Johnny Winchester: River Hunter (7 page)

Continuing, she remarked, “I suppose it will be easier
than going by myself, though I could manage, you know.”

“I’m sure you could, but you don’t need to.”

“Ashe said he would update the rest of the family. 
So, once we get to Spokane, you can pass the baton and get back to hunting
whatever fish you’re after.”

“The red-tailed, orange sturgeon,” he specified. 
“Very elusive fish.  The locals think it’s a demon spirit that kills and
that I’m taking my life into my own hands by pursuing it.”

“But you don’t believe that.”

“It’s a fish,” he shrugged.  “A very big fish that
could knock your canoe over, drowning you.  But it’s not likely that it’s
a demon.  Speaking of fish, I’m hungry after that walk.  Do you feel
up to going to the dining room, or shall I call room service?”

Room service it was, so they ordered dinner and spent a
quiet evening of watching TV and answering emails.  Suzi retired first,
though she had not fallen asleep when she heard the click of the light switch
and Johnny getting into bed.  With her mind whirling, the faces of her
fellow passengers, now confirmed dead, kept coming to her and she could not
stop worrying about the upcoming NTSB interview.  Even counting sheep
wasn’t working, so, lying still, she waited until Johnny’s breathing slowed and
his light snoring started.  Giving him a few minutes to make sure he was
sound asleep, she then rose, turned on the bathroom light, and started pacing,
slowly, from the foot of her bed, to the door, and back again.  She didn’t
know how many laps she’d walked when, turning at the door, she found Johnny
standing at the foot of his bed looking sleepily at her.

“What’s wrong?” he said, concerned.

“Nothing, really,” she answered, stopping short. 
“I just couldn’t sleep.  I thought if I moved around a little, it would
tire me.”

“What’s keeping you awake?”

“Well, it’s just when I close my eyes, I keep seeing the
trees coming up at the plane and the dead bodies.  Then I think about the
grandkids growing up without their grandparents, with Gramma and
Grampa
missing from all the family gatherings and
events.  And the pilot’s family, missing him, too.”  She would have
wrung her hands had both of them been free.

It was a lot for Johnny to absorb, especially coming out
of a sound sleep.  Letting the silence lay, he waited for his wits to wake
up.  When they finally did, he spoke.  “I know it’s hard.  I was
in a very serious boat crash once, and I didn’t sleep for a week after. 
Every time I laid down, my mind went over and over all the details.  There
was no one even badly hurt, let alone killed, but it was still very
traumatic.  A brush with death is difficult to deal with.”  A pang of
guilt ran through him; her real concern was for the people who’d lost loved
ones in the crash and not her proximity to death.  Though he had been
sincerely glad that there had been no serious injuries, his lack of sleep had
come from meeting his own mortality.

“It isn’t that so much,” she responded.  “As it is
wondering why I was the only one spared.  It seems so deliberate, like God
was ready to take Manning and Lou and Edna, but wanted to leave me here. 
I mean, what are the chances that someone would be out in that wilderness just
at the right time and place?”

“A wee bit slim, I would say.”

“Makes me feel like He has something He wanted me to do
and I haven’t done it yet.  Kind of puts a burden on my shoulders.” 
Yawning, she ran her fingers through her hair once, twice, then sat on the foot
of her bed. 

He wondered how long she’d been pacing.  Feeling
helpless, he did the only thing he could think of.  Going to the closet,
he rooted around a bit, came back, sat next to her and opened his clenched
fist: he had two miniature peanut butter cups.  Rewarded with the warm
smile that always tugged at him, he unwrapped one, and then, when she was
ready, the other.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely.  “Chocolate never
hurts, and almost always helps.”

“I’m learning that,” he said with a grin.

“You didn’t know that before?” she asked, feigning
surprise, his steely-blue eyes and dimples making her heart beat faster.

“No, actually.  My comfort food of choice is a
single malt whiskey.”

The smile broadened, he wanted nothing other than to put
his arm around her, pull her close, and promise her that everything would be
all right.  But he resisted the temptation; she would soon be in the care
of relatives and he’d be back with his crew, hunting for the red-tailed, orange
sturgeon, and then for the next fish, and the next.  The feelings stirring
in his chest were fleeting and he had his life to get back to.

Suzi sat quietly, lost in her own thoughts. 
Regardless of why, this man had a genuine desire to help, he had taken good
care of her and, she had no doubt, he would continue to do so until he got her
safely home.  If only he would hold her, let her lay her head on his
shoulder, and tell her everything would be all right.  But his life was
fishing and hers was family and independence.  Her feelings were
temporary, situational, and it was doubtful that he was having any of the same
thoughts.

So they sat, silently, only mere inches separating them
physically, their own life decisions keeping them worlds apart
emotionally.  Finally, reluctantly, Suzi admitted to herself that her
pacing had indeed tired her and, standing, she told Johnny she’d best get back
to bed.  Pillows were fluffed and placed just right, covers were pulled up
to her chin, and, fighting the urge to lay next to her, to hold her, comfort
her, and protect her from her thoughts, Johnny crawled into his own bed.

Johnny was awake with the sun, which was usual for
him.  He showered, shaved, dressed, made a cup of coffee, putting four
little cups of creamer in it, and checked his email.  For once, there
weren’t many messages.  He was sitting at the desk, so when he was
finished with the email, he swiveled the chair towards the center of the room,
sipping his coffee, watching Suzi peacefully sleep.  It was good to see
her injured body relaxed and her mind at ease.

He had to wonder just who this woman really was. 
Surviving a plane crash, despite injuries and flaring chronic pain, she had
managed to hike to the river and along its bank, seeking help.  Managed to
survive a very cold night and then keep following the bank until she could go
no further.  Since they had found her, she had patiently borne all the
pain: being carried through the river, the slow traipse up the ridge, the night
at the camp, the helicopter ride, the pushing and poking of doctors and nurses
at the hospital.  Treating everyone with kindness, she had been careful to
show her appreciation, verbally expressing her sincere thanks for anything they
had done.  Still, she had been assertive.  She had asked the nurse
for something to relieve the pain and she’d been very firm, though not really angry,
with the med tech who had extended her left arm to draw blood without
consulting her medical record.  Withdrawing her arm, squeezing her eyes
through the pain, she then gave the tech a small lecture about being more
careful, and asked for another tech.  She also had no problem asking him
for anything she needed.

When they arrived at the hotel, the staff all knew her,
by name, and, concerned and attentive, scrambled to get her anything she
needed.  And the protective son.  Johnny understood his own natural
instinct to protect his Mum, but it would not occur to him to actually threaten
someone.  And then there was this duality within her that was the most
difficult to understand.  Kind, assertive, and clearly able to take care
of herself, she still projected a subtle vulnerability, and she accepted help
whenever it was given.  He’d seen her at her worst and she had been
resigned and uncomplaining, both independent and appreciative, both strong and
fragile.  She was also awake, looking at him, and he realized he was staring
at her.

“Tea?” he asked, rising, trying to act as though he had
just happened to glance her way.

“Yes, please,” she answered with a touch of puzzlement
in her voice.  Waking up to Johnny’s face had quickened her heart, but
seeing him looking back at her flooded her chest with feelings.  It had
seemed that he was studying her, and she wondered what he’d seen, what he had
been thinking.  With her own feelings and those she thought she saw in
Johnny’s eyes, she could suddenly see them spending their lives together.

Aghast at the thought, she chastised herself severely
and busied herself with positioning her pillows so she could sit up for her
tea.  It wasn’t likely that she could ever look Johnny in the eye again.

“Did you get back to sleep okay?” he asked, handing her
the cup of tea.

Deciding she couldn’t just avoid eye contact for the
next few days, she looked up at him, intending to answer him.  He stood
closer than he needed to and his eyes held a look she’d never seen and could
not interpret.  Forcing herself, she took the tea, looked away, and said,
“Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he said.  Then he went back to the
chair and to his laptop, reading the two new emails that had just arrived and
rereading the others until Suzi got up.

When the tea was gone, she rose to shower and dress for
her appointment.  She hesitated in front of the closet; what does one wear
to an NTSB interview to discuss the death of three people?  There was no
established convention, she supposed, so she pulled out a pair of jeans and a
light sweater.  Showering was much easier, even dressing wasn’t too
difficult, and she figured out how to get the sling on by herself.  But
her hair was being a problem, the tangles just did not seem to want taming, so
she stood at the mirror, asking herself whether she really couldn’t get the
knots out or did she just want Johnny to comb her hair again.  Trying once
more, the comb simply wouldn’t work the tangles free.

Coming out of the bathroom, comb in hand, she asked, “Do
you think you could comb my hair?  I can’t seem to get all the knots out.”

“Sure,” he answered.  Taking the comb from her, he
stood behind her and worked out the knots.  They were both silent, both
feeling a tension that had not been there before.

 Trying to go about their business as though
nothing had passed between them, they busied themselves, then went to the
dining room early to have breakfast.  Johnny left her to walk on her own,
placing himself only inches away should she need him.  The hostess seated
them, asking after Suzi’s health, and the waiter brought her a cup of English
Breakfast
tea immediately, remembering that was her
preference.  Johnny sat quietly, watching the staff fawn over her,
watching Suzi graciously and appreciatively receive the attention and thank all
those who asked after her or did anything for her.

The waiter took their order and returned with it almost
immediately; he must have moved it to the front of the queue.  They ate in
relative silence, making small talk here and there, then the waiter refilled Johnny’s
coffee and Suzi’s tea.  Conversation picked up a little as they waited for
the inspector, but it was obvious that Suzi was extremely anxious.  He
wished he could take away her angst; Suzi wished he could do something to ease
her anxiety.  But the only thing that would quiet her feelings was to have
the interview behind her.  Fortunately it wasn’t a long wait.

“I think he’s here,” Johnny announced.

Instinctively, she reached across the table and grasped
Johnny’s hand.  Placing his other hand over hers, he patted it
gently.  “You’ll be fine,” he assured.

A slight blush came to her cheeks as she realized what
she had done and she extracted her hand from his.  He hadn’t seen a woman
blush in, well, for as long as he could remember.

“This is Ms. Cue,” the hostess said to a tall, thin man
in khaki’s and a sport shirt.

“Hello!  I’m Warren Bass,” he said, offering his
hand.  “May I sit?”

“Of course,” she answered, shaking his hand.

“And you would be Mr. Winchester,” he said, offering his
hand to Johnny.

“Nice to meet you,” Johnny replied, also shaking the
man’s hand.

Mr. Bass reached into his brief case, retrieving a pad
of forms and a pen.  “Just give me a sec,” he said as he began filling in
some blanks.  He was slow and meticulous, shaping each letter carefully
and clearly.  Then he asked the basic questions: last name, first name,
address, phone number.

“What time did you set out on Tuesday?” he asked, his
pen poised above the big, blank rectangle on the form.

“We were to be there at nine.  It was probably 9:15
when we finally took off.”

“You left from here?  From Anchorage?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause as he wrote it down.

“Where was everybody seated?”

“Manning, the pilot, was in the left front seat, of course. 
Lou was in the front passenger seat, his wife, Edna, behind him and I was
behind Manning.”

Mr. Bass nodded knowingly.  “How long were you in
the air before the trouble started?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  An hour or so.”

“What was the first sign that something was wrong?”

Suzi looked at Johnny who nodded at her reassuringly.

She drew in a breath, checked, as usual, by pain in her
ribs,
then
spoke.  “Everything seemed fine until
all of a sudden.  Lou said something about the instruments going haywire,
but I couldn’t see anything other than the compass from where I was
sitting.  I have to say, though, it was spinning like crazy.”

“The compass was?”

“Yes.”

“Did Mr. Manning say anything?”

Glancing again at Johnny, she answered.  “He said
we were in some sort of vortex that messed with the instruments.”

Nodding, Mr. Bass asked, “What was the weather like?”