Chapter 10 – Jennie
I press my palm to Chris’s and link our fingers together. As usual, he’s being wonderful when I don’t deserve it. The mess I’m in is of my own making.
The biggest mistake I made wasn’t marrying David.
It was saying no to Chris all those years ago when we were in school.
I thought I was protecting him. I was bullied so badly for being an outsider—a brown girl in a school full of white kids.
I was the half-breed Mexican-American, and I wanted to spare him that pain—the jokes, the slurs, the hateful looks.
The name-calling. He was already being bullied because of his mother, and I didn’t want to add to his misery.
So, instead, I drove him away—literally, he left town because of me.
I know he did because his mother told me so not long before she died of an overdose.
I can still hear Kitty Nelson’s voice in my head.
“You drove my son away, you fucking slut! What, you think you’re too damn good for my boy? Well, to hell with you.”
It was ironic that she called me a slut when I was still a virgin, and she was the notorious town prostitute.
I want so badly to tell him how I feel—how I’ve always felt about him. But it’s far too little, too late.
“I should never have gone away,” he says, his voice low and tight, laced with self-recrimination. “I should never have left you.” He squeezes my hand. “God, I wish I could go back and do things differently.” His eyes tear up. “I just couldn’t handle it at the time. Now that I’m older, I—”
“Handle what?” I ask. My heart starts pounding.
“Pining for you like a lovesick teenager. Being around you all the time, knowing you didn’t feel the same way I did—it killed me.”
I didn’t feel the same way? My throat seizes up on me. My pulse is galloping, and I can’t catch my breath. “Chris, of course I—”
“JENNIE!”
Granny’s hoarse cry rattles the windows. I jump up and run to the living room, where she’s napping on her recliner. She’s flailing her hands, clearly frantic.
“Granny, what’s wrong?” I ask. I notice Chris hovering just outside the room.
“Where’s George? Where’s my husband?”
My heart sinks. I can’t tell her the truth. It’s been years since he passed, and she still asks for him. “He’s out in the garage,” I tell her, feeling sick to my stomach for lying to her. But a white lie to spare her feelings is better than the cold hard truth.
She glances toward the big window. It’s starting to get dark out. “But it’s late.”
“You know how he gets when he’s working on his car. He’ll be along soon.” I guide her to lie back down and straighten her blanket. “Go back to sleep, Granny.”
“He’s been gone a long time.” She sighs. “I miss him so much.”
I freeze when I hear that moment of clarity coming from her. “So do I, Granny.”
She notices Chris in the doorway and points at him. “It’s your husband.”
This time I don’t want to fudge the truth. “No, Granny. I divorced David, remember? He wasn’t very nice.”
“Oh, I don’t mean him. I mean this one. Chris. The sheriff.” She yawns. “I always liked him better. He’s a good man.” As she rolls onto her side and closes her eyes, Pumpkin lies against her, purring loudly.
“Sorry about that,” I whisper to Chris, who follows me back to the kitchen.
I pick up my empty tea cup and rinse it out in the sink. My nerves are frayed. After seeing David again, I feel like my emotions are all over the place. As I stand at the sink, busying myself with unnecessary tasks, Chris takes the hint.
He walks up beside me and rests his hand on my shoulder. “I guess I should go. I’m sure you’re tired after all the drama today.”
My throat tightens as I nod. “Yeah. I guess so.” I came so close tonight to confessing how I feel about him. I want to tell him, but I’m worried about how he’ll take it. Will he hold me accountable for all the time we’ve wasted? I wouldn’t blame him if he did.
“Okay, then. Make sure you lock up.” He pats my back and lets himself out the door without another word.
I’m such a coward.
* * *
After spending a quiet and relaxing Sunday with Granny folding towels, watching Little House on the Prairie reruns, and working on a puzzle, I return to work as usual on Monday.
That afternoon, I’m standing beside a booth at the front of the restaurant, taking an order, when an unfamiliar car goes speeding up Main Street so fast, it catches nearly everyone’s attention. A moment later, Chris speeds by in his sheriff’s SUV, sirens blaring and lights flashing.
The wide panel windows actually shake.
And right on Chris’s heels come two deputy patrol cars running their lights and sirens as they follow in hot pursuit.
A male customer walks out onto the sidewalk and gazes down the road in the direction the vehicles were driving. When he returns, he shrugs. “I couldn’t see anything. They all kept on going out of sight.”
I say a silent prayer for Chris and the deputies, hoping they’ll be safe. It must be serious if they’re willing to pursue a car at high speed. I know Chris frowns on those high-speed chases. “Only when someone’s life or liberty is at stake,” he always says.
I resume taking my customers’ orders, but before long, we’re interrupted by the sound of yet more approaching sirens. This time, we all glance out the window to see a paramedic squad speed by, followed by a firetruck.
My stomach drops.
Someone’s hurt.
Please let Chris be all right.
After I turn in my customers’ orders, I sneak back to my office and call the police station.
Darlene answers. “Sheriff’s office. How may I direct your call?”
“Darlene, hi. It’s Jennie. We just saw Chris and some deputies speeding up Main Street, followed by paramedics. Is everyone on the force okay?” Please say yes.
She hesitates a moment before answering, which makes my anxiety skyrocket. “Jennie, I really can’t—”
“Darlene, please! I’m worried about Chris and the deputies. At least tell me they’re all right.”
Darlene sighs. “Normally I wouldn’t share information like this over the phone, but I know you and Chris are close.
I think he’d want you to know. There was an accident.
Chris and the guys tried to box the suspect in, but the suspect managed to ram Chris’s vehicle and drive him off the road.
The suspect then lost control of his car and crashed into a tree. ”
I drop into my chair as I try not to hyperventilate. “Is Chris okay?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. All I know is Ricky called for the paramedics. Oh, wait—” She’s silent a moment. When she comes back to the phone, she says, “The suspect died at the scene, but the little girl is okay. Chris is being taken to Estes Park Health.”
That’s the main hospital in Estes Park, known for their critical care services and emergency room. “Oh, my God. Is it—is he—is it serious?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have any more info than that. I wish I did.”
My mind is racing, and all I can think of is that I need to get to the hospital. I need to be with Chris. “Wait—you mentioned a little girl?”
“Yeah. It was a carjacking at a gas station south of town. The suspect dragged the father out of his car and took off with the man’s three-year-old daughter still in the car. Thank God she was still strapped into her car seat. It probably saved her life.”
After I hang up the phone, I inform my staff I’m heading to the hospital. I also text Micah to let him know where Chris is and what’s happened.
I jog home to get my car.
When I fill Dawn in, she tells me not to worry about Granny. She’ll stay with her until I can return home.
I hop in my car and head south to Estes Park, fudging a bit on the speed limit. I hardly remember the drive. I’ve made it so many times, I can do it by rote. When I arrive at the hospital, I park in the ER lot and walk in.
* * *
When I reach the information desk in the ER department, I blurt out, “Where’s Sheriff Nelson? He was just brought in.”
A middle-aged woman glances up at me. “Are you family?”
Chris doesn’t really have any next of kin, at least no one I know of. “Yes!” I say without hesitation. “I’m his fiancée.”
The woman checks her computer screen. “He’s in room eight.” She points to a set of double doors. “Go through those doors, then turn right and follow the signs. The door numbers are marked.”
I follow her instructions, and after wandering around a bit, I find Chris’s room. He’s lying on a bed. His forehead is bandaged, as is his right shoulder. The sheets are bloody, and so are the bandages.
I step into the room and try to be quiet so I don’t disturb the nurse who is gently wiping blood off his face. My heart is in my throat, threatening to choke me.
When she spots me standing here, she smiles and waves me closer. “It’s okay. You can come talk to him. I’m just getting him cleaned up.”
His eyes are closed, but based on his ragged breathing, I sense he’s awake.
I lean close. “Chris? It’s me. I’m here.”
He cracks open his eyes and squints at me as he winces in pain.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk.” I reach down and squeeze his left hand, the only part of him not covered in blood. “I came as soon as I heard.” I glance up at the nurse, who’s just about done cleaning him up. “Is he okay?”
“His vitals are stable,” she says. “He has a superficial cut on his forehead—hence all the blood. Scalps bleed a lot. And his right shoulder is dislocated. Once we get someone in here to address that, he should be good as new.”
“Oh, thank God.” Relief washes through me, leaving my knees weak. I pull a chair up to the side of the bed so I can sit near him.
He’s clinging to my hand, and apparently neither one of us wants to let go.
“Are you okay?” I ask when we’re finally alone. “I saw you drive past the diner when you were chasing that suspect. I heard the little girl is fine.”
When he shifts position, he cries out. “Damn it, that hurts!” He blows out a breath. “Yeah, Ricky told me she was okay. I saw the suspect crash, and I was afraid for the kid. I’m just glad she’s all right.”