The Widows of Wichita County

November 14

County Memorial Hospital

Most of the time he felt like an alien life-form that had crashed to earth and primitive humans were trying to discover what to do with him. Their methods were painful and heavy-handed at best. At worst, the marrow in his bones still smoldered from the long dead fire.

His vocabulary increased to include words like eschar. He'd heard one of the nurses explain to Crystal that eschar is a nonviable tissue that forms after a burn injury. It has no blood supply therefore antibodies can't reach it. So, eschar makes a fertile breeding ground for bacteria.

He was lost in the hell of an old Twilight Zone episode. Before long, they'd stash him in the basement and grow mushrooms off his charred skin.

Even the spray baths they gave him weren't called baths, but wound debridement. Twice a day a nurse would up his pain medicine enough so he could endure the process, then she'd clean him, removing dead tissue. Only she called the black infected skin devitalized tissue, as if calling it dead might be too personal.

His bodily functions became the small talk of the people around him. Folks used to ask about the weather or the news, but now they told each other of his urine output for the day.

The constant risk of hypothermia loomed like the plague and worried everyone until he wanted to scream.

He longed to escape, to run away where the talk was of other things. But even when he dreamed, the nightmare of his reality crept in, just beneath the surface, waiting to shatter any peace he might find.

Crystal was always around, asking questions until he wanted to jump from the bed and choke her, even if it cost him his last thread-hold on life. She started a notebook of details, so every time a bag was changed she was there, like a reporter, recording amounts and dates.

Sometimes he ignored her completely, acting as if he didn't hear her talking to him or touching his hand. Sometimes she possessed the only sanity in the chaos. He'd hold her fingers long into the night.

When his mind cleared enough for him to think of anything but the pain, he let his thoughts wander to the way her breasts looked. Crystal had the most beautiful round, full breasts. He had always considered himself a leg man, but no man could help but worship such perfection.

He hadn't asked her again to open her blouse. Not that he hadn't thought about it. But with his bandaged hands, he knew he wouldn't be able to feel her, even if he did touch her. And the tear he'd seen slide down her cheek the night she'd sat there with her top wide open…the tear bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

"Shelby?" She broke into his thoughts. "Shelby? Are you awake? I'm sorry I was gone so long."

He had not even noticed. Time was no longer measured in minutes and hours, but by injections.

"I had to go see Mr. Morris again. He had lots of papers he wanted me to look over. I wasn't sure if I should read each page or just glance at them, so I stared at the words until Elliot asked if I was satisfied."

He did not open his eyes. She was calling Morris by his first name. That was fast, even for Crystal. The bed shifted slightly as she sat by his side.

He was not dead yet and she was already looking for husband number two. Elliot wouldn't be a bad choice if Crystal could snag him.

"I signed all the places where he'd marked, and Elliot told me this increase in salary should make Trent happy."

When he groaned, she patted his hand. "Now don't worry. The office girls say Trent has showed up for work every day since the accident. Sometimes he doesn't get there until ten-thirty and leaves for lunch by eleven, but at least he's trying. He even put a hard hat in the back window of his BMW. The girls think he's planning to visit the other drilling sites."

Trent would look ridiculous at a site. Tiptoeing around so that he didn't get oil on his Italian-made shoes.

Crystal chatted on about stopping in to buy two more dresses from Helena. The older woman was quickly becoming Crystal's best friend. Helena Whitworth was always dropping by the hospital but usually only talked to Crystal or one of the nurses.

The few times she'd talked to him, he noticed that she still spoke of her husband, J.D., as if the old soldier were still alive. No one else seemed to notice that Helena had yet to bury J.D. in her mind. In Southern towns, a little craziness was tolerated as a character trait. Some said only the insane settled in West Texas, so most folks around here must be descended from crackpots. Helena Whitworth talking of J.D. as if she'd had supper with him the night before drew little attention.

Crystal buzzed around him like a fly. Making sure he was comfortable, she said. But in truth, the state no longer existed for him.

He closed his eyes and walked the rig in his mind once more, as he had that morning, seconds before it blew. Every detail was still fresh in his mind, from the way the wind whistled across the land kicking up dust in little whirlwinds, to the sound of the drill as steady as a heartbeat.

Howard Drilling had needed another investor, so he brought J.D. and a young banker named Kevin Allen out. Nothing worked like a meeting at the site. The rancher, Davis Montano stood in the center explaining the workings of a rig like he knew something about the industry. No one stopped him. As long as they were on Montano land he could talk all he wanted.

The crew had found the beer and were all leaning against the car enjoying a long break. They were too far away to say thanks, but one lifted his bottle in salute. A moment later the whole world seemed to explode.

He went over the scene again, repeating every detail. There must have been something amiss-something different about that morning that he should have noticed. He had been standing several feet from the others, feeling a difference even if he could not pinpoint it. The blast knocked him off the rig and sent him rolling across the dirt. He hadn't seen the others die, hadn't heard a sound, only the blast, and then the silence when the rig stopped. Moments later the wind caught the fire.

In that one moment of total nothing, he knew he was dying. He was above the pain. But for some reason, he dove back in, letting the agony of it all take him full force.

Why hadn't he stayed in the calm? That one question haunted him and might yet drive him mad.