CHAPTER Two.
“Three days!?!” Rachel said.
On the one hand Dash hated that she sounded distressed about him going to Denver. On the other hand, he would have hated it more if she’d been indifferent to the prospect of him being gone.
He sat on the end of the bed and pulled her into his lap and nibbled on her earlobe. “It will come and go before you know it. Willem asked me to go.” She huffed at that. “And I might be moved to tell my family I’m an old married guy. Have to see how it goes.”
She didn’t huff at that. “You’re going to see them?”
“In my mind I’m pulling my big boy pants up and getting ready for the siege that will be laid to my psyche.”
“It’ll really be that bad?” she said quietly.
He nodded. “There’s a reason why I don’t go often.”
“Because of me?”
He sighed. “No. Because of me. I don’t belong there. I belong here. If they have a problem with you, me, or us, that’s their problem and not our problem.”
She laughed. “You made a rhyme. You’ll see your lover before bedtime.”
He fell back on the bed with her still in his arms. “Your prediction already came true. See how powerful you are? You’ll be challenging Harmony for prima seer.”
She laughed again, but later she said. “I wish you could tell them that you didn’t marry beneath you.”
“Rachel, I would have married you if you were human.”
“You would?”
“Of course, crazy. And if you were human, I still would have married up.”
She smiled and gave him the kind of kiss that sort of pronouncement deserved. “I’ll miss you so much. This house is going to seem too big.”
“You want to come?”
She ducked her chin and shook her head so that he could feel it against his chest. “You know I want to, but…”
“I know you don’t like being away. And I get why. Your safety’s more important than anything. I just wanted you to know you’re welcome.”
On the Wednesday before the conference, Dash flew out of San Antonio, only because the time worked better. The panels, lectures, and workshops had all been thoughtfully scheduled for Thursday and Friday so that people coming from other parts of the country could use their own weekend time to enjoy some Rocky Mountain high according to individual preference, whether that was shopping on 16th Street, extreme mountain sports, history-themed sightseeing, or partaking in a cannabis ‘tasting’.
He happened to be in a window seat on the left side of the plane, which began its approach pattern at Pueblo. It was a clear day which meant that he had a spectacular view of the entire front range of the Rockies as he flew north at parallel past Pikes Peak. He loved New Orleans. Loved Wimberley. And hadn’t realized he’d missed Colorado at all, but there it was. An unmistakable little twinge that said home.
Dash’s family were old money in Denver terms. They might be nouveau riche in Massachusetts, but in the mile high city they were fourth generation natives and third generation society. That counted for something.
The Fonteneaus owned a food service company that supplied grocery stores, restaurants and schools. As his father loved to say, “No matter what the four horsemen bring, people have to eat.”
That had turned out to be a sound business philosophy taken seriously by his grandfather, who had turned Dash’s great-grandfather’s chain of two small grocery stores into a Colorado empire.
When he told his mother he was coming for a meeting, she made a point of sounding unpleasantly surprised about that. Because, of course, they hadn’t known he was working. They must have supposed he was living on trust and up to nothing either productive or remarkable.
She’d insisted that Dash didn’t need to rent a car. He could use one of theirs and he knew all too well that it was a good idea to practice picking battles with his mother. So he thanked her and she arranged to have a car left at the airport with the key waiting for him in the President’s Club.
The Fonteneau house was almost nine thousand square feet nestled among blue spruce on almost two acres of the most valuable residential real estate in Denver. It was worth a few dollars short of eight million. He knew that because his parents had briefly considered selling and had called Sotheby’s for an appraisal. That was before the great marijuana migration had arrived and clogged the highways, so that estimate was outdated and likely way under current market.
Though built in 1932, it had been updated and had two elevators, a gym, wine cellar, greenhouse, and landscaping redesigned by Jeff Vogel. It wasn’t easy for a Denver house to have views of the Cherry Creek Country Club with the downtown skyline beyond and the mountains as a backdrop to that. The trifecta of viewing pleasure. But his family managed it.
When he pulled up in front, he took in a deep breath. The imposing red brick with Tudor facade was three stories tall with a roof pitch at a forty-five degree angle above that. The result was imposing even for someone who grew up in the house. It couldn’t possibly be more different from the Greek revival he lived in with Rachel.
He’d fallen in love with their house the first time he saw it. He could have built a different house if he hadn’t liked it, but there was no desire. Rachel’s house reminded him of the Garden District homes in New Orleans that he’d seen from the street car hundreds of times. On rainy days, cool days, sweltering days, and more rainy days.
Late nineteenth century might be a little frufru for a lot of guys, but not Dash.
Maybe the French blood? he mused before deciding the French had been diluted with other European heritages to the point of unimportance in any way except the name that had endured.
For Dash, the Wimberley house was a physical representation of what love would look like if it was a wood structure. When the thought flitted across his mind that maybe Rachel had bewitched it, he smiled. He didn’t know and he didn’t care.
He turned off the car and sat on the drive, making no move to open the driver’s side door, even though he knew that eventually he was going to have to get out of the car, walk to the door, and face the dragon nest.
Looking at his watch he took comfort in the fact that it was late in the day. All he had to do was get through dinner then he’d be gone to the conference early in the morning.
For Dash it meant spending two nights at his parents’ house. Friday morning he’d have his bag packed and in the car so that he could go straight to the airport. He’d say his goodbyes, and wouldn’t be back for… well, the longest time possible. He was already anticipating coming home to Rachel. And he’d just arrived.
Taking a deep breath he took long-legged strides to the front door where he hesitated. He couldn’t decide whether to ring the bell or walk right in.
It was home, but it wasn’t.
He finally opted for walking in. He tried the massive brass door handle and found it open. The foyer was laid with black and white marble tiles set in a diagonal checkerboard pattern. The stark black and white contrast might have seemed cold if not for all the polished rosewood that was featured throughout including the impressive ten-foot-wide stairway with curved banister. The entry ran the length of the front of the house ending in a huge formal room at one end, a leather and trophy bar at the other, and several perpendicular hallways dividing the first story by function.
He stopped and listened. Hearing nothing, he said, “Hello?”
A maid that he remembered hurried toward the front of the house with a big smile. He grinned in return. “Maggie? Is that you?”
“Yes, indeed,” she said. “How are you, Mr. Fonteneau?”
“Good. Seems quiet around here?”
She shook her head. “Not for long. Dinner in an hour. Your mother is here. In her study. Your father and brother will be here by the time food is being served.”
Dash leaned toward her conspiratorially. “Anything I need to know? Come on. Don’t throw me to the wolves unprepared.”
She chuckled. “Good household help sees and hears nothing.”
“And you’re…”
“Yes, sir. Good at this job.”
“You are no help at all.”
“Well, I did up your old room for you. That’s some kind of help.”
Dash smiled. “Thanks, Maggie. Where is she?”
“Her study.”
“Her study?”
“Oh. Guess that was done since you’ve been gone. She converted the sunroom.” He nodded and started toward the interior of the house, feeling like he was a warrior facing a battle he couldn’t win, but must fight for honor’s sake. “Dinner in an hour.”
“What are we having?”
“Your mother had us make all your favorites.”
That surprised him. Maybe it shouldn’t have. He just wasn’t expecting his mother to go out of her way, at all, to make him feel welcome.
The former sunroom French door was open. Dash’s mother was typing on a keyboard. Instead of immediately making her aware of his arrival, he stood in the doorway and watched.
Adrienne Fonteneau was still beautiful, turning fifty later in the year, and concentrating on something as if it was a job she depended on for survival. She’d lightened her light brown hair with highlights so that it was currently an attractive mix of brown, gray, and blonde. When he cleared his throat her gray eyes jumped to lock on his.
Just before she assumed her austere composure, he thought he saw a moment of pure pleasure bordering on delight. At seeing him?
She immediately stopped what she was doing, rose from her desk, and walked around to give him a hug.
“And there he is. The prodigal son.” She smiled. “Come in and let me have a good look at you.”
Dash returned her smile and hug, but didn’t let down his guard. Outwardly he was warm. Inwardly he was wary. Parents have the power to uplift and thrill. They also have the power to smash and burn.
“So this is the study now?”
“Not the study,” she said. “My study. Don’t you know that the study is always shorthand for his?”
Dash chuckled. “I’d never thought about it. You looked like you were really into something.”
She looked back toward the desk like she’d forgotten what she’d been working on. “Oh,” she waved, “it’s just a fundraiser for the arts foundation.”
“Yeah? Well, they’re lucky to have you on their side.”
“They are, aren’t they?” She put her arm through his and guided him into the hallway. “We’re having dinner at seven thirty. Your brother is coming. And your dad, of course. Everybody wants to hear all about your adventures.”
“Adelaide, too?”
“No. Just Zane. We decided to make it a core family night. Us four. No more. As we used to say.”
Dash tensed slightly, understanding the potential for ambush. “I see. And are we dressing for dinner?”
She grinned. “I see you haven’t lost that unique sense of humor. Or else you’ve been watching reruns of Downton Abbey. I still have a strong preference for shirt and shoes at dinner if that’s what you mean. Other than that, it’s wearer’s option.” Her eyes drifted over his clothes. “That’s a nice jacket.”
“Thanks.” He managed to stop himself just before blurting out that it was a present from his wife.
“You want to get settled? Your old room has been freshened up.” When they reached the bottom of the staircase, she said, “You know the way. Feel free to use the elevator if you want.“
He smirked. “Maybe in another forty years or so.”
He watched something unusual flit over her face. “I know that to you that sounds like an impossibility. But forty years will fly away and be gone before you feel like you’ve begun to make progress on Life 101.”
Dash cocked his head, grew serious, and gave his mother a long look. “Is that how you feel, Mom? About your life?”
She smiled brightly, her mask firmly in place once again. “Of course not. Don’t be silly.”
Walking away, toward the kitchen, she said, “We’re having Shepherd’s Pie for dinner. I’ll never understand where you got the penchant for pub food. Maybe a former life.”
Dash pulled his bag inside. When he reached the bottom of the staircase, the climb looked more daunting with a large four-wheeled suitcase. Looking around to make sure nobody saw, he headed for the elevator.
The wing of the house where he and his brother had grown up was full of memories; the ghosts of adventures and mischief flooded his mind as he stood in the hallway absorbing what it meant to have turned the page on one of the biggest chapters in life. If he turned right, he’d enter his own room. Zane’s was to the left.
He stepped inside. It had been a warm day for early fall and Maggie had left the double casement windows open, but darkness in Denver means temperatures going south fast. He walked over and closed the window then stood transfixed, feeling a little like he’d entered a time capsule. Trophies. Photos. Banners. A hockey stick that was broken, but kept because it had won a playoff game.
Every surface, including the walls, reflected a life that felt like it belonged to somebody else. He held that person’s memories, but found it hard to relate to that younger version of himself.
He threw his bag up onto the second twin bed that he’d never slept in, the one reserved for cousins from Telluride or other guests. He pulled out toiletries and stashed them in the adjoining bath, which had been updated with new fixtures and tile. He couldn’t imagine why.
Then he sat down on his bed and called Rachel.
The call went to voice mail.
“Hey,” he said. “I had a minute and, ah, just wanted to hear your voice. Having dinner soon, but I’ll call you again later tonight.”
Ending the call he let the phone slide to the bed just before he heard stomping coming down the hall. He smiled in spite of himself knowing what was coming next.
He stood up in time to take most of Zane’s weight as his younger brother slammed into him with a bear hug.
“Big brother.” Zane laughed. “Thought for sure you’d escaped for good.”
Dash’s little brother had grown even more handsome, if that was possible. The planes of his face were more severe, more grown up, and masculine. He looked like somebody you wouldn’t want to cross. Somebody you’d be glad to have on your side.
When he let go, Dash said, “So you’re going to be a papa?”
Zane grinned big. “That’s what they say. But it can’t be true. Right? I mean. It’s me!”
Dash smiled. “Yeah. It must be a mistake. Who’d have you for a dad?”
“Somebody who didn’t really think things through.” Zane looked at the ceiling. “Oh, wait. I guess that means he’s one of us.”
They heard their mother’s voice on the intercom say simply, “Dinner.”
They both looked at the box on the wall.
“Wow. I don’t miss that at all,” Dash said. “And I’m kind of surprised it still works. Being mid twentieth century technology and all.”
Zane smiled at his brother. “There were plenty of times when we plotted destroying it at the source.”
They both laughed, but Dash quieted and got a funny look on his face.
“You know, what’s the point of being grown up if you don’t get to do some of the things you always dreamed of doing.” Zane looked confused. Until Dash walked over to the intercom, pushed the button and said, “We’re busy.”
The emotions on Zane’s face went from shock to incredulity and finally settled in a solid open-mouthed gape before he broke into peals of laughter. “God. I did always want to do that.”
Dash nodded then said, “We’d better not push it.”
“Agreed.”
As they made their way to the dining room, Zane asked about where Dash had been and what he’d been doing.
“You know, this and that,” was all he said.
Adrienne’s eyes slid to her boys. After fixing them with a cool look, she said, “Oh good. You decided to join us.”
Grey Fonteneau grinned at Dash as Dash came forward and offered his hand. His dad shook it enthusiastically and gave him a couple of rough pats on the back. “Good to have you back, son. It’s been dull without you to keep things in a stew.”
Dash decided to let that bit of passive aggression go unchallenged. “Thanks. I’m not really back though. Just here for two days. Thought I’d say hi.”
As they sat, Grey said, “That’s right. You’re here for, what was it, city planning? Sounds impressive. Is that what you’re using your MBA for? What city are you planning?” He chuckled at what he believed was a respectable joke.
“I’m working for a small outfit in Texas. My boss thought there might be something worthwhile in this, ah, conference.”
“Uh-huh. What are they paying you?”
“Grey!” Adrienne sounded scandalized.
Grey made a motion with his hands that might have been a hand signal for ‘simmer down’. “There’s no reason why I can’t ask my own kid how he’s doing.”
“Yes. There certainly is a reason. We’re going to treat our children with respect and courtesy just as we would people who deserve it.”
She said it with such sober sincerity, the other three didn’t know how to respond. When she laughed, so did they all.
“Right about now I’ll bet you’re beginning to recall why you turned out a little strange,” Zane said to Dash as he took a bite of tossed salad.
They managed to make pleasant dinner conversation for a full fifteen minutes, talking about such things as sports, impending grandchildren, Shepherd’s pie, and dessert.
“So you think you’ve had enough of knocking around?” Grey asked Dash. “Ready to come home and get serious?”
Dash put his spoon down and got ready for the onslaught, reluctantly because he loved Shepherd’s pie. “First, this was a great place to grow up. And, obviously, I never wanted for anything. But it’s not home anymore. Second, I feel like I’m serious enough.”
Grey sat back, took in a long disappointed breath, and let it out slowly through his nose.
“Dashiell,” Adrienne interjected, “your father will be ready to retire soon. If you’re going to take over the business you need some on-the-job training while he’s still there to guide you. You can’t just walk into an enterprise with an economy the size of a small country.”
Dash gave his mother the respect of listening to the speech, uninterrupted. When she was finished he turned to Grey. “Congratulations on retirement. I hope you get to play golf every day. As far as stepping in, I don’t have any intention of doing that. Ever. But Zane would be perfect. Why aren’t you having this conversation with him? As far as being serious? I’m as serious as I plan to get.”
“Because you’re supposed to do it,” Grey said.
“Supposed to? Like the eldest son of some medieval monarchy. What happened to forward thinking? That’s a phrase I heard often enough growing up.”
“It doesn’t apply here,” Adrienne said.
“Look,” Dash said. “I’m flattered. But I don’t want it. I’m just in town to attend a conference and say hi. That’s all.”
Dash’s parents more or less pouted through key lime pie while he talked movies and video games with Zane. Finally he said, “If you’ll excuse me, I’m calling it a night. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow night?” No one said anything. “Or I can get dinner out.”
Adrienne said, “As a matter of fact we did have a previous engagement we couldn’t get out of. Tonight was our only free time while you’re here.”
“Oh. Well, no problem. Good to see you both.”
Dash stood and made his way to the stairs, but Zane caught up with him. “Hold on a minute. Come over to my place tomorrow night. Adelaide would love to see you. She’ll make pasta primavera. What do you say?”
“I say you shouldn’t volunteer your wife for company without talking to her first.“
“Very wise. Which is why I got preapproval before I came tonight.”
Dash grinned. “You mean permission.”
“Don’t make it ugly,” Zane teased.
With a chuckle, Dash said, “Text me the address and when you want me there. I’ll bring wine.”
Zane shook his head. “Forget that. Just get an Uber. I’ve got blackberry whiskey.” He knew that blackberry whiskey was one of his brother’s weaknesses.
Dash barked out a laugh. “I can’t get drunk, Zane. I’ve got business to attend to.”
“Christ. You were serious about being serious.”
Dash tried Rachel again. Hearing her answer was like a balm drifting down, coating his aura with calm and a sense of all being right with the world.
“There are not words to describe how much I miss you.”
“Well, then, in the future you are forbidden to leave.”
“Agreed. If I ever suggest it again, you have permission to restrain me.”
“Ooh,” she purred. “I like the sound of that. We can try that dialogue when you get home. I have this feather boa that…”
“Stop! That is not playing fair.”
She treated him to her deep throaty, sexy laugh. “I’m not about the fair. I’m about making sure the man remembers why he wants to stay here. With me.”
“There is no way I could forget that.” He glanced at his bedroom door. “What are you wearing?”
“I thought you didn’t want to go there.”
“You’re right. Forget I asked.”
“How is it going?”
“Could be worse. Could be better. The only thing I care about is that the day after tomorrow, forty-eight hours from now, I’ll be home.”
“Can’t wait.”
With each hour that passed, Dash missed Rachel more. He administered half hourly self-recriminations like flagellations, if nothing else to be sure he’d never forget that being voluntarily separated from Rachel was as stupid as stupid gets.
An evening with Zane and Adelaide was a good distraction, but as soon as he was back in his old room, the emptiness returned.
By the time Friday arrived, he was jumping-out-of-his-skin excited.
Grey had left early. So Dash had a quick breakfast with his mother and lied about his intention to come back soon. The relief he felt to have his bag in the car and be driving away could only be fully understood by children of narcissistic parents who were masters of imposition and manipulation.
Though the relief was visceral, in many ways he felt like he’d gotten off easy. He’d thought they might make his visit unbearable. He’d take mildly uncomfortable and be glad about it.
Throughout the morning his thoughts were continually drifting to Rachel. Eventually he gave up on paying attention and recognized that it was a hopeless cause. He was simply ready to be home.
He wanted to press Rachel’s body close to his and revel in her warmth and the way her body felt like it had been custom made for his. He wanted to kiss her until her knees buckled. He wanted to smell the lavender in her hair. And he wanted to hear her giggle and feel the full body shiver response she’d make when he blew in her ear.
With those images swirling in his mind, he stepped out to make a call and see if he could get out on an earlier flight. The answer was no. He even tried going returning to San Antonio instead of Austin, but it was no use. On Friday afternoon all the business travelers were trying to get home. He was stuck with the six thirty flight.
Looking out the window toward the mountains, he made a decision on impulse. He wasn’t going to get anything else out of the conference. His concentration was shot. So he might as well do something worthwhile.
He’d take a drive up into the mountains. The aspens would be turning and there was nothing more captivating than the sight of round yellow leaves stirring in the breeze. He remembered a trip to Central City from his boyhood and thought he might go that direction.
Right after he stepped out on 16th Street to find a red scarf to take home to Rachel. She loved red. Being partial to solid colors, her closet looked red, black, gray, and white. But even when red wasn’t the garment of choice, she wore some kind of red accent, a scarf or earrings or a watch with a red band.
He stepped into a boutique offering a range of BOHO items from furniture to jewelry. Within minutes he had his hands on a long silk crinkle scarf featuring a hem with beaded fringe. He clutched it like a treasure because he knew she was going to love it. Aside from the suggestion of gypsy, it was her favorite shade of red.
When he reached the car in the parking garage, he packed the gift in his suitcase then pulled his wallet out of his back pocket so he wouldn’t have to sit on it and tossed it into the cup holder. He decided to do the same thing with his phone.
Forty-five minutes later he was turning north, away from I70. He didn’t want to take the Parkway. That wasn’t the kind of drive he’d had in mind. Four-lane highways are excellent when a drive is about the destination, but not when the drive is about the journey.
So he went past Idaho Springs and turned north on Virginia Canyon. The experience was everything he’d hoped it would be. A beautiful day far enough away from city emissions to be crystal clear. The creek water rushed over smooth round rocks. A little breeze ruffled the aspen leaves. It was perfect in every way except one.
He kept hearing himself say, “I wish I could share this with Rachel.”
It seemed nothing in life was complete or satisfying without Rachel. He was no longer Dash. He was half of a pair. Dash and Rachel. And he wouldn’t trade that for anything in the universe.
He almost passed the sign that said Oh My God Road, but slowed and, with a chuckle, pulled out his phone for a quick search. Info said it was a graveled two-way road wide enough for one-and-three-quarters of a car. It got its name from that along with the switchbacks, twists, turns, steep and rocky climbs, incredibly deep drop offs, no guard rails, and dangerous when wet. They followed that up with a warning about washboard conditions so rough they could bounce a driver right off into nothingness if not extremely careful. Apparently the redeeming qualities were breathtaking scenery, two ghost towns, and a dozen closed gold mines.
Like a true Colorado native, Dash’s thought was, “Sounds like fun.”
The car he was borrowing was a four-wheel drive Tahoe. That turned out to be providential because, based on what he was reading, the eight-and-a-half-mile challenge was not suitable for anything less than all-wheel drive. Unless the ‘less’ was foot or mountain bike.
Aiming the car up a forty-five-degree incline, he began the upward trek that would likely be his last mountain adventure for a long time, if not forever.
The road was every bit as much of a challenge as advertised. By the time he’d gone through what was left of Russel Gulch, he realized that he’d been so focused on survival that he hadn’t enjoyed the scenery at all. Clearing the next bend he came upon a panoramic vista worth stopping for. So he pulled over and got out to see the view.
He was walking back to the Tahoe to get his phone so he could take a photo to send to Rachel when he heard an engine coming around the tight bend to his right. He thought, “Too fast. They’re going too fast.”
There wasn’t much he could do about that. There wasn’t time to get to the other side of the Tahoe, get behind the wheel, start the ignition and drive away. And, on that narrow road that fell off into an abyss, there was nowhere to go.
The vehicle that more or less careened around the hairpin curve was an older model lightweight Toyota pickup that had been modified to sit on oversized all-terrain wheels. Clearly, the driver had not been expecting anyone else on the road. When he saw the Tahoe he swerved, but rammed the bumper hard enough to send it over the edge, but kept going without even slowing down.
As if seeing the whole calamity in slow motion, Dash had tried to get out of the way, but there was no place to go but a straight up rock climb. Stumbling back he slipped and his head caught the edge of an outcropping.
Dash came to hours later. It was raining hard and had turned cold. He looked both directions, trying to decide which way to turn, but he had no idea. He knew his head hurt like a motherfucker. He knew he was cold, wet, and miserable. What he didn’t know was who he was, where he was, or why he was there.
He pulled the hood of his jacket up, for all the good that did, and decided to turn left. He walked for a mile that felt like fifty, skidding and falling twice because of slick mud, until he reached the Parkway. Not surprisingly cars passed without showing any interest in stopping, until a Gilpin County Sheriff pickup truck pulled onto the narrow shoulder and shined lights in his face. By that time Dash was shivering uncontrollably.
The deputy got out of his vehicle and shined the flashlight in Dash’s face. “You’re looking the worse for wear. You in need of some help?”
Being situated where they were, the Gilpin County Sheriff’s Department were often called on for search and rescue. It was as much a part of the job as making sure skiers didn’t have too much beer with their pizza in Idaho Springs at the end of a day of skiing and then try to drive back to Denver drunk.
“I guess I could use a ride,” Dash said in understatement with chattering teeth.
“You alone?”
“Yes.”
“Where’re you going?”
Dash looked every bit as lost as he was. He glanced around nervously, not liking the answer he was forced to give. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t know, huh? What’s your name?”
Dash’s teeth were chattering. “I don’t know that either.”
“You got some ID?”
Dash’s hands came up to the zippered pockets of his leather hoodie. There was nothing there. He checked his jeans pockets, front and back. Nothing.
“I, ah, guess not.”
“You pulling my leg or do you really not know who you are?”
Dash shook his head, but grabbed it with both hands because that movement hurt like hell.
“You hit your head?”
“I think so.”
“Alright. Get in and let’s get you someplace where we can sort this out.”
Jack Berry had been headed home for the night, but when his lost-looking passenger was settled in with seatbelt fastened, he headed back to the station at Black Hawk.
The closest medical facility was too far. The guy needed dry clothes and a whiskey, but the sheriff’s office was not a bar. The dispatcher on duty microwaved some hot ramen. Jack loaned him a change of civvies he kept at the station just in case something non-work related turned up. A little shorter, with a bigger waist, Jack knew the clothes weren’t going to be a perfect fit, but something was better than nothing. In the not distant past Jack had been an extreme boarder with a six-pack worthy of a magazine cover. But that story ended the way that story always ends. Eventually adult responsibilities won out.
He handed Dash the clothes along with a couple of blankets and gave the man some privacy to towel off and change.
By the time Dash had gratefully consumed the hot soup, the shivering had subsided and he was feeling less wretched.
While Dash was cleaning up and warming up, Jack had called the paramedics because of the gash in his scalp and his suspicion that the man might be telling the truth about his loss of memory.
Jack was sitting with Dash near the pot belly stove they’d lit to make him more comfortable, when the paramedics arrived. Two bruisers who looked more like Saturday night bar bullies than angels of mercy. But looks can be deceiving.
They walked back to where Jack and Dash were sitting.
After nodding at Jack, one of them said, “Hey, man. Jack here says you took one on the noggin. Mind if I have a look?”
Dash shook his head and bent his neck to give the guy a better look. The paramedic reached behind him and, as if he was communicating telepathically, the other one put a flashlight in his hand so he could see better.
“Yep. You banged it pretty good. Gonna need stitches.”
Rising to his full height, he glanced at Jack as he walked back toward the front of the station. Jack followed both men out into the night.
“We could do some tests for concussion, but between the gash, which does need stitches, and the memory loss, it’s a pointless exercise. You can drive into Denver and leave him at the hospital. He got insurance?”
“Nobody knows. No ID.”
“No. Shit. That’s a tangle.” He scraped a big paw over his chin. “We can’t drive him down because we never know if we’ll be needed here. And he’s stable.” He looked at his partner. “We could stitch him up. Then you could take him over to Jefferson when they open in the morning.”
“If he has a concussion, doesn’t he have to stay awake or something like that?”
“No. Since he can track and carry on a conversation, it’s fine to let him sleep. In fact he should.”
“I can take him home with me tonight,” Jack said.
“That’ll work.” They turned to get the supplies they’d need from the Fire Department vehicle.
“You hungry for something else before we head to my place?” Jack asked. “Because I don’t have much at home.”
“No. I’m fine,” Dash said.
An hour later he was sitting on the side of the bed in Jack’s guest room in the dark feeling like there was something he needed to do. Some place he needed to be. Somebody he needed to call. It was like an itch that needed to be scratched. But he couldn’t remember.
He woke to kitchen sounds and smelled coffee. It took him a few seconds to remember where he was and why he was there. He remembered that. No problem. But he still didn’t know a thing about himself. Not who he was or where he came from. Not how old he was or what he did for a living. He didn’t know if he was good at school or basketball. He didn’t know if he could cook or if he could speak any languages besides English. He was a blank book.
He tried to get up as he normally would, but learned the hard way that rapid movement would be punished with pain. Moving slower, he stopped off at the hall bathroom on the way to the kitchen.
Jack looked up when Dash appeared at the door.
“Good morning. How are you feeling?”
“Okay,” Dash said with a voice that was hoarse. “I was wondering if it might be okay to, ah, take a shower?”
“Sure, but you’re not supposed to get the stitches wet for two days. Although I’m not sure why they think you’re more likely to get an infection from clean water than dirty hair.” He scoffed and shook his head. “But they’re the experts. So no hair washing and be careful where the spray goes. Hold on.” He turned the gas flame off under the bacon. “Let me get you some clean clothes. I’ve got some sweats. They’ll be big on you, but… you know. They’ll be clean.”
“That’s very nice of you, Jack.”
Jack looked embarrassed. “It’s nothing.” He rushed off and returned with sweat pants, long-sleeved tee, a zip up sweat jacket, socks and jersey boxers. Handing them off to Dash, he said, “You like scrambled and bacon?”
Dash’s haunted eyes raised up to meet Jack’s. It was clear he was checking in with himself for an answer to that question. He offered a ghost of a smile. “I think the answer is that everybody likes scrambled and bacon.”
Jack laughed. “Probably true. It’ll be ready when you’re done.”
Dash turned and shuffled back to the bathroom muttering more thanks.
He was in the bathroom for twenty minutes. The shower took ten. The rest of the time was spent staring into the mirror. Into the face of a stranger.
If the person looking back in the reflection was really him, then he supposed he had sandy brown hair and gray eyes. It was, he thought, out of the ordinary coloring. Not to such an extent as to be called odd, but different enough to be called unusual. He also gathered that he was good-looking. At least he thought he might be if he wasn’t wearing an expression that broadcasted ‘scared rabbit’.
He hated that expression, but couldn’t escape the fact that he wasn’t just scared. He was terrified. Standing in a stranger’s bathroom, wearing a stranger’s clothes. No ID. No toothbrush. And no idea what was going to happen next.
He made his way gingerly back to the kitchen in oversized clothes, trying not to shake his brain on the way. At least he had his own boots. They were still a little damp on the inside from the rain. There was a time when he might have thought that an inconvenience or discomfort, but he had far bigger worries now. At least they fit.
“Here you go,” Jack said as he put a plate of eggs, bacon and toast on the dinette. “You want coffee?”
“Yes. Please.”
“How do you take it?”
Dash answered without hesitation. “Black.”
“That was decisive.” When Jack set the cup in front of Dash he said, “Eat up. Jefferson’ll be open by the time we drive over.”
“Is that a hospital?”
Jack shook his head. “Community mental health. They’ll either know what to tell you or know where you should go to get some answers about what’s going on.”
Dash didn’t change expression. “You’re a good cook.”
Jack barked out a laugh. “Hardly. But like all bachelors who want to eat, I know some basics.”
“What about take out?”
Jack smirked. “Pull that curtain over there back and take a look around. I don’t get Chinese delivery.” As he finished cleaning the frying pan, he said, “Well, to be fair, I do get pizza delivery. But even pizza pigs get tired of pizza eventually.”
“Pizza pigs?”
“I just made that up. What do you think?”
“Catchy.”
Jack set Dash’s plate in the sink, let water run over it, and said, “You ready?”
“Ah, yeah. I appreciate this. What you’ve done.”
Jack nodded and waved off the thanks. “One thing we do know about you. You were taught manners.”
Jack and Dash walked into the clinic five minutes after the door opened. The receptionist looked up. She recognized Jack and knew him by name, but said, “Yes, Deputy?”
Jack motioned for Dash to take a seat in the waiting room then said, “I need to talk to Lydia. Or whoever’s in charge this morning.”
“She’s here.”
“Okay then.”
“Come on around.”
Jack looked over his shoulder and gave Dash a nod before disappearing behind closed doors.
“Yes. We get a tiny little bit of funding for charitable use, Jack. But since the funding is small and the need is great we have to be careful how we use it.”
“What do you suggest?”
She sat back in her chair and sighed. “He could get his memory back any time.”
“So I should leave him on the side of the road and hope for the best?”
“Well, no,” she said, getting exasperated. “I could tell you to take him to a doc in a box, and chances are they could do as much as we can, but since this means so much to you, I’m going to kick the can.”
“What does that mean?”
She opened her laptop. “It means I’m going to give you a referral to a specialist. In Boulder.”
“You mean…?”
“If we’re talking concussion, we’re talking football. The best specialist in the state will be found at C.U.”
Jack scrubbed his hand down his face. “It’s an hour over there.”
“I know.”
“And an hour back.” She gave him a look. “You’ll make sure they’re expecting us?”
“Are you on the way?”
Jack muttered some expletives under his breath. “Yeah. Tell them we’re on the way. So it’s like, what do you call it? In-patient care?”
She laughed. “No, Jack. It’s not.”
“Well, then. What am I supposed to do with him?”
She shook her head. “That’s a problem. Go get your diagnosis. Then ask the physician if he wants to be on TV. Believe me, he’ll perk right up. Tell him the local news stations are going to put out the story that you’re looking for this guy’s identity. Tell him you can’t offer money, but you can offer free TV exposure.”
“Why do you think the TV people will be interested?”
She laughed. “Look, Jack. This kind of thing fascinates people and it’s fairly rare. A combination made in TV heaven.”
“Wow, Lydia. That’s… smart. If you weren’t married, I’d…”
“Save it, Deputy. It just so happens that I am married. And to your boss.” She smiled. “I’ll make sure you have the department’s stamp of approval to spend the day taking care of this situation.” She winked.
“Well, okay. Thanks. But just to be sure, you’re saying I don’t need to ask the sheriff?”
She rolled her eyes, picked up the phone, called her husband, gave him the highly abbreviated version, and hung up the phone. “He says they’ll cover for you and you can use the county vehicle.”
Jack shook his head. “Well, no name and I are in your debt.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Remember that the next time I’m speeding on Clear Creek Canyon Road.”
Jack snorted as she handed him the Boulder address.
As they turned into the eastern edge of the University of Colorado campus Jack looked down at the paper Lydia had given him. “I guess I should have put this into GPS.” He read the address out loud.
Dash said, “Oh. It’s right over that way,” and pointed in the direction of Folsom Field.
When Jack gave him a funny look, Dash said, “I know where it is. That means I’ve been here before. Maybe I was even a student here.” In fact Dash had gotten his undergraduate degree in Boulder.
“Maybe.” Jack followed Dash’s directions. Since it was Saturday, they were able to get a spot in on-campus visitor parking.
By mid-afternoon there were three television crews lined up to interview Deputy Berry and Dr. Parsighian. But at the end of that frenzy, Dash was standing there with instructions on concussion care, an appointment to return on Tuesday, and no place to go. He didn’t know who he was, but he knew he hated the situation he was in. He didn’t like feeling like he belonged nowhere. He didn’t like being completely dependent on the goodwill and mercy of strangers. And he didn’t like the feeling that he was missing something of urgent, critical importance.
“I guess you’re stuck with me for another night,” Jack said. “Let’s go grab an early dinner so we can get home in time to watch the news.” Dash didn’t look happy. “Look. I know you don’t know your name, but I have a real strong feeling that you’re the kind of guy who would do the same for me if things were reversed.”
Dash pinned Jack with a look that was surprisingly intense. It was a look that said the man was not comfortable with handouts. “I hope so.”
“I feel sure of it. So we’ll just call it that thing. What is it? Pay it forward?”
“Pay it forward,” Dash repeated.
As they got back into the truck, Jack said, “Let’s be pizza pigs. I know a place. You like beer?”
Dash nodded. “I believe I do.”
Jack played the radio on the way back, sensing that Dash would rather not try to make conversation. Over pizza, he said, “Somebody who knows who you are is going to see the coverage tonight.” After studying Dash’s lack of reaction to that, he added, “You don’t seem especially pleased about that possibility.”
“No. I am,” Dash said carefully. “It’s just that… These people who might turn up and say they know me? I don’t know them.”
Jack considered that carefully, thinking the man in front of him was a poor bastard in a hell of a bind. He was damned if he didn’t know and damned if he did. “The doc said you’re probably going to get your memory back. There’s just no guarantee when.”
“I heard three words that are cause for concern. Probably. And no guarantee.”
Jack nodded. “I wouldn’t trade places with you. It’s strange you didn’t have any ID on you.” Dash nodded and sighed. “No reports of an abandoned vehicle. Whole thing is a mystery.”
Jack lived a modest lifestyle, the one obvious self-indulgence being the huge flat screen TV that took up most of one living room wall. He sat in his overstuffed vinyl chair while Dash sat on the sofa.
“You got a preference for which station we watch?” Jack asked.
Dash shook his head. “Suit yourself.”
All three of the big stations ran the coverage. Jack thought that TV made him look fat and didn’t do his nose justice. Dash just felt nervous about the whole thing and couldn’t make his knee stop bouncing.
“If you know this man,” the TV anchor said as a still shot of Dash appeared, “call this number. We’ve set up a hotline for information as to his identity.”
Adelaide met Zane at their favorite bar two blocks from the Pepsi Center. They had tickets to the first game of the Avalanche season and were determined to make their last months as a childless couple count.
They were sitting close together at the bar, feeding each other finger food and sharing the events of the day when an image on the TV screen above Adelaide’s shoulder caught Zane’s attention.
“What’s wrong?” she said, alarmed at the fact that her husband’s face had just gone slack and pale.
Zane stood and shouted for the bartender, pointing at the screen. “TURN THAT UP! THAT’S MY BROTHER!”
The bar got instantly quieter as people turned to see what the commotion was about.
When the volume came up to fill the curious silence, the newscaster was just finishing. “So if anyone knows this man, please call the Channel 9 News Hotline.” The number appeared on the screen below her.
Zane began fumbling for his phone. “Never mind,” Adelaide said, “I’ve got it.”
She’d already entered the number. “Yes. That’s my brother-in-law. I’m putting my husband on.”
She handed the phone to Zane.
“Where is he? What’s happened? What’s wrong?” Zane fired in rapid succession. “I just caught the tail end of the broadcast.”
After a couple of minutes of discussion, the assistant producer said, “Come to the station, Mr. Fonteneau. After we verify your identity, we’ll give you information on how to reunite you with your brother.”
Adelaide couldn’t hear both sides of the conversation, but she’d slid off her stool, looped the strap of her bag over her shoulder, and was signing the tab so they could leave immediately. When Zane ended the call and handed the phone back to his wife, he looked grim, but resolute.
“Come on,” he said, taking her elbow, “I’ll tell you on the way.”
She nodded and walked as fast as she could in cute wedgies. Knowing she was going straight to a pub supper and hockey game after work, she’d dressed for walking far, not fast.
As they walked, Zane related what he’d heard. He was out of breath. Since he was young and in top athletic condition, she knew that was emotion and not exertion.
“He was found on the Central City Parkway yesterday. No ID. No memory.”
Adelaide sucked in a big breath and considered whether or not she might be dreaming. That sort of thing didn’t happen to real people living real lives. And it most certainly, definitely did not happen in families like theirs.
Did it?
“Are they sure?” she said that without fully thinking through how it sounded or if it made sense to ask that question.
Zane pressed his lips together and growled, “Yes, Adelaide. They’re sure.”
She quashed the emotional reflex that prompted hurt feelings and forced herself to put Zane first. Because for one thing he was beside himself and, for another, it was a stupid question.
They had ridden in one car that day as part of the date night plan. As they neared his car, Zane said, “You get directions to the TV station while I call my folks. I’ve got to catch them before they start hearing from people who know Dash.”
She nodded and began fishing in the side pocket of her bag for her phone.
His mother reacted more or less as he’d expected.
“What do you mean doesn’t know who he is?”
“I don’t have the details yet, Mom, but I will call you when I do. Just sit tight, let Dad know.”
“I’m not ‘sitting tight’,” she spat. “I’m coming down there.”
For the first time in his life, Zane raised his voice to his mother. “NO. YOU ARE NOT! That would only complicate things.”
“How dare you say that to me? I’m his mother.”
“I’ve got this. And for once in your ever-fucking life, you’re going to get a grip on the fact that respect goes two ways.”
“You will not speak to me like that.”
Realizing that the conversation was hopeless, Zane took a deep breath, hung up on her and called his father, who was more reasonable, as Zane had known he would be. “Yes. I’ll handle your mother. Go take care of business and call us the second you know something more.”
Zane was momentarily overcome with gratitude to have a somewhat sane parent. His voice softened. “Okay.”
The whole time Zane had been talking to his dad his mother had been trying to call. Feeling fed up with her inability to cooperate, he blocked her. Temporarily. He’d unblock her at some time in the future when things were… less out of control.