V9 The only flowers West had in her life this moment were the ones Niles had shredded all over the dining-room table. This was after he had scattered litter in the bathroom while his owner was in the shower, her wet bare feet about to step on grit and unpleasant things coated in it. West’s mood was volatile, anyway. She was incensed over the storm of controversy surrounding her beloved boss, and fearful of where it all might end. The day Goode became acting chief was the day West moved back to the farm. West knew all about Brazil following Hammer into very private rooms that not even West had entered.
It was all so typical, she thought as she cussed Niles, rinsed her feet and cleaned up the bathroom floor. Brazil used West to gain a foothold with the chief. Brazil had acted like a friend, then the moment he got a chance to ingratiate himself with a higher power. West didn’t hear a word from him ever again. Wasn’t that the way things went? The son of a bitch. He hadn’t called to go shooting, to ride, or even to make sure she was still alive. West discovered what was left of the blood lilies from her garden as Niles darted under the couch.
The resurrection lilies Hammer carried into Seth’s hospital room at ten a. m. were magenta and appropriately named. Hammer set them on a table and pulled a chair close. The bed was raised, allowing her husband to eat, read, visit, and watch TV on his side. His eyes were dull with the strep infection that had invaded from unknown colonies.
Fluids and antibiotics ready for combat marched nonstop through narrow tubes and into needles taped to each arm. Hammer was getting frightened. Seth had been in the hospital three nights now.
“How are you feeling, honey?” she asked, rubbing his shoulder.
“Shitty,” he said, eyes wandering back to Leeza on TV.
He had seen, heard, and read the news. Seth knew the terrible thing he had done to himself. Most of all, he knew what he had done to her and his family. Honestly, he had never meant any of it. When he was in his right mind, he’d rather die than hurt anyone. He loved his wife and could not live without her. If he ruined her career in this city, then what? She could go anywhere, and it would be ever so much easier for her to leave him behind, as she had already threatened, if she had to move anyway.
“How are things with you?” Seth mumbled as Leeza argued with a gender-reassigned plumber who had cleavage.
“Don’t you worry about me,” Hammer firmly said, patting him again.
“All that matters right now is that you get better. Think positively, honey. The mind affects everything. No negativity.”
This was like telling the dark side of the moon to lighten up a bit.
Seth stared at her. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d called him honey. Maybe never.
“I don’t know what to say,” he told her.
She knew precisely what he meant. He was poisoned by remorse and guilt and shame. He had set out to ruin her life and the lives of his children, and was getting good at it. He ought to feel like shit, if the truth was told.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Hammer gently reassured him.
“What’s done is done. Now we move on. When you leave here, we’re going to get you some help. That’s all that matters now.”
He shut his eyes and tears swam behind the lids. He saw a young man in baggy white trousers, and bow tie and snappy hat, grinning and happy on a sunny morning as he skipped down the granite steps of the Arkansas state capitol. Seth had been charming and sure of himself once. He had known how to have fun, and party with the rest of them, and tell funny tales. Psychiatrists had tried Prozac, Zoloft, Nortriptylene, and lithium. Seth had been on diets. He had stopped drinking once. He had been hypnotized and had gone to three meetings of Overeater’s Anonymous. Then he had quit all of it.