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"He didn't think it was unusual?"

  Carter considered this as well. "No, he acted more like it was pretty common and that's why it was so frustrating."

  They sat there in silence for a long time. At least, it felt like a long time. Hospital noises went on around them, and at one point Carter got up and went and found someone to ask again, but when he came back he just shook his head at Nate to say that there was still no news.

  "You did good," Nate said some while later.

  Carter didn't answer.

  "Seriously. I'm glad you were there."

  Now Carter turned to look at him, an expression of wonder on his face. "For all you know, I could have been the cause of this. Maybe I distracted him by being there."

  "Nah." Nate waved his hand to dismiss this idea. "First off, I stood over him half the first week he worked for me, to make sure he knew what the hell he was doing. If I didn't make him nervous, you can be sure as shit you didn't. Anyway, something was wrong with the chainsaw, and he knew it. So don't be an idiot."

  Carter went back to facing front, looking down at the floor.

  "If it was those fucking protesters, I'm gonna track 'em down and wring their necks with my bare hands. No, first I'll take a chainsaw to their arms, then I'll wring their necks."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Caught a couple of cars full of 'environmentalists' on the side this morning, and then, coincidence of coincidences, the yarder wouldn't start. Turned out the belt was all shredded."

  "You think they did something to the chainsaw?"

  Nate snorted. "You telling me you don't think people like that would?"

  "I don't know anything about them," said Carter defensively. "And neither do you. Doesn't equipment break down all the time?"

  A doctor in scrubs came down the hallway toward them, and zeroed in on Nate as the man to talk to. "Are you with Jeff Scaggins?"

  "That'd be me," Nate got to his feet nervously, aware that part of him was waiting for bad news. "Nate Tavaras. I'm his boss."

  "Yes. Well, it looks like everything's going to be fine. We had to set the bone with some pins, and sewing up the wound required a very large number of stitches, but the surgery went very well."

  "He gonna keep the use of the arm?"

  "Oh, yes. There may be some small loss of fine motor skills, possibly even permanently, but considering the seriousness of the injury I think we can all be well pleased."

  Nate felt a wave of anger wash over him, hot and red like the blood that stained their clothes. He wanted to grab this fucking doctor and throw him up against the wall. "You'd be 'well pleased,'" he ground out, "if you were told that you'd permanently lost fine motor skills?"

  Carter was hovering at his elbow, but the doctor didn't seem surprised at the question. "Under the circumstances? Yes, I would. Considering that he easily could have lost the arm entirely, or his life if you gentlemen hadn't been quicker in getting him here."

  "When can we see him?"

  The doctor turned and checked the clock on the wall. "In about an hour or so. He'll be in recovery until then, and then he'll be on the fourth floor. If you'd like to go up there to wait, I'll have the nurses let you know when you can see him."

  "Thank you," Carter said hastily as the doctor turned and walked off.

  Nate sighed and flopped back down into a seat. He felt like today had all been about extremes -- his emotions soaring high and then him crashing until the next ride.

  "Do you want me to get you something to eat?" asked Carter, standing next to him.

  "Food here's probably crap," said Nate. He looked at the dirt ground into the creases in his hands. He couldn't for the life of him figure out why Carter was making such an effort to be nice to him. Weren't they supposed to be mortal enemies or something? Fuck. He hated when things were complicated.

  "You'll feel better if you eat something."

  "No. Christ, do you ever listen to anything anyone says?"

  Carter shifted his weight uncomfortably and crossed his arms. "I'm going to get some food, and then I'm going up to the fourth floor," he said flatly. "Maybe I'll see you there." And he left.

  Thank holy fuck.

  Nate sat perfectly still, staring at the floor, for half an hour. He knew exactly how much time had passed because he counted the seconds in his head. Sometimes he did that -- it felt like it gave him some kind of control, control over everything, like if he could keep track of the seconds he was in charge of the entire world.

  At the end of the 1800 seconds, he got up and went to the fourth floor, asked at the desk for Jeff, and was told to sit in the waiting area. Someone would come and let him know when he could see the kid.

  The waiting area was littered with old cups of coffee and piles of magazines that were faded from the sunlight that must stream in through the windows during the daytime. The television that was attached to the wall only received one station, and that was fuzzy and flickering like something from a dream. Since no one else was in there, Nate turned it off. He was surprised when he looked at the clock and saw that it was after six. Where the hell had the day gone? He needed to call the guys.

  He sat and waited. In a few minutes Carter came in. He wordlessly handed Nate a paper bag, and when Nate opened it he discovered a wrapped sandwich. He opened the wrapping. Grilled cheese. He pried up the bread. With sliced tomato. No meat, but okay, not disgusting. And it smelled good.

  "Thanks," he said grudgingly, and ate it.

  Carter waited until he'd finished chewing the last bite before he said, "You're welcome. Is there something I can do? Call anyone?"

  Nate thought about that for a minute. "Let's wait 'til we see him. Rather have something to actually report."

  "Okay."

  At that moment a nurse appeared in the doorway. "Were you waiting to see Mr. Scaggins?"

  Nate stood up quickly. "Yeah, that'd be us." He looked at Carter, who was still sitting down. "You coming?"

  Carter got to his feet more slowly, slid his hand into his jeans pocket and then grimaced. "Are you -- do you want me to?"

  Huh, what did you know? He did. "Yeah. Come on."

  6.

  In the hallway outside of Jeff's room the nurse paused and spoke quietly. "He's been in and out, so he may not be able to speak to you, and if he does, he may not make a lot of sense. Just stay for a few minutes and then let him get some rest."

  They both nodded and then Carter hung back to let Nate go into the room first. He followed slowly.

  Jeff lay very still against the white pillow, an IV in one arm. The other arm was wrapped from his wrist to up above his elbow, thickly padded with bandages. Carter wondered idly what had happened to his shirt -- not that he would have wanted it back, because he knew he never would have been able to look at it again without remembering. Not that remembering would be a bad thing, even though it would definitely be unpleasant. Just... he wondered if it was in the trash somewhere, soaked through with Jeff's blood.

  Nate had a hand on Jeff's shoulder and was leaning over, talking softly to him. If pressed, Carter wouldn't have said that he thought Nate could talk that softly.

  Jeff stirred just slightly, his eyes fluttering open for a few seconds and then closing again. "Nate?" His voice was rough.

  "It's okay, kid. Don't try to talk. You're gonna be fine."

  "Arm?" Jeff managed to ask.

  Nate patted his shoulder. "It's good, it's gonna be good as new. Don't worry about it."

  Jeff squeezed his eyes more tightly shut. "Mom..."

  "I'll call her and tell her everything, tell her you're gonna be fine. I'll take care of it, kid."

  "'Kay." Jeff nodded, his chin barely moving. "Sorry, Nate."

  "Don't be sorry. Jeff? I need to ask you a couple of questions. Do you think you can answer them now? If you're too doped up, it's okay..."

  "No. M'okay. What?"

  "What happened -- it seem weird to you? You think anyone tampered with the chainsaw?"

  There was a v
ery long pause, so long that Carter began to wonder if Jeff had slipped back off to sleep again. Then Jeff frowned, still without opening his eyes. "No. Was regular -- s'always acting up. Just like that."

  Nate sighed in what Carter thought was probably relief and patted Jeff's shoulder again. "Okay. Get some rest, kid."

  Jeff sighed and seemed to relax, and within half a minute his breathing evened out. Nate looked up at Carter, and gestured slightly with his head toward the door. Carter backed out quietly and waited for Nate in the hallway.

  "I gotta call the guys. And Jeff's mom. Get the car?" Nate handed him the keys and disappeared around the nearest corner, presumably in search of a phone.

  Carter went out and started up Nate's SUV, driving it around to the emergency room entrance again and parking it near the curb but far enough from the doors that he didn't think he'd be in anyone's way. He half-climbed over the gearshift into the passenger seat rather than getting out and walking around, and then adjusted the heat because his borrowed T-shirt was short sleeved and he was a little bit cold.

  Nate came out through the automatic doors, rubbing his forehead with one hand, and got into the car. "Thanks," he said shortly, and put it into gear, pulling out into the parking lot and turning around.

  Carter wondered what Jeff's mother had said.

  "You wanna stop and get a drink somewhere?" Nate was keeping his eyes on the road and the line of his shoulders was tense.

  "Sure."

  They drove about ten minutes and then pulled into the dirt driveway of a seedy-looking bar. Carter could barely even remember the last time he'd actually gone somewhere for a drink; usually if he drank it was a glass of wine or a beer at Alex's house, or maybe at a restaurant. He just didn't hang out with people who went to bars -- at least, not anymore. He'd done his fair share of the bar scene right after he'd turned 21, even though Shannon thought it was silly and only drank one drink over the course of a whole evening, no matter how long they were there.

  The place was kind of dark, and full of cigarette smoke, and the light bulbs were covered with unusual colored glass shades that made the inside of the bar resemble a carousel. There were so many things wrong with that thought that Carter didn't even know where to begin, so instead he focused on the bartender and followed Nate to the bar.

  "Two shots, two beers," Nate said, but the bartender was already pouring like he knew what Nate wanted. Nate threw some money down on the counter, picked up a beer bottle and a shot glass, gestured to Carter to do the same, and stalked off to a far corner and a booth.

  Carter felt like he was along for some weird ride that he hadn't signed on for. He wasn't sure whether to be annoyed that Nate just assumed he'd follow, or whether to let it go and just do it because God knew it was a sight easier than trying to put up an argument about something that didn't matter. If there was one thing he thought he'd learned over the past five or six years, it was that you had to pick your battles wisely. In this case, it seemed easier to save his arguing for something other than a bar and a couple of drinks.

  The booth was comfortable, if somewhat ragged. Nate had already slugged back his shot and was taking a long drink from the beer bottle. Carter sighed and pushed his own shot glass across the table to Nate.

  "Don't want it?" Nate asked, and he looked annoyed.

  "One of us is going to have to be able to drive," Carter said somewhat dryly. "You look like you're in for the start of something long and boozy, so I'll just have a beer and think about playing chauffeur."

  Nate looked even more annoyed, if that was possible. "Not intending on getting too drunk to drive."

  "'Too drunk' is relative." Carter took a sip of his beer and then glanced at Nate again. "You look done in," he observed. "It's hard, when someone you care about gets hurt."

  "Don't care about him -- he's my responsibility. There's a difference."

  "Right, sorry, my mistake. You don't like him at all."

  Nate set his bottle down hard on the table. "Didn't say that, either. Christ, you have a thing about putting words into a guy's mouth, don't you?"

  "I just call it like I see it. It doesn't always result in me making friends, that's true enough. I can live with that."

  "You're a fuckin' trip and a half, Carter," Nate said, shaking his head like he couldn't figure Carter out. "Every time I think I've got you pegged, you surprise me."

  Carter couldn't help but smile at that. "Yeah, that's me -- a surprise a minute." He thought about Shannon, like he did only about fifteen hundred times a day, and felt his smile fade. Not all surprises were good ones, were they?

  When he glanced up again Nate was staring at him.

  "What?" he said defensively.

  Nate shrugged. "Nothing. Looked like you were gonna say something you maybe didn't want to say."

  Carter was floored. How the heck had someone as abrasive and unfriendly as Nate gotten so perceptive? He obviously had no idea what was going on inside Nate's head. "That's why I'm not going to say it," he said, finally.

  "You don't like surprises."

  He thought about this. "No, I guess I don't. Not most of the time, anyway. I... was on the giving end of a pretty big surprise not too long ago. I had to tell my wife I wanted a divorce. She didn't know... she never saw it coming. So, no. I don't like having to give them, anyway."

  Nate looked thoughtful. Or maybe the third of a beer Carter had already had was making him imagine things. The latter seemed more likely.

  "Huh," Nate said. "Could have sworn..." He trailed off.

  Suddenly Carter felt more like an idiot than he had in a long time. This guy was the enemy. Why was he giving Nate ammunition to be used against himself later? "Forget it," he said quickly.

  "Right," Nate said. He threw back the second shot, the one that was technically Carter's, and Carter watched Nate's throat as he swallowed.

  God. Carter dragged his eyes back to his own beer and then took a sip. If there was any justice in the universe he wouldn't be attracted to someone like this. He just wouldn't. He'd done the right thing by Shannon, hadn't he? Well, not by marrying her and then divorcing her, but... oh, God.

  Carter thought desperately of something to say. "So I take it you've seen your share of accidents in the industry, then?"

  Nate took another long swig of beer and Carter kept his eyes on the table this time. "Yeah. Try not to think about it. You get too focused on what might happen, makes it too hard to get up and go to work."

  "Are most of them serious? Out of the ones you've seen, I mean?"

  "I dunno," Nate shrugged. He appeared to think about it for a little while. "Half, maybe. Small stuff happens all the time -- here, I'll show you." He unbuttoned his shirt cuff and yanked the sleeve up to reveal a thick scar that wasn't too far away in position from where Jeff's injury had been. It didn't look like 'small stuff' to Carter. "Same thing," Nate said. "Pretty much. 'Cept I just wasn't paying enough attention. Hit a hard spot in a log, chainsaw bounced and caught me. Wasn't bad though -- less than twenty stitches, I think."

  "What about the bad ones?"

  "Mostly falls, or stuff falling on you." Nate finished his beer and got up. "Want another one?"

  Carter looked at his half-full bottle and shook his head. "No, thanks."

  "Be right back."

  Carter managed to resist the urge to turn and watch as Nate walked back to the bar.

  Nate came back with two more beers. "They're both for me," he said, before Carter could object that he hadn't wanted another.

  Carter sat and watched while Nate drank one of them quickly. He waited. He was comfortable enough with silence.

  "Seen two guys killed," said Nate, after he'd started on the second beer.

  He felt his eyebrows rise of their own volition. "How?" Carter asked.

  "Tree fell on one, branch on another." Nate gestured with his hand to imitate something falling and hitting someone. "Happens a lot. Most of 'em die instantly."

  "Oh." Carter mulled this over rather nu
mbly, wishing he could blame over-consumption of alcohol for how stunned this made him feel, but knowing he couldn't. There was still a third of the beer left in the bottle in his hand. It occurred to him for the first time that maybe these guys had other things to worry about than whether or not cutting down trees was 'right'.

  Nate finished off his third beer and went back to the bar for more. Carter sat. Nate tried to push another shot on Carter when he got back, but at that point Carter figured the one beer was more than enough. He didn't know if the day was finally catching up with him, but he was exhausted, and for the first time since he'd moved into it he thought of his apartment with longing instead of loathing. He wanted to be somewhere else, somewhere familiar. Anywhere but in the middle of nowhere, where it was normal for people to be killed by falling logs.