Dina’s hat out to her. Then he saw her left hand. She was still clipping off the last few branches, and blood ran down her arm in bright streaks, soaking into the rolled cuff of the white shirt, He knelt and grabbed her wrist. “Dina! What-” The clippers clattered to the bricks.
There was a gash in her left thumb between the first and second joints. “It doesn’t hurt,” she said wonderingly.
“Isn’t that funny? It doesn’t hurt at all.” The blood was dripping onto her slacks now and spattering the walkway. Sam let go long enough to pull his T-shirt over his head. He wrapped the hem of it around her thumb and pressed.
“This is deep. You’ll need stitches.”
“No.” She struggled to pull her hand away. “No, I don’t want to go to a doctor. Not for this.” Her head sank onto his chest. “You fix it for me, Sam. Please.”
With an arm around her back, he lifted Dina to her feet and took her inside.
Sam bound the cut with gauze and tape while Melanie watched, grimacing. He said he would check it in the morning, and if it looked bad, she would go to the doctor, no arguments. Melanie hovered until Dina told her to please stop. She was all right, for heaven’s sake.
Now Dina lay in bed. She had taken a pill, and her eyes were nearly closed. “I cause so much trouble,” she whispered. “Poor Sam. I’ve worn you out.”
“No. Go to sleep.” He smoothed her hair, which lay in unruly tangles on the pillow.
“I won’t dream tonight,” she said. “When I take these pills I don’t dream. But this week he’s been in my dreams every night.”
“Bad dreams?”
She nodded. “Very bad. Do you ever dream of him, Sam?”
“No.” He noticed that the silver cross lay upside down on the nightstand, its chain jumbled. “You took it off.”
She laughed sleepily. “The pills work better. I think I was having a flashback to my childhood. Put it back in my dresser, will you? Throw it out, I don’t care.”
He opened the drawer of the nightstand and dropped the cross inside.
“Sam? Lie down with me.”
“Sure. Scoot over.” He put an arm under her neck, kissed her forehead, then gazed out the window at the darkening sky while her breathing deepened.
They had met when he was twenty-two years old, just out of the army. His father had died the year before in Winter Haven, where he had owned an orange grove. Sam went to settle some matters with the estate, then drove up to the University of Florida in Gainesville to see about enrolling. He didn’t know what he wanted to study, but he had some GI benefits and enough pay saved to get through four years if he was careful. He picked up a catalog from admissions, then strolled around the leafy oldbrick campus. He was wearing his green T-shirt, and his hair was regulation short.
A pack of hippies began to trail him. Tie-dyed, bellbottomed freaks. One wore an army jacket with a black armband. They shouted at him. How many babies had he killed in Vietnam? Hey, soldier-boy, did you bomb any villages? How many women did you rape? Did you get off on it?
Sam’s hands went into fists. He waited for them to make a move, wanted them to. He was ready to break some bones. Then he heard another voice. A darkhaired girl with books in her arms pushed through, shouting for them to stop it, leave him alone. They stared at her long enough for the mood to break.
Sam followed her and asked why she had done that.
She shrugged. “It wasn’t fair. They don’t know who you are.”
“Neither do you. Maybe I did kill people over there.
Maybe I liked it.”
Then this dark-eyed girl stopped walking. She studied him. “No. I don’t think you liked it.”
Sam knew he couldn’t let her just walk away, vanishing into the crowd of students.
Her name, she told him later, was Constandina Pondakos. And then she laughed. “Dina for short, okay?”
It was still dark outside when Sam woke up. He lay in bed for a while, then swung his feet over the edge, trying not to
There was a gash in her left thumb between the first and second joints. “It doesn’t hurt,” she said wonderingly.
“Isn’t that funny? It doesn’t hurt at all.” The blood was dripping onto her slacks now and spattering the walkway. Sam let go long enough to pull his T-shirt over his head. He wrapped the hem of it around her thumb and pressed.
“This is deep. You’ll need stitches.”
“No.” She struggled to pull her hand away. “No, I don’t want to go to a doctor. Not for this.” Her head sank onto his chest. “You fix it for me, Sam. Please.”
With an arm around her back, he lifted Dina to her feet and took her inside.
Sam bound the cut with gauze and tape while Melanie watched, grimacing. He said he would check it in the morning, and if it looked bad, she would go to the doctor, no arguments. Melanie hovered until Dina told her to please stop. She was all right, for heaven’s sake.
Now Dina lay in bed. She had taken a pill, and her eyes were nearly closed. “I cause so much trouble,” she whispered. “Poor Sam. I’ve worn you out.”
“No. Go to sleep.” He smoothed her hair, which lay in unruly tangles on the pillow.
“I won’t dream tonight,” she said. “When I take these pills I don’t dream. But this week he’s been in my dreams every night.”
“Bad dreams?”
She nodded. “Very bad. Do you ever dream of him, Sam?”
“No.” He noticed that the silver cross lay upside down on the nightstand, its chain jumbled. “You took it off.”
She laughed sleepily. “The pills work better. I think I was having a flashback to my childhood. Put it back in my dresser, will you? Throw it out, I don’t care.”
He opened the drawer of the nightstand and dropped the cross inside.
“Sam? Lie down with me.”
“Sure. Scoot over.” He put an arm under her neck, kissed her forehead, then gazed out the window at the darkening sky while her breathing deepened.
They had met when he was twenty-two years old, just out of the army. His father had died the year before in Winter Haven, where he had owned an orange grove. Sam went to settle some matters with the estate, then drove up to the University of Florida in Gainesville to see about enrolling. He didn’t know what he wanted to study, but he had some GI benefits and enough pay saved to get through four years if he was careful. He picked up a catalog from admissions, then strolled around the leafy oldbrick campus. He was wearing his green T-shirt, and his hair was regulation short.
A pack of hippies began to trail him. Tie-dyed, bellbottomed freaks. One wore an army jacket with a black armband. They shouted at him. How many babies had he killed in Vietnam? Hey, soldier-boy, did you bomb any villages? How many women did you rape? Did you get off on it?
Sam’s hands went into fists. He waited for them to make a move, wanted them to. He was ready to break some bones. Then he heard another voice. A darkhaired girl with books in her arms pushed through, shouting for them to stop it, leave him alone. They stared at her long enough for the mood to break.
Sam followed her and asked why she had done that.
She shrugged. “It wasn’t fair. They don’t know who you are.”
“Neither do you. Maybe I did kill people over there.
Maybe I liked it.”
Then this dark-eyed girl stopped walking. She studied him. “No. I don’t think you liked it.”
Sam knew he couldn’t let her just walk away, vanishing into the crowd of students.
Her name, she told him later, was Constandina Pondakos. And then she laughed. “Dina for short, okay?”
It was still dark outside when Sam woke up. He lay in bed for a while, then swung his feet over the edge, trying not to
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