Last shot

Chapter 19

There was no lock on the door, which made Walker nervous, but if he sat with his chair pressed to the wall, he could watch the front parking lot through the sash window, which he'd struggled to push up and open. The room, sized like a generous walk-in closet, was bare-bones-bed, nightstand, visitor's chair-but clean and private. The occasional waft of lemon disinfectant rose from the linoleum tiles to relieve the scent of decay. A stiff top sheet crossed Bev Jameson crisply at the chest, her bare arms lying at her sides like they'd been placed there by someone else. An oxygen tube ran from a cluster of bedside equipment to rim her upper lip. Her copper hair rested in loose coils on a rouge-stained pillow. A few pencil sketches by a child hung on the walls, dragons and Vikings and muscular robots, some of the depictions surprisingly proficient. At the bottom of each, rendered proudly in a wobbly hand, was the artist's name. Sam J.

Bev licked her cracked lips, her unblinking eyes remaining on her son. "Tess had problems, all right. I couldn't count them on four hands. Money. Sammy. She burned all her time with the medical stuff-Lord knows, it's a pain in the ass. Dealing with insurance, doctors, referrals. She was excited about some new technology, gonna switch up Sammy's genes or something, but it didn't pan out. The things she did for that boy."

"Any new friends?"

"Not that I knew of."

"Boyfriend?"

Bev coughed for a good while, not bothering to raise a fist. When she finally finished, her smoky eyes grew smaller and darkened with remembered anger. "Jesus, you're just like your father." She squinted, not wanting to miss a second of Walker's reaction. "Out of the loop for how long? Then here you are, poking around, demanding answers."

"Pierce asked questions? Why would he give a shit?"

"Why would you?" Bev's laugh turned into a wheeze. "Of course you hate your father. You're stamped outta the same press." She raised a trembling tissue to her face and blotted her lips. "Once we split, he never wanted to acknowledge Tess. Or you. Or me, for that matter. But someone lays a hand on her, all of a sudden she's his flesh again." She shook her head, her neck tensing with surprisingly firm tendons. "His old ways." She kneaded the ragged tissue in a liver-spotted fist. "Now you come clamoring in over Tess's body like some Greek play. But when she was scraping bottom? No, sir." She spoke observationally, as if cruelty were far from her mind. "She was twice the person you'll ever be."

"Ain't that the truth."

Gurney wheels wobbled by out in the hall, accompanied by faint moaning.

"Early to see you, by my calendar." Her wise, wet eyes appraised him. "What next?"

"I don't know."

"Sure you do," she said, her voice coming smooth and steady now. "You'll get ahold of your father, and you'll do what you came for."

They regarded each other, mindful of the rumbling of ancient resentments, neither eager to spark the barely contained animosity. Walker supposed this is what vulnerability felt like-a reluctance to pick certain fights. Bev broke the silence with a coughing fit that racked her shoulders from the pillows and did not seem inclined to end. She spit into a bedpan, neatly dual-purpose, and settled back, a band of sweat sparkling through the foundation smoothing her forehead.

"There's some unspoken rule about all this, but I'll break it. I don't want to die. I know I'm supposed to be stoic and noble and all that crap, but I'm not. I'm scared. I don't want to die. I don't know what's waiting for me." She looked around her tiny quarters and let loose a cynical cackle. "I suppose it's gotta be better than this."

Walker again felt the sharpness of her stare, its hidden edge of accusation. The rough, cracked skin of his hands rasped when he rubbed his palms together. "I'm sorry I didn't work out." He paused to clear his throat softly. His voice was reflective, without self-pity. "I know I wasn't what you wanted."

A flicker of emotion altered her face, though what it was he couldn't say. She started to reply, but then the door clicked open and Walker darted across the room, hands resting on the windowsill. But it was just a young nurse smiling from the doorway.

"I didn't know you had a son, Beverly." She blushed. "I mean, it's just that your daughter visits so much more."

"Visited," Walker said.

More blood darkened her cheeks. "Right. I'm sorry. I, uh…"

"I'd like more apple juice," Bev said.

Grateful for the excuse, the nurse nodded and backed out, easing the door shut soundlessly, as if to convey remorse about her intrusion.

Walker stood beside the window, but Bev kept her head turned away. "They'll come looking for me," he said. "I'd appreciate it if you'd-"

"I don't think you've got ground to ask any favors here, Walker."

He dipped his chin once. "Don't worry," he said to the back of her head. "You won't see me again." He stepped through the window, setting one foot on dirt, then paused, straddling the sill. "I always thought I was gonna get to know you better."

A polite rap on the door, and then the nurse entered, bearing a glass of apple juice. "Where'd your son go? What's wrong, honey?"

Still as a corpse, Bev held her gaze on the blank wall.

The nurse set the glass on the nightstand. "Here's a Kleenex."

Bev waited for her to leave before pressing the tissue to her moist cheeks.