In those darkest hours I often thought
If only there was some kind of magic –
Some way to bring my family back…
But there was no hope, no comfort to be found.
The only things I had left were
My own two good hands.

6 -- Dance of the Golden Snake

Rhonda Copps rolled over and checked the time. It was still early. She had no classes on the agenda. Nothing planned but a visit to the hospital.

The mirror was kind to Rhonda. She set her coffee mug on the bathroom counter and studied her hair, dark and matted from sleep but still attractive. She was one of those ageless women – the casual observer would be hard pressed to guess her years. Tall and slender, even in pyjamas she was a presence.

The hospital receptionist said Hamish had woken through the night. The worst was over and he was beginning to mend, but was still in I.C.U. Rhonda would visit anyway, posing as his sister. If she ran into his wife, well, the inevitable showdown was overdue. From Hamish’s description his wife was a small, barely educated hick, a docile creature with little personality who clung to her husband as her sole purpose.

What could a woman like that offer a man like Hamish? With his intelligence and Rhonda’s connections, they would become a professional team to be reckoned with.

Rhonda stepped out of the bath and wrapped her body in an oversized towel. She normally used a rich, natural shade of green eye-shadow to complement her eyes, but today she felt like going ‘gold’.

The right clothes, shoes, a shimmering gold-flecked scarf – she studied her reflection one last time, ready to take down the competition.
***

“What time is our flight?” Helen Strachan stirred sugar into her coffee and looked across the table at Leda.

“It’s at three.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to do while we’re in Boston? I mean, other than looking in on Hamish and Sandy at the hospital?”

Leda Maguire shook her head. “I just want to get home. I can’t write here. The aura of the city is lost on me.”

“I’m sure it has nothing to do with the non-stop excitement of the past twenty-four hours.”

Leda smiled. Between Hamish’s near-fatal encounter with the bus, discovering the letter he’d written to his wife, arriving to find a thief in her hotel room and helping a mother to get assistance in dealing with her sociopath son, it had been an eventful trip.

Through all of that, though, one factor dominated her thoughts and would not let her rest. Yesterday’s presentation had gone well, but it left her feeling raw. The group of psychology students was her largest audience to date. They’d listened, watched her with rapt faces as if she were a stripper, as if they were determined not to miss a second of the peep show into her soul.

For the first time since setting out on this crusade of hers she was beginning to have doubts. She felt as if she’d sold something yesterday, something that shouldn’t be sold.

When she first started writing Two Good Hands, she told herself it was her story. It was the only thing she had of value. Why shouldn’t she use it to earn herself a living?

Some people accused her of exploiting a terrible tragedy. To hell with them. It was her tragedy, after all.

Yesterday, though, seeing the faces of those students as they studied her – analysing her behaviour and her motives, pouncing on any clue to her own vulnerability – for the first time she’d felt as though she’d made a mistake.

What was done was done. There was no turning back. Her agent and friend, Maggie Landers, was already pushing for the draft of her next book. Two Good Hands was a runaway success. Her future income was secured.

“Let’s take the luggage with us to the hospital,” Leda said. “We can head to the airport from there.”
***

Sandy Burrows greeted them in the I.C.U. waiting room. It was obvious she hadn’t rested. Her curls were unkempt and her blue eyes flashed maniacally.

“Thank you for coming,” she said. “Hamish isn’t out of the woods yet, but he’s much better.”

“Can we see him?” Leda asked.

“Only direct family is allowed to visit. They plan to move him to a room later today, if you’re still around.”

“We have to catch a flight back to Toronto,” Helen said. “Please tell him we were here. Keep our contact info and let us know how he’s doing.”

“I will.” Sandy sat between the two women. She took the coffee Leda had brought. “Thank you. I’ll get breakfast at the cafeteria shortly.”

“Have the police been back?” Helen asked.

“No. I called them, though. Once Hamish gets settled into a room, they’ll be back to question him. I told them it wasn’t the bus driver’s fault.”

“Did Hamish tell you what happened?” Leda asked.

“Just that he did it on purpose – stepped in front of the bus. He wouldn’t say why. He says there was a letter for me. I asked the police, but they didn’t find any letter.”

Helen Strachan shifted in her seat and glanced at Leda, who nodded agreement.

“Sandy,” Helen said, “there’s something you need to see.” She reached into her pocket for the blood-stained paper and unfolded it.

Sandy put her paper cup down on the table and stared, trying to focus on the words. Finally the truth worked its way into her brain. The colour drained from her coffee skin, leaving it a pale grey.

“Is this everything?” she said, turning first to Helen, then to Leda.

“Yes. It was in his hand when the bus hit him.” Helen fought the urge to stand. “I got to him first and put it in my pocket without thinking. Later I realised what it was.”

“This explains everything,” Sandy said. “I have to get back to him.”

“Let us take you to breakfast first,” Leda said. “You have to eat. Another hour won’t change the facts, but it might make things easier for you.”

“I am hungry,” Sandy said. “I’m eating for two now, you know.”

“Congratulations,” Leda said.

“I told Hamish about the baby last night, as soon as he woke. I was afraid he might die without knowing he’s going to be a father.”

“It was the right thing to do,” Leda said. “You gave him another reason to fight for his life.”

Helen didn’t know what to make of Sandy’s attitude. It wasn’t what she’d expected – the scorned wife should have been furious, humiliated, but Sandy just smiled and rested a hand on her belly as she walked toward the elevator with her new friends on either side of her.

“You're taking this news well,” Helen said.

Sandy pushed the button. “The truth is never as bad as what we imagine. For months I’ve been going out of my mind wondering what the hell was happening with my husband. I love him, but his world is different from mine. I don’t always understand him – couldn’t see what the problem was. There was a mysterious rift growing between us.

“Now that I know he’s been cheating, hell, I can deal with it. Oldest story on earth. Hamish loves me. No 'other woman' is going to take down my marriage – my family.”

She laughed, but an edge had crept into her voice that wasn’t there before. Leda recognised the hint of restrained fury buried under Sandy’s chuckle.
***

Rhonda followed the yellow line on the hospital floor to the I.C.U. main lobby. Once there, she leaned over the desk and rang the bell. Two nurses were huddled at the back of the station, no doubt gossiping. One of them scowled at her.

The nurses deliberately finished their whispered discussion before acknowledging Rhonda.

“I’m here to see Hamish Burrows,” she said.

“Are you family?”

“I’m his sister. I called earlier.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Is his wife here?”

“She went to get some breakfast. She should be back soon.”

Rhonda followed the nurse through the door to the intensive care unit. It was impossible to guess which of the sheet-covered gurneys held Hamish. When the nurse pointed him out, she almost didn’t recognise him. He was asleep, with tubes and an oxygen mask, only his trademark red hair giving him away.

“I’m here, Hamish,” she said, taking his hand.

His eyes flew open. At first they registered confusion, then alarm. He tried to lift one shaking hand to remove his mask, but the struggle was too great.

“Don’t try to speak,” she said. “I won’t stay long. I just wanted to let you know I’m here, waiting for you to heal.”

Hamish lifted his hand once more, this time managing to knock the mask from his mouth.

“Go away,” he said. His voice was weak, but the words were clear.

“Don’t worry. I won’t stay. This is not the time for a confrontation with your wife.”

Rhonda leaned forward, intending to kiss Hamish.

He turned his face away.

“Just go away,” he said. “I don’t want to see you again.”

“You don’t mean that. I’ll see you when you’re back on your feet. You’ll feel differently then.”

She patted his hand, a mother comforting an angry child. Knowing there was nothing more to be accomplished at the moment, she left, aware of his eyes watching her go. His rage was just one more indication of his weakness. It was something she could use to her advantage.
***

Leda and Helen returned to the I.C.U. floor with Sandy. She’d talked through the situation with them, and they felt comfortable in leaving her to deal with her husband.

They retrieved their luggage from the nursing station and said good-bye to their new friend.

Sandy watched as they disappeared down the hall and around the corner.

As she approached the I.C.U. entrance, a tall woman dressed in shades of light brown and gold stepped into the waiting area. The woman passed Sandy, then suddenly turned on her heels.

“Are you Sandra Burrows?” she said.

Sandy turned.

“I am,” she said.

“My name is Rhonda Copps. I’m a professor of abnormal psychology at the University.”

“I know exactly who you are,” Sandy said. She walked deliberately toward the woman, who towered over her in height. Sandy’s tangled hair stood out and her blue eyes flashed with demented fervour. “You’re the bitch who’s been bothering my man.”

Rhonda looked down at Sandy with an expression of amused triumph. This rag doll, this backwater voodoo gypsy couldn’t possibly compete with her. The little woman had no fashion sense and no composure. A man like Hamish needed a partner who wouldn’t embarrass him.

“Your man,” Rhonda said, “came to me of his own free will. Apparently he was looking for something he couldn’t get at home.”

Sandy leaned into Rhonda’s space. When she spoke, her voice was quiet but clear.

“You’d better stay away from us,” she said.

Rhonda laughed.

“Or what?” she asked. “Will you cast one of your voodoo spells on me? I do as I please, my dear. I don’t take orders from pipsqueaks.”

Sandy’s face hardened.

“This is the only warning I plan to give you,” she said. “You need to hear me, lady. I have no problem with cutting you into little pieces and dropping you into the Harbour. If you think I’m not dead serious, then try me. You’ll wake up one fine morning and find yourself face to face with me and a couple of my psycho voodoo brothers.”

Rhonda stepped backward. She hadn’t expected this reaction from Hamish’s wife. She’d pegged the woman as a dishrag, someone to be easily cast aside in a puddle of tears. Obviously Sandy Burrows was out of her mind.

“I think,” Sandy continued, taking another step closer to Rhonda, “you’d best get on with humping some other guy’s leg. If I see you near Hamish again, you’ll be one dead-assed bitch.”

Rhonda studied Sandy’s eyes for any sign the woman might be bluffing. Seeing no flicker of weakness, she hurried down the hall the way she came, following the yellow line right out of Sandy’s life.
***

“Your ‘friend’ was here,” Sandy said, fluffing Hamish’s pillow.

Hamish turned his head away in shame.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” she said, “look at me. I read your letter. I know about the professor.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, too. But enough of that crap for now. We’ve got a baby coming. I sent her packing. She won’t bother us again.”

Hamish looked at Sandy, unable to contain a flicker of pride for his feisty wife.

“I’ve been trying to get rid of Rhonda for months,” he said. “What did you say to her?”

“I told her I was gonna call a couple of my badass voodoo brothers to come up here and cut her into little pieces.” Sandy smiled at her own brazenness.

“You don’t have any brothers,” Hamish said.

“Yeah, but she don’t know that.”
_______________________________

TUNE IN NEXT WEEK, FOR VOLUME 7 OF "TWO GOOD HANDS", a Leda And Strachan mystery!

Copyright belongs to Donna Carrick. No part of this story may be reproduced without the written consent of the author.

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