Island of Lost Girls - Jennifer McMahon [12]
When Dave told the story, usually after a few beers at a family barbecue, hed swear it hadnt been an accident.
Daniel didnt fall into Clem, Dave insisted. He sure as shit pushed him.
Daniel claimed to remember nothing of the accident: one minute he was beside Clem helping him guide the hemlock into the saw, the next he was waking up on the concrete floor, covered in Clems blood.
Clem always shook his head after hearing Daves version. It was seizure, Clem said. Daniel fell against me on his way down to the ground.
The rest of the story everyone agreed on. Clem jerked his hand away, spilling blood everywhere, but the first thing he did was drop to his knees to check on Daniel. Dave shut down the saw and screamed for Aggie, who was in the front office across the lot.
When Aggie came over, she saw Daniel thrashing and foaming, Clem crouched over him. She saw that Daniels shirt was covered in blood, but did not understand where it had come from.
Watch his head! Clem shouted, having been through the seizures a hundred times, knowing he should not hold his friend down but should do everything possible to not let him bash himself against anything. Daniels head was near one of the metal legs of the saw table, and Aggie bent down and gently rested her hands on Daniels jerking head, keeping him from harm. She had never seen a seizure before, never seen so much blood. And only then, when she had her hands resting on Daniels head, tangled in his sweaty hair, did her gaze fall on Clems hand.
Jesus! Your hand!
Clem looked down at his hand, at the pumping blood, and furrowed his brow as though not quite understanding what he was seeing. He then fell gently backward, still frowning in mild confusion, the color drained from his face. Dave wrapped Clems hand in a flannel shirt, helped him to the flatbed truck, and gunned the engine all the way to the medical center.
RHONDA AVERTED HEReyes from Tocks naked form (no stretch marks, even!) and took a deep breath, trying to concentrate on the feel of the water around her, which was almost unbearably hot. Peter had spent a summer during high school working at a vineyard in upstate New York, where he had picked up the huge wooden barrel they were soaking in. The water was heated by coils that ran through a woodstove. The three of them bumped knees as they sat on the narrow ledge Peter had built into the side of the huge cask. Tock had just put Suzy to bed.
Whatever else Rhonda could say about Tock, she could never criticize her parenting skills. Tock seemed to be the perfect mothercreative, fun, patient, firm, and always seeming to know the right thing for Suzy.
Tock had moved in with Peter just after graduating from high school and, soon after, announced she was pregnant. Everyone thought they were foolishtoo young to start a family. And there went Tocks chance at college, and her so smart! But Tock hadnt wanted college: she wanted Peter and a baby and to build her own house in the woods. She never seemed to have a moment of regret.
Tock leaned over and grabbed a beer from the table beside the tub. She was between Rhonda and Peter in age, one year older than Rhonda and two younger than Peter, and was in better shape than both of them. She wore her hair cropped short, a tight little chestnut-colored capshe had, Rhonda thought, the bone structure to pull it off. Peter wore his shoulder-length curly blond hair back in a ponytail. At twenty-six, Peter had the look of a man descending quickly into middle age. His hairline