Chapter 81
Chapter 81
W ith the plane on its way, Lonnie relayed the details of Bones’s rescue and ensuing eighteen hours of surgery. How the Sisters lined up to give blood. When I joked around saying that was a good thing because Bones had never been very good at keeping in touch with his feminine side, he quipped, “Yeah, trust me, at this point I’m having hot flashes and pretty well convinced I’m single-handedly putting the ‘men’ back in ‘menopause.’”
Every few seconds, I’d touch Bones’s hand or foot or just put my hand on his shoulder, because the utter inconceivability of the moment was larger than my brain could process. Bones told me of falling into the well and how the water had receded, offering him a shorter way out. Less distance to the outside. Which, as his letter had predicted, helped save his life. Then he told me about Lon, as he was fond of calling her. How in the really tough moments, she pulled him back. Back from the brink. Which had been often. Not to mention he loved the sound of her voice when she read to him.
I filled him in on Ashley, his girls, Maui, Jerusalem, and Ariel. To which Bones nodded, saying, “Good man.” I told him about Words with Friends and the break. The anonymous request to play. Alaska. The rough plane landing. The cabin. What we found. I also told him about Maynard. His farmhouse in Virginia. How Clay, Camp, and I had pretended the drunken crash to install cameras. And my phone calls with Maynard.
Bones listened and processed. Finally, he said, “Does he suspect you suspect him? ”
“Not sure. I’ve tried to hide it, but my disdain is palpable.”
“And Ashley?”
I shook my head. “Not good. Sequestered in Georgia. The knowledge of what happened to his girls was too... well, he has submitted a letter of resignation. The president has issued a replacement to the Senate. They’re scheduled to vote in a week.”
Bones’s face told me he did not like what I just told him.
“And the nominee?”
“I’ll give you one guess.”
“Figures.”
Bones had tired, so he napped while Lonnie showed me the grounds and Gunner kept watch over Bones. Evidently he’d smelled Bones, which was why he’d bolted up the stairs and started barking his head off. He’d done exactly what I’d told him to do. “Find Bones.”
That evening, as Bones faded off, Lonnie tapped my shoulder. “He’s tired. We’d better let him get his sleep.”
In the kitchen, I asked Lonnie, “There a butcher shop nearby?”
She drew me a map. “Tell them I sent you.”
I returned twenty minutes later, fired up an ancient outdoor stone grill thing, and watched Gunner salivate. When the steak was ready, I let it cool, cut it into small pieces, and, to Lonnie’s audible delight, lay on the floor with him and fed him piece by piece. Twenty minutes later, Gunner had returned to Bones’s side, stretched out, and snored the drunken-sailor snore of contentedness.
I slept a few hours on the sofa in his room. Lonnie brought me coffee at daybreak, and we walked the grounds while she told me her story. Late fifties. Studied medicine in school. Engaged to be married in her early twenties. Her husband-to-be, an Italian race car driver, died in a crash. Heartbroken, she’d joined the convent, and they’d encouraged her to finish her studies. She did. Excelled in surgery. And in trauma. She’d obtained specialties in war-torn parts of Africa, Serbia, and Iraq, traveling with various NGOs but always returning here. Both to her hospital, where she served as chief of surgery, and to her boat. The Nun Taken . Always had a thing for kids. Especially the tormented ones.
The plane landed late afternoon on the second day. Everybody came. Knowing she was about to be invaded by a lot of people, I started making hotel reservations. Watching me struggle with the language barrier, Lonnie waved me off. “Sisterhood isn’t as popular as it once was. We have a few empty rooms. Take your pick.”
To protect Freetown in their absence, Camp had called in a few favors. The reason? A much-needed vacation for all of us. Given that the pay was really good, guys lined up, making a wait list. Freetown was well guarded and cared for, but no one outside of us and Sister Catalonia, who had insisted that I call her Lonnie, knew of Bones’s resurrection.
I met them at the plane with the convent van and was immediately bombarded with ten thousand questions. I just held up a hand and shook my head. What could I say? The smile on my face told them much of what they needed. We unloaded, they followed me single file, and then one by one we walked into the convent where Lonnie had Bones sitting on a porch overlooking the water. When they saw him, a hush fell. They all covered their mouths and stood at a distance. Then Bones stood and said, “Well, don’t just stand there. Bring it in.” And I watched in amazement as Bones walked back into our lives.
There were several moments in my life I’d never forget. That moment was one of them.
Ellie, Angel, and Casey cried like teenage girls who’d just watched The Notebook . Summer wasn’t far behind. Clay didn’t even pretend to hold it together, just bear-hugging his friend. Camp stood to one side and nodded. “Sir.”
Bones laughed and noticed his sidearm concealed within his jacket. It was the CZ I’d given him, which was actually Bones’s to begin with. “Nice choice.”
Camp pointed at me. “It’s his.” Then he thought about it. “Well, actually it’s yours.”
Bones looked at me with a comical and disapproving look. “I guess this means you’ve been sampling my cellar.”
They all nodded, and Clay spoke up. “Every chance he gets.”
Jess, BP, and Eddie were next. Followed by Shep, who stood pressing himself to my thigh, holding my hand. Bones saw his reticence, stooped down, which took no little effort, and held out his arms. I whispered, “It’s okay.”
Shep gingerly stepped forward, unsure if Bones was real or a ghost. Bones gathered him to his chest and, after a little help getting settled in a chair, pulled him up on his lap, where he tickled him. The laughter was pure tonic.
And Summer? After hugging his neck and smearing tears on Bones’s face, Summer locked arms around me. Pressing herself to me. Blurring where she ended and I began. Which was just fine with me.
We spent an unbelievable week. Feeling guilty like we’d overstayed our welcome, we made plans to leave, but when Sister Catalonia found out, she would have none of it. So we stayed two more. Bones improved, taking slow walks with each of us, and given improvement, Lonnie agreed he was healthy enough to fly. Which he was eager to do as he had a wedding to attend. Casey was beaming.
That Bones had a thing for Lonnie was evident. He was smitten. But how smitten could he be? She’d been promised to God. So he kept his feelings to himself. Watching them was tender. She’d saved his life. They were forever bound in the uncertain eight weeks they’d spent while she single-handedly pulled him back. I’d met some fine doctors in my day. She was in a class all by herself.
Two weeks in and we found them in the garden, sharing a glass of red wine. I thought about interrupting and pouring two more, to share in the moment, which is what wine is—a moment shared—but Summer tugged on my sleeve and shook her head. She was right. They were learning to say goodbye. Which would not be easy.
In our third week there, amid the bliss of a Majorcan afternoon, Summer squinted one eye and said, “You busy?”
I shook my head.
“Boat ride?”
“Love to.”
We loaded into the Zodiac, with Gunner assuming his Titanic pose at the bow, and I showed her the coastline, retracing my path. Explaining Fabio, the restaurant, and the beaches. Studying the clear water and white sand beaches, she pointed. “Like that one?”
It was deserted. Not a soul in sight. High cliffs on each side made it accessible only by boat. “Yep.”
She raised an eyebrow and nodded, that sneaky smile bubbling to the surface. I laughed, anchored up, and we walked the shoreline. Her hand in mine and my heart in hers. Then Summer did what only Summer could do. She took off her cover-up, revealing the bikini she’d been telling me about. And pointed out her cellulite.
Which she did not have.
As the sun faded, I pulled the anchor and cranked the engine, which should have brought Gunner from wherever he’d been sniffing, but he didn’t show so I cut the engine and called out, “Gunner! Here, boy!”
Nothing.
So I called again.
Still nothing.
We listened for several seconds when Summer tilted her head and said, “You hear whining?”
Come to think of it, I did. The sound was coming from the rocks above us.
I slid a Glock 17 behind my back, and we followed the sound up and into the rocks where, after winding through some granite boulders and crawling on our knees through thorns and briars, we found Gunner. He was lying on his side, his body wrapped around something small, black, and furry. “What you got, boy?”
Gunner was licking its head. The rest of its emaciated body was a mess of abrasions, scabs, and tics. Whatever this thing was, it was a mess. Fortunately for it, Gunner didn’t think so.
I lifted its head and the cutest half-open eyes I’d ever seen looked back at me. It was too weak to whine, so it just blinked and waited for the inevitable. Which, again, thanks to Gunner, didn’t come.
Not more than a couple weeks old, the little furball must have been dropped off by somebody traveling the highway higher up, and it had either crawled or rolled down here. Given his condition, he wouldn’t make it long without assistance. He had twice as much skin on his face as he needed, which produced ample folds. Square head. Small ears. A mutt for sure, but from what I could tell, he looked to be part boxer, part terrier, and part shar-pei. Whatever it was, he was a cute combination.
I looked at Gunner. “What you want to do, boy?”
Gunner nosed the puppy toward me. I lifted him.
“You sure?”
Another nudge, then Gunner stood and began walking circles, herding me toward the boat. Summer stroked the puppy’s back. “What if he doesn’t make it?”
I glanced at the rocks and the hawks flying higher up. “Better he not make it with us than not make it out here on his own.”
We washed him at the water’s edge and began pulling tics. The attention brought him to life. He cracked his eyes open a little further, and despite what certainly had been a life of hardship thus far, he began licking us. Little guy was a bundle of affection. Having cleaned him as best we could, we set him in the water and let him wobble, trying to catch his balance. Finally, he just sat in the cool water and alternated licking each of us. Gunner circled around, standing between the puppy and the deeper water while Summer fed him crushed-up pieces of Gunner’s food, which I’d had in a bag in the boat. The little guy devoured every piece.
Gunner stood alongside, letting the puppy lean against him. Every few seconds he’d stoop down and lick his head or back. And when he fell over, Gunner nudged him upright so he wouldn’t drown.
After we fed him, I climbed aboard the Zodiac and set him on my lap. Where he fell fast asleep. Snoring within seconds. Noticing the speed with which he’d taken to me, Summer put an arm around me. “You got a plan for our new little buddy?”
“Still trying to figure that out.”
She ran her fingers through my hair, which was one of her ways of telling me she knew something that I did not. And that I needed to know it. I’d never been all that quick in the ways of women, but I wasn’t an idiot either. I smiled. “I have a feeling you know something I should probably know.”
She smiled. “Every little boy should have a puppy.”
“Yes.” I laughed. “Yes, they should.”