Bridge over Troubled Waters

"IT WAS part of Ms. Hawkins's agreement with the halfway house that—"

"I get it," Guthrie snarled. "She broke the rules. She broke the rules, and apparently going to see her brother during an emergency means she needs to be flogged. That's great. I'll take the lashes, okay? She needed to come here and be with him—"

"We have no verification of an emergency—"

" Turn on the fuckin' news, darlin'. It's fuckin' everywhere!"

There was a pause. "I'm at my computer now. What should I be looking for?"

"Local Sheriff rescued in Colton County."

"That? But there wasn't a…."

Oh good. The bitchy robot woman on the other end of the phone could fuckin' read. Wasn't that a fuckin' blessing? Guthrie scowled at the phone in his hand and glanced around the hospital corridor to see how many people were running for the hills.

To his surprise, there was only a very limp Olivia, emerging from one of the hospital rooms to sink into one of the gawdawful chrome-and-vinyl torture masterpieces the hospital called "chairs" propped up against the wall. She gave him a weak smile and a wave, and Guthrie returned it, on the verge of saying something when the voice on the other end spoke up.

"Even so," she said, "this doesn't give a complete stranger any right to involve himself in April Hawkins's transportation—"

"Lady, she came to me and begged. You may be a stone-cold bitch, but I am not. If you could maybe pull the ice tray out of your ass, you could see these are special circumstances and let the poor kid come home and leave her alone about it. This is her brother, and I haven't known the two of them long, but I can tell you that's a big furry deal to them, so maybe you need to defrost a bit and make like a Disney princess and fuckin' let it go."

Across from him, Olivia snorted into her hand and then motioned for him to keep going. He gave her a droll arch of the eyebrows and waited to see what Robot Ice-Princess had to say.

"If you can assure me Ms. Hawkins can be here today—"

"We. Are. In. Colton. And neither of us has slept. Do me a favor—you're on your computer right now. See how long it'll take me to drive from Colton, California, to Bodega Bay, in traffic."

There was a pause, and she said, "Six hours."

"Yes, ma'am, and that's without stopping for food or using the bathroom. I made that drive in traffic yesterday, and then I stayed up most of the night waiting for them to drag April's brother out from the canyon. Did you find the footage? 'Cause you should. It was horrifying. And now April still doesn't know if her brother's going to be okay. I might— might —bring her home tomorrow, depending on what the doctors say. I'll call you to let you know."

"You can't just keep her—"

"I can and I will. You people are fuckin' exhausting. Jesus."

He hit End Call and stared at the phone, hoping he hadn't caused April too much trouble but not sure if he could do anything about it if he had. With a groan, he leaned back against the wall and searched around for another chair like Olivia's to sink into and saw only the one in the bench next to her.

"Go ahead," she said, patting it. "Aaron's in there resting. We're still waiting for Larx to come out of all his tests and stuff." She shuddered. "Apparently, his concussion is worse than we thought. They're—" She swallowed hard. "—worried. They might have to, you know. Drill."

"Bwah," Guthrie said with feeling. He got the concept; drill through the skull to relieve pressure, but that didn't change the fact that they were punching a hole through someone's head .

"Right?" Olivia's voice rose a little with suppressed worry, and he patted her knee.

"It'll be all right," he said gruffly. Tad was still in surgery, and April was down in the cafeteria, getting them some food. He wasn't particularly hungry, but the halfway house had been hounding her so relentlessly that he'd set her phone to forward their calls to his and then answered.

The woman on the other end hadn't just been "unfriendly," she'd been downright rude. No amount of explaining that this had been a bona fide emergency could convince her that April hadn't violated the terms of her living arrangement willy-nilly, and Guthrie remembered Tad's worry about his sister in Bodega Bay. He was willing to place a good weight of her fragility on her hatred of her halfway house, but God, who was he to say?

He hadn't wanted April to hear him dealing with the people, because he wasn't sure of his temper, and he'd been right. How was she supposed to respect these folks when Guthrie was about ready to run them over with his truck?

"Who were you talking to?" Livvy asked. "You sounded pissed."

"April's halfway-house people." Guthrie growled again. "She… she literally hopped on two busses to come find me, because she was worried, and they're all freaked out and threatening to kick her out because she didn't tell anybody. I asked the lady if she would have let April go if she had , and she said she was required by law to tell the police if April threatened to leave town, and there were no exceptions." He shook his head. "And part of me gets it—but part of me is, like, the girl isn't high, she hasn't been looking for drugs over the last two days, she's been looking for her brother! And I feel like maybe there should be a happy medium between letting folks in this living sitch run around and do all the drugs again, and the Spanish fucking Inquisition!"

Olivia let out a short laugh. "You're a good friend, Guthrie. Is she really holding up?"

He nodded, surprised at this. Tad had been so worried. "She just… I mean, I'm not gonna lie. I'm hoping she can sleep on your folks' couch again, because she was so happy to spend the night hugging that big doofy dog. Your house, the kindness, even the kids made her laugh. But before that she'd held it together until the very end. You've got no idea. The hospital was our third stop, and the amount of folks not fucking knowing what was going on was astro-fucking-nomical. I mean… damn ."

"I do know what you mean," she said. "That's what was going on in the hospital when the plan sort of came together. I got through to search and rescue, and we started asking ourselves, ‘But what can they do ?' and it occurred to some of us that they couldn't do anything . The dads and Eamon are such a force of direction for the town. I think people really got to see what life would be like without them. Which, you know, is sort of good, because it means they'll start setting up fail-safes so shit doesn't fall apart again."

"Well, they got themselves out of a terrible situation, and they got supplies up to Tad and that other kid. I mean, it's a whole town of gen-u-wine heroes, you know?"

Livvy snorted. "You think what you did for Tad and his sister doesn't qualify?" she asked.

He stared at her. "No. It's… anybody would have—"

She cocked her head. "Not just anybody, Guthrie. Somebody who cared." She paused and then spoke into the silence before he could. "How's your job?"

He gave an exaggerated sigh and flopped back against the wall. "They asked me if I could come in today, and I said no. I'm waiting to be fired by text."

"Mm. That's too bad, honey. I'm sorry. It shouldn't be that way. You and April—you did a big thing. It's not right people keep trying to punish you for it."

"No," he said, considering, "but for us, I think the doing the good thing is the reward." He thought of Tad's expression as Guthrie had bent down to kiss his sweaty forehead. He'd looked so relieved, so happy. Guthrie had helped do that. "Tad's okay. It's all either of us wanted."

He felt some of his weariness start to catch up to him, and his eyes fell to half-mast in the ensuing silence. He'd gotten a few hours of rest in the cramped back of the truck, but his busy mind, full of the what-ifs of Tad's rescue, hadn't made for much real sleep. In the quiet hum of the hospital corridor, Olivia laced their fingers together and laid her head on his shoulder, falling into a doze. Guthrie used her head to rest his cheek and did the same thing.

He had no idea how long he'd been like that when April sank to the other side of him on the bench of chairs, smelling faintly of sandwiches, and he felt her small hand in his and then her head on his shoulder.

That's where they were, three people who had been strangers until the day before, clinging to each other like a pile of kittens, when a nurse came to address them from the corridor.

"Livvy, honey, your dad's asleep, but you can go sit with him while he comes to. Aaron's company is gone, and the doctor's with him now, so maybe wait half an hour or so. Mr. Woodson?"

"Yes'm," Guthrie mumbled, trying to clear the grit from his eyes.

"Mr. Hawkins is in a recovery room. He's asking for both you and Miss Hawkins, but the room is a little crowded…." She trailed off delicately.

He turned to April, understanding. "Go talk to him, honey," he ordered softly.

"But Guthrie," she said, her voice shaking. "You did so much—"

He gave her a kiss on her crown, protective of her as he wasn't of the other women in his life. Roberta was awkward, but she was strong. She had to be to work as a musician; her skin was thick and her work ethic was stunning and she just… moved mountains to be where she needed. All the family from Seth and Kelly's life were strong. Hell, Guthrie had shown up here and run into Maureen and Olivia, who were very different, but damn, could those women move their own damned mountains.

April couldn't. April needed a champion, someone who could move mountains for her. Her brother was out of commission for the moment, so that meant it was Guthrie's turn to step up.

And that meant giving up being the first one Tad saw when he woke up.

"Sweetheart," he said gruffly, "I'm going to have to take you home tomorrow, and it's going to suck bad enough. You go spend as much time as you can with him, okay?"

"Okay," she whispered, then looked up at the nurse. "Can Guthrie go in when I'm done?"

"Sure, hon, but if he's asleep, you need to let him rest."

"'Course," she muttered. "But Guthrie gets some time. It's only right. Oh!" She turned to the small table next to the bench of chairs. "Guthrie, here's your sandwich!" And with that she thrust a sub—hopefully Italian something or other—into his hands, the paper crinkling slightly.

"You two are good for each other," the nurse said softly. "That's important in in-laws, right?"

Was this what having an in-law was like? The thought tickled Guthrie as much as it scared him, but he didn't say either of those things to April as she stood and followed the nurse to Tad's room in recovery. Olivia was still struggling to stand up when Guthrie stood to give her a hand.

"Thanks," she muttered grudgingly. "God, I swear, when I'm not forever pregnant, I'm… well, a little less klutzy."

"I believe you. Where you headed?"

"To the cafeteria," she said, sounding determined. "That smells wonderful."

He winked. "Sit back down, darlin', and I'll share it with you." He had no intention of eating any of it. Olivia sat down, probably more because she was tired than for any other reason, and he unwrapped the thing and gave her half, watching as she attacked it with a ferocity he personally only reserved for a nice rare steak.

She finished the first half, and he handed her the second. She was halfway done before it occurred to her that this wasn't "sharing."

"Aw, man—Guthrie, I just ate your lunch!"

He glanced both ways down the hall, like he was telling a really big secret. "I've got news for you…."

She took another bite and grinned as she swallowed. "You, uh, didn't really want the sandwich?"

"Nope," he told her. His eyes tracked to the room where April had been led, and he tried to tamp down on his yearning to see Tad. Stupid cop. Seriously, one month of hope and this guy gets shot and falls off a cliff? Guthrie sure could pick 'em. If Tad Hawkins hadn't been the single most decent, kindest, funniest guy who'd ever set out to woo Guthrie with a stealth campaign of texts and phone calls, he would have been out of there so fast….

He'd have a permanent dent in this blessedly uncomfortable seat.

God, the thought of leaving the guy now? In any form? Ripped Guthrie's heart right out of his chest.

"You'll see him soon," Olivia soothed, like she could see right through him.

"Man, what am I supposed to say?" he asked. "Hey, missed that third date?"

She snorted. "Maybe ask him how the weather is in the bottom of the canyon. Larx likes to have students record temperature fluctuations depending on topography. He'd be fascinated."

Guthrie blinked, remembering all those super-intelligent people talking as they gathered to rescue their friends. "Your family is something special, do you know that?"

Olivia grinned again and wiped her mouth with an offered napkin. "Blame Larx. I mean, Aaron too, because Larx wouldn't love him if he couldn't keep up, but my dad… man, I can't wait for you to meet him."

Guthrie's face heated. "I, uhm…I don't know much about good dads. I mean, the other kind, yeah, but the good kind, not so much. Maybe I'll just be your friend and hear about him."

She cocked her head and wiped her hand on the napkin before resting it on his knee. "Honey, you don't have to know about good dads. You sort of show up and they feed you and hug you and get busy in your life. You and Tad don't stand a chance. It's too bad you don't live up here. There would be family dinners and running into each other in town, and…." She trailed off with a happy sigh, and it hit Guthrie that she was talking about him . She wanted to see him .

"I'd think you've got enough company," he said, thinking about her and her husband's living arrangement with the two brothers.

She shrugged. "Berto and Jaime are like family. And of course my family is right around the corner. There's just something to be said about a friend. I mean, I think Mau-Mau could fit the bill, but, you know, she's got a life down in SoCal, and she's going for her teaching credential. I, you know, want you up here for my own selfish reasons, 'cause I'm a selfish biotch."

Guthrie chuckled and, unbidden, came the vision of the sky the night before. No ambient light, just the stars, strewn across the velvet black sky. He'd grown up in a town this size, a town in which the high school graduation was such a big deal two of the town's most prominent citizens would be there to make sure the kids were safe and celebrated in a big way.

Or would have been if, say, anybody had cared.

Sand Cut, California was a tiny town that had been formed during the construction of a tunnel through the hills surrounding the Monterey Peninsula, leaving a small population of settlers who'd spent a decade supporting the work. Guthrie had been on the road enough to know that there were small towns and small towns, but Sand Cut was one of the smallest, and most of that was in the residents' minds. When Fiddler and the Crabs broke up, Guthrie had stayed in San Rafael because it was near the city, near the music, near the hope of better things to come, but his dad and Uncle Jock had gone back to the small house he'd grown up in back in Sand Cut.

That moment of melancholy freedom under the stars in Colton had felt like it was galaxies away from the small town Guthrie had known. Like here in the mountains there was a hope the washed-out town by a sand dune had forgotten.

"I like it here," he said into the sudden silence. "I don't think you're selfish. I think you need someone who gets you to make this place home."

She patted his knee. "Which is a great conclusion, but now we need to get you and Tad here ."

He chuckled again at the absurdity of it. "Darlin', I'll be lucky if my truck'll take me back to Bodega Bay."

She teared up suddenly, probably a result of hormones and exhaustion. "I'd rather you were staying here," she said and leaned her head on his shoulder, like April had.

He let her. Sometimes it was nice to be needed, in any small way.

APRIL EMERGED about twenty minutes later, looking drained and disoriented. "He's asking for you," she rasped. "But you may have to wait a couple of minutes while the nurses tend to him."

Olivia stretched her hand out to April as Guthrie got up.

"Come sit with me," Olivia said softly. "Elton's coming in a little bit to check on me. If Guthrie's not done, Elton can take you back to the house and you can sleep some more. You know, Dozer needs some love, right?"

April brightened at the mention of the family's giant blond retriever mix. "I might have to fight Jaime for his attention," she said, and Guthrie recalled the smaller, younger boy who'd been at the rescue site.

Olivia chuckled. "Well, Jaime likes a good belly rub too," she said. She sobered. "This winter, when Jaime and Berto were having a really rough time, I'm pretty sure Dozer saved Jaime's life. Jaime played with that dog until he broke him. Dozer couldn't move anymore he was so tired. And Jaime couldn't play with him anymore, so he just… curled up with the dog on a pillow and slept. Sweetest thing in the world. So yeah. They're bonded. But I think Dozer's got a big heart—he'll curl up with you too."

"Is that okay, Guthrie?" April asked, so needy for it, for the warm family, for the happy dog, for the chance to rest somewhere not her halfway house, that Guthrie would have stood guard at the threshold with a weapon to make sure she got that time.

"We don't pack up until tomorrow," he told her. "You go chill and rest, and if you can get a ride here this afternoon, I'll take you back there tonight." He glanced at Olivia apologetically. "I'm imposing," he said, absolutely appalled. "If April can sleep on the couch, I can sleep in the truck again—"

Olivia gaped at him. "Over my dead pregnant body!" she gasped. "No. Just… no. The icky boys can share a room like they do over Christmas, and you can have Kellan's bed. Don't worry, don't object—it's done. I said so, and since both the dads are in the hospital, I'm in charge." She gave him a smug glance. "You can't tell me no—it'll make me appear weak in front of that herd of teenagers. You need to have my back, boo."

He smiled a little, grateful. "Fair," he murmured. Then he kissed April gently on the forehead. "Get some rest, sweetheart. I'll watch after him."

"Thanks, Guthrie," she said. "I know you will."

And with that he ventured down the hall and into the darkened room.