Free Down by the River by Robyn Carr Page A

Either way, there’d’a been less damage.” She emptied the contents of her cup on his face and he sputtered madly, establishing he was not in a coma. “Damned trashy MacAlvies,” Rocky grumbled.
    That last caused Tom to lift a curious brow in her direction as she sauntered away. It was definitely the pot speaking of the kettle.
    Then his eye caught a familiar face and he nearly gasped out loud. One of the four or five men who lingered outside the bar at dawn was his old high school chum, Chris Forrest. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He’d never known Chris to be a drinker, and for sure not the kind of drinker who’d be at a dive likeRocky’s at four in the morning. And not only did he appear in his cups, he was a trifle scuffed up, as though he’d been caught in the fray. Then he realized Chris had called him, disguising his voice very poorly.
    Tom helped Bill lift up Vern MacAlvie, and once he was on foot, left him to get the detainee in Ricky’s car. When he approached Chris, the other man looked down, his hands in his pockets. All he could think of to say was “Chris?”
    Chris raised his eyes. “I’m looking for a ride,” he said.
     
    Chris was the only son of Judge and Birdie Forrest and had been Tom and June’s best friend all through childhood, right up to high school graduation. He was the homecoming king to June’s homecoming queen. Then, as many Grace Valley kids were known to do, Chris went away to make his mark. He’d landed in San Diego where he and wife, Nancy, also of Grace Valley, had twin boys.
    Just a few months ago Chris had returned to the valley with his boys, now age fourteen, in search of a place to raise the little delinquents. Their mother had had enough of their petty crimes and disrespect. All that had been resolved, but not in the way anyone would have planned. Brad and Brent had stolen their grandmother Birdie’s car and plunged it down a ravine. The boys were nearly killed; their injuries were going to take a long time to heal.
    “I bought myself a fixer-upper,” Chris told Tom on the ride home. “The place is a wreck, but now it’s a wreck with two hospital beds in the living room. My boys are in traction and there’s no time to work on making the house livable. The physical therapist comes every day and tortures them till they scream in pain. Nancy left a good job, and not only does she miss her work and friends, money is so tight we have to watch every cent. She cries herself to sleep at night, and even then, it’s not for long…the boys wake up several times, needing pans and pills.” He sniffed back self-pity. “Sometimes it’s all just too much.”
    “I can imagine.”
    “I just needed to get out of the house.”
    “I can understand,” Tom said. “But, Chris, why go to Rocky’s? You know that place is like a hockey game in progress.”
    Chris gave a huff of laughter. “Yeah. But it was three in the morning. Nothing else was open.”
    “Still…”
    “I didn’t get much to drink, anyway. I’m just so damned tired it went straight to my head,” Chris said. Then he looked at his knuckles. “I got a piece of Vern MacAlvie, though.” He laughed.
    “You’re lucky they didn’t get a piece of you.”
    Chris was quiet for a minute, and Tom gradually became aware that the soft sounds next to him were from Chris crying. He looked out the window, hiding his face from Tom. “At first I thought Nancy comingback here would help us work on our, you know, issues,” he finally said. “But I’ve got her living on a shoestring in that dump of a house and I don’t know how we’re going to get through it.”
    Tom knew they must be exhausted from the sheer demands of critical-care patients, not to mention the financial burden. Birdie had told Ursula in the quilting circle that their insurance would only afford hospitalization for so long. That’s why the boys were now getting home care long before the house was ready to be a home. Even with Birdie and Judge