Chapter 29

Chapter 29

I wait a week before returning to Alternate Dimensions. All the debris is exactly where I left it, including the police tape hanging from the doorway. The police either don’t know I trashed my own store or they care about this place as much as I do. I step through the shattered glass of the front door.

The only souvenir I want to keep from the store is the ledger for tax purposes. The comics, books, and foam cups can stay where they are. Let someone else deal with them. This place isn’t my problem anymore.

I take the ledger back to my car, tossing it into the trunk and then taking out Dad’s old toolbox. On the roof are three sheets of plywood that should more than cover the broken window and door. I haven’t taken any measurements, but they look big enough. I hope I don’t have to saw anything, or else this job could get very messy.

After dragging the plywood one sheet at a time to lean against the front of the store, I consider how the hell I’m going to hold up the sheets to fit over the window so I can nail them in place. More to the point, what am I going to nail them to? I never was one for carpentry.

The only viable solution is to call for reinforcements. I doubt George or Craig are very handy, but an extra pair of hands is better than nothing. I dial George’s house first. Mrs. Marshall answers. “Harry? I heard what happened. It’s so terrible. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I say. The bandages wrapped around my head have been reduced to a couple Band-Aids in strategic locations. I still have an occasional dizzy spell or bout of nausea from the concussion. The doctor says that will go away in time, so long as I don’t run my head into any walls. I felt tempted to ask him about my bruised crotch just to see his reaction, but decided to leave well enough alone. “Is George around?”

“He’s in his room. Harry, I wanted to talk to you about something else. I’m afraid your job at Herbert Chemical is being phased out. The company decided the position wasn’t cost effective.”

“I understand.” I expected Susie’s mom would make my old job at Herbert Chemical disappear. Just as well I suppose; I shudder at the thought of bumping into her in a dark hallway.

“If you need a letter of recommendation or anything—”

“I’ll be all right. I don’t think I ever thanked you properly for letting me stay above your garage and for helping out at Todd’s wedding.”

“It was nothing. If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to call me.”

“I won’t,” I say. I surprise myself by actually meaning this. Mrs. Marshall was the closest to a mother figure I’ve had in the last six years. Maybe she could stay over with Brooke. She’s been running ragged with the diaper changes and midnight feedings. I’m not sure the last time she got a full night’s sleep. Then again, I can’t remember the last time I didn’t get woke up in the middle of the night to Diana’s crying.

George comes onto the line. “What’s up?” he says.

“I need a little help down at the store. Think you could give me a hand?”

“Well, I don’t know. I’m sort of busy.” I can only imagine the things George has to do: jacking off to fantasies of Princess Leia in Return of the Jedi, beating off to visions of Seven of Nine from Star Trek: Voyager, or jerking off to an Elektra comic. His important task has to involve his hand and a pile of Kleenex in some way. I hear his mother’s voice in the background and then George says, “I guess I can help for a few minutes.”

“Great. I’ll see you here.” God bless Mrs. Marshall. While I wait for George, I go next door for a cappuccino from Starbuck’s. I don’t want to sit in the ruins of that store to relive that horrible night over and over again. Instead, I look around the coffeehouse to search for any worthwhile targets. I see a few, but I don’t have time for that right now. Maybe after George helps me with the windows I can come back.

I finish the cappuccino by the time I see George pass by the front windows. He’s surveying the damage, mumbling to himself when I say, “Yeah, it’s a real mess.”

“What happened?”

“I’m not really sure. Someone wrecked the place.”

“Aren’t you going to clean it up and reopen?”

“Probably not. Give me a hand with these.” George is clearly annoyed that I’m not going to rebuild Todd’s dream. It’s easy for him to be upset, considering he didn’t have a gun stuck in his face or have his spinal column severed by a bullet.

I pick up the end of a plywood sheet. George grunts as he takes the other end. We ease it into position over half the ruined front window. “Keep it steady.” I hammer a long nail into something. The nail catches, holding one corner of the plywood in place. George’s face is turning red and sweat is building on his forehead as if he’s Atlas holding up the world.

I hammer a handful of other nails into the plywood at random locations until it stays put without anyone holding it up. I’m worried George is going to collapse from the effort when we have to do the second one, but if I let him use the hammer it will take another week to finish the job. The second sheet is trickier because we have to fit it between the other one and the doorway, but we squeeze it in with a few millimeters to spare. “I can handle the door myself,” I tell him. I reach into my pocket for a five-dollar bill. “You could use a drink.”

“Thanks, but I got to go. I have a date. I better get home and shower.”

“Lucky you,” I say. How depressing to think George might score with an actual woman while I can only look forward to another lonely evening with Brooke and Diana. I shake my head as I watch George leave. It’s just not fair.

The phone rings as I prop the plywood over the door. Who the hell would be calling? Probably some telemarketer or a wrong number. I let the phone stop ringing, but then it starts up again. The only people who know I’m here are Brooke and Mrs. Marshall. My Spidey-sense begins to tingle at the thought of something bad on the other end of the line. I run across the store, jumping over fallen merchandise to scoop up the receiver in the office. “Hello?”

“Harry, something’s wrong with Diana!” Brooke shouts into the receiver. I was right.

“Brooke, what’s going on? What’s wrong with Diana?”

“I don’t know. She keeps crying. Her face is all red and her forehead feels hot. Harry, I’m scared.”

“All right, calm down. I’ll be right over. Just stay there, understand?”

“Hurry.” I hang up the phone, forgetting all about the door. If no one’s touched anything after a week, they aren’t going to do anything now. And if they do, screw it.

I drive home like a NASCAR driver, weaving in and out of traffic, running red lights, and dodging pedestrians. I keep checking my mirrors for signs of the police, but no one pulls me over. If they had, it would have been almost a relief; then we might have gotten a police escort.

I leave the car running as I race inside to find Brooke in the nursery. As she said over the phone, Diana is crying, her face is beet-red, and her forehead is warm to my touch. “Come on, we’ll take her to the doctor. Who’s your pediatrician?”

“Dr. Carmichael, but he’s all the way across the river.”

“We’ll make it. Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine.” I’m not sure, but it sounds like the right thing to say. Brooke starts throwing blankets and clothes into a bag until I grab her arm. “There’s no time for that. Let’s go.” She picks up the baby and follows me out to the car.

I don’t pay any attention to the road on the way to the doctor’s office. I’m too consumed by the sight of my niece’s face getting redder with every passing moment and her cries getting more plaintive while Brooke and I are powerless to help her. Not her too, I keep thinking. Not after Mom and then Susie. I can’t lose my niece so soon.

I skid into the parking lot, leaving the car in a handicapped space. Let them tow the damned thing away. I lead the way up the steps and to the doctor’s office like a fullback. An old woman is at the reception window, complaining about something. I shove her aside. “What the hell are you doing?” the nurse behind the glass shouts.

“This is an emergency. My niece is really sick. We have to see the doctor right away. Where is he?” The nurse sees Diana in Brooke’s arms then and opens the door to let us pass.

The nurse leads us to an exam room, where Diana is put on the table. The doctor who shows up has a tangled mop of white hair like a mad scientist in a bad horror movie. “What happened?” he asks us.

“I’m not sure,” Brooke says. She has trouble getting the words out through her sobs. “She won’t stop crying.”

Unlike the two of us, the doctor remains calm as he examines Diana. I suppose it’s easy to stay cool in a crisis when you have nothing at stake in the outcome. Brooke keeps pressing him to tell her what’s wrong until I have to drag her into another exam room. She claws at me to get back into the other room. “What’s he doing to my baby in there? He’s hurting her, I know he is!”

In the movies and television someone always slaps the hysterical person. I try this, but it doesn’t work. The best I can do is to keep Brooke in a bear hug, her head pressed against my shoulder. “Everything’s going to be all right,” I say over and over again. If I say it enough times, I might start to believe it.

I’m not sure how much time goes by until the exam room door opens and Dr. Carmichael returns, holding a sleeping Diana. Brooke rips the baby from his arms; I’m worried she’s going to do more harm than good. “What’s wrong with her, Doctor?”

“It’s an infection, not uncommon with premature babies. She’ll be all right, but you’ll need to keep a close eye on her for the next few days. If she seems to get worse, take her straight to the emergency room and then give me a call.” The doctor pats me on the shoulder and then writes out a prescription for something. For all I know, it’s a tranquilizer for Brooke.

We sit out in the car for a while, watching Diana sleep in Brooke’s arms. I’m sure Brooke is thinking the same thing I am about how close we came to losing her. Life is so fragile.

After we return home, I have to pry Diana from Brooke’s arms to put her in the crib. “You should get some rest now. I can watch her,” I tell Brooke.

“No, I can’t sleep now. I have to watch her.”

“I’ll be right here. If anything changes, I’ll get you. You’re not going to be any good to her if you don’t get some rest.” I steer her towards the master bedroom and then tuck her in like a little girl. She’s too drained from the experience to put up much of a fight.

“If anything happens to her, I don’t know what I’ll do,” Brooke says.

“I know. Just try to sleep now.”

I close the bedroom door and then sit down beside the crib in the nursery. I rock back and forth in the chair, staring at my little niece. We could have lost her today, more to the ignorance of Brooke and I than any infection. We didn’t have any idea what to do. What kind of family are we going to be for this little girl?

Taking care of Diana was supposed to be Todd’s job, just like taking care of Alternate Dimensions. Since he isn’t man enough to do it, I’ll have to step in. Diana is my niece and I’ll be damned if she has the same kind of wild, redneck upbringing of her mother. I’m going to raise her like Mom would if she were still here. “Nothing’s going to happen to you,” I whisper to Diana. “Not while I’m here.”