomorrow morning-”
“So soon?”
“They need the bed. I’ll see if I can talk the cops into waiting until you’re home to take you into custody. Otherwise, they’ll arrest you right here, handcuff you to the rail, and post a cop outside the door. Whichever way it goes, remember these two words. Shut. Up.”
Walker shook his head, saying “Shit” under his breath.
“In the meantime, you’d be smart to put yourself in rehab, at least make a show of cleaning up your act.”
“I can’t go into rehab. I have a family to support.”
“AA, then. Three meetings a week minimum, daily if it comes down to it. I want you to look like a guy renouncing his sins and repenting his evil ways.”
“Are you going to get me out of this mess?”
“Probably not, but I’m the best hope you have,” Herschel said. “If it’s any comfort, you won’t go to trial for another three to six months. Speaking of which, I need a check.”
“How much?”
“Twenty grand for starters. Once we get to court, we’re talking twenty-five hundred dollars a day, plus the cost of expert witnesses.”
Walker kept his expression neutral, not wanting to give Herschel the satisfaction of seeing his dismay. “I’ll have to move money over from savings. I don’t keep cash like that in my checking account. Can it wait until I get out?”
“Have Carolyn take care of it. Nice seeing you.”