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.

Thanksgiving

November 26


Some holidays are meant to be enjoyed, others endured. Helena had always thought Thanksgiving fell more into the endured category. It was too close to Christmas to really be excited about seeing everyone, and the weather often hampered, though rarely canceled, the event. For her, the only good thing about the day was that with its passing came the busiest shopping season of the year.

She spent an hour trying to convince J.D. to come along with her to Patricia's annual spread. But, as he had for years, he insisted the day belonged to her family. He would only be an outsider, unable to relate to the husbands, who called a rifle a gun, or the children who thought Martin Luther King was a general in the Civil War.

Helena laughed as she drove down Main, past stores already decorated for the next holiday. J.D. was her family, her world. How could he think otherwise? He just wanted her to go so that she could return with stories. They would open a bottle of red wine and watch the sunset as they laughed at her tales of the twins and their families.

Then, as they always did on holidays, they would make love. Maybe not wild and abandoned as they had in their fifties, but with no less pleasure. J.D. had a way of making her feel young and loved as no man ever had. While they were still breathless and wrapped around one another, he would whisper "Happy Thanksgiving" or "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Birthday," like their lovemaking was what made the day special.

Glancing over at the courthouse, Helena noticed Meredith's old Mustang parked near the side door. She had asked the little schoolteacher to dinner at Patricia's. Both of her daughters had had children in Meredith's class, so Helena knew they would not mind the extra company.

Meredith refused, saying she planned to work on the filing system over the break. She had been working at the courthouse part-time for as long as Helena could remember.

Helena made a mental note to call Crystal as soon as she got to Patricia's house. Shelby's cook was making a feast and having it delivered midafternoon to everyone who worked the Thanksgiving shift at the hospital. He could easily drop a plate off at the courthouse for Meredith.

She almost wished she had taken Crystal up on her invitation to join them. It would be a nice change from enduring Thanksgiving with her daughters. Randi was driving in from Memphis for the weekend. And as far as, Helena knew, Randi had no family of her own-that she still claimed, anyway. Her former in-laws hadn't bothered to invite her. After all, now Jimmy was dead, she was not really a part of them anymore. But Crystal had remembered her, even wiring her the money for gas.

Randi's career as a singer had not taken off as expected, but Crystal swore it would only be a matter of time. Randi wrote that she had met a manager in a bar where she worked. He was now handling her bookings. She had told Crystal the bar also sold boots along one wall.

Helena shook her head. She was only a small-town businesswoman, but she would always be able to recognize a snake. She hoped Randi could. In her opinion, a man who never went in a bar wasn't to be trusted any more than a man who called it his second home or office. And a Western wear store that had a dance floor and bar was too wild for her taste.

She pulled into the drive of her daughter's house. Patricia had a way with flowers in the spring that made the place look bright and welcoming, but in the winter the untended beds made the house look like it was sitting on a huge brown nest.

There was the usual menagerie of bikes and toys scattered along the drive and in the grass. But at least in the winter the brown circles in the grass, left by the plastic pool, did not show.

Helena's three oldest grandchildren came running out to meet her. She loved them dearly but rarely had time to see them. When the twins had been small, Helena had fought night and day to get her business going. Even when she had been home, she was usually slaving over the store's books. She had missed their childhood just as she was missing her grandchildren's-but only with a passing regret.

Climbing from the car, she reached for the bag filled with toys Mary always prepared for her. Helena might not cook, but she never showed up empty-handed.

J.D. teased her that Mary secretly hated buying the gifts and got her revenge on Helena by always including at least one toy that made noise. Last Easter, she'd found huge eggs for the boys that contained harmonicas, and plastic chicks for the girls that made chirping sounds.

It had taken J.D. and two bottles of wine to calm Helena's nerves that night. Harmonica-playing chickens even haunted her dreams.

Today, Helena was happy to find books about juggling with bags of soft balls attached. She handed them out and made her way past the husbands, who were glued to a football game on TV as though hypnotized. They were a nicee pair, but Helena could not remember having a conversation with either of them in years.