The Searcher(119)
It’s Lena, getting out of her car with Nellie bounding ahead of her, and lifting a hand to Cal in the door-beam of light down the grass. What with one thing and another, their plans slipped Cal’s mind. He recognizes her just in time to avoid making a fool of himself by shouting the Lord only knows what. Instead he remembers, after a moment, to raise a hand in return.
As she gets close, Lena’s eyebrows shoot up. “What the holy Jaysus,” she says.
Cal had forgotten what he looks like. “I got beat up,” he says. It occurs to him that he’s holding a rifle. He steps back inside and lays it down on the counter.
“I got that part, yeah,” Lena says, following him. “Didja shoot anyone with that yoke?”
“No casualties,” Cal says. “Far as I know.”
Lena takes his chin in her hand and turns his face from side to side. Her hand is warm, rough-skinned and matter-of-fact, like she’s examining a hurt animal. “Are you going to the doctor?”
“Nope,” Cal says. “No real harm done. It’ll heal.”
“I’ve heard that somewhere before,” Lena says, giving his face one more look and releasing it. “The pair of ye are a match made in heaven, d’you know that?”
Trey has emerged from the bedroom and squatted down to make friends with Nellie, who is joyously wriggling and licking. “How’s the war wounds?” Lena asks her.
“Grand,” Trey says. “What’s her name?”
“That’s Nellie. If you give her a bitta food, you’ll have a friend for life.” Trey heads for the fridge and starts rummaging.
“You oughta go home,” Cal says. “They might come back.”
Lena starts unloading the various pockets of her big wax jacket. “You never know your luck. If they do, I might do a better job of dealing with them than ye two have.” The jacket contains an impressive quantity of stuff: a small carton of milk, a hairbrush, a paperback book, two cans of dog food, a clip-on book light, and a toothbrush, which she waves at Cal. “Now. I came prepared this time.”
Cal feels that Lena isn’t taking in the full weight of the situation, but if his face and Trey’s haven’t brought it home to her, he can’t come up with anything that would. “I bought a couple of air mattresses,” he says. “They’re in the car. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep an eye out while I go fetch them.”
One of Lena’s eyebrows arches upwards. “You want me to cover you, is it? With that yoke?” She nods at the rifle.
“You know how to use it?”
“For Jaysus’ sake, man,” Lena says, amused, “I’m not going to crouch under the window playing snipers while you go twenty meters to your car. You’re going nowhere, anyway: with that arm, you can’t carry anything. I’ll go. Where’s your keys?”
Cal doesn’t like that idea one bit, but he can’t get round the fact that she has a point. He works his good arm around to fish his keys out of his pants pocket. “Lock it up once you’re done,” he says, although he’s not sure what this will achieve.
“And you can’t cover me, either,” Lena points out, catching the keys. “That yoke needs two good arms.”
“I’ll do it,” Trey says, from where she’s sitting on the floor feeding ham slices to Nellie.
“No you won’t,” Cal says. He finds himself getting irritated with Lena. He was starting to feel that he had a grip on the situation, until she showed up, and now the whole thing seems to have slipped out of his hands and got itself stranded somewhere between dangerous and ridiculous. “You’ll quit distracting that dog, is what you’ll do, so it can go along with Miss Lena. Put that ham away.”
“Now there’s a stroke of genius,” Lena says approvingly. “Nothing like a beagle to fight off a gang of desperate criminals. She hasn’t had her supper; I’d say she could eat at least three of ’em, depending how much meat they have on them. Were they big ones?”
“If you’re getting those mattresses,” Cal says, “now would be a good time. There’s some groceries in there, while you’re at it.”
“Sure, anyone’d be a narky fucker, after the day you’ve had,” Lena tells him consolingly, and she heads out to the car. Cal follows her to the door to watch after her, regardless of what she thinks about that and of whether he could actually be any help if she needed it. Trey, after a brief pause to assess matters, goes right back to feeding Nellie.
By the time they—Lena and Trey, mainly—have unloaded the groceries, fed the dog, inflated the mattresses, set out one on each side of the fireplace and made up the beds, Trey is yawning and Cal is fighting it. All his good intentions with steak and green beans have gone out the window. Trey’s cheese sandwich will have to get her through the night.
“Bedtime,” he tells her. He throws her the clothes he got in town. “Here. Pajamas, and stuff for tomorrow.”
Trey holds up the clothes like they have cooties, her chin goes out and she starts to say something that Cal knows is going to be about charity. “Don’t give me any shit,” he says. “Your clothes stink of blood. By tomorrow they’re gonna be attracting flies. Throw ’em out here once you’ve changed, and I’ll wash ’em.”