Living with the hawk Read Online Free PDF Page B

crouched beside us. She was still crying, but she had her hands up by her shoulders now, trying to lift her head from the vomit. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe we could wrap her up in something.”
    â€œI got an idea. Stay with her. I’ll be right back.” I ran for the house.
    It took a while pushing through the drunks to find Joan, but she showed me where to look, the second shelf on the landing, and then I was running back across the lawn, my fingers digging at the bag, getting it open, the orange garbage bag flaring out, filling with air as I ran. “We can get her into this,” I said. “She won’t mess up your car then.”
    â€œOkay, yeah.”
    I knelt at her feet, started to work the bag up her legs, over her wet jeans.
    â€œWait.” He reached down, got his arms under hers, heaved her to her feet, lifted her into the air. “Shit,” he said, “she’s wet all over. Soaked.” But it was easy now. I pulled the bag up and around her, right up to her arm pits.
    â€œI can help you carry her.”
    â€œNo. Just steady her.” He lowered her till the bag hit the ground, me grabbing her shoulders, holding her upright; then with one arm still beneath her armpit, he got the other arm behind her knees and lifted her, stepped away.
    â€œYou sure you can manage?”
    â€œHell yes. Get the gate, will you?”
    I started toward the side of the house.
    â€œThe back gate, car’s in the alley.” He began walking, his legs wide apart, her head flopping over his arm. When we got to the car —it was an old Ford, his own car, I guess — he laid her against the trunk, held her there with one hand while he dug in his pocket with the other, fished out the keys. He handed them to me and I opened the back door. Then he lifted her again, turned her around and set her feet on the ground beside the door. As soon as he had her bum on the seat, he dropped her, and she fell backwards, her head bouncing once, something like a snort or a belch erupting from her open mouth as she landed. I lifted her feet into the car and swung the door shut. Handed Ivan the keys. He strode around to the driver’s side, opened the front door, turned back to me.
    â€œYou get in there with her,” he said. “We ain’t going nowhere till you shove her head out the window.”
    I ran around the car, slid in beside her, forced my hands under her, lifting, and pushed her against the window. Held her there and reached across her to get the window open, but Ivan had hit a button, the window purring down. I turned her shoulders, leaned against her, got her head out the window. Ivan drove slowly down the alley. “Where we going?” he said.
    â€œJeez, I don’t know.” I didn’t even know her name.
    â€œFor Christ’s sakes, ask her where she lives.”
    I gave her a shake. “Where do you live?”
    A snort that turned into a moan. She was too far gone to answer.
    â€œCome on. What’s your address.?”
    No response.
    â€œShit! What am I s’posed to do?” He glared at me in the rearview mirror.
    â€œMaybe if we keep going, cold air on her face, that might do it.”
    â€œFat chance.”
    I got my arm around her, my hand under her chin, turned her face into the wind as the car bounced out of the alley, picking up speed on the pavement. I felt her chin move in my hand.
    â€œChew doin’?”
    â€œWhere do you live?”
    â€œLeggo me.”
    â€œWhat’s your address?”
    She mumbled something I couldn’t hear, but at least she was talking.
    â€œWhat?” I slid against her, trying to get my ear closer to her mouth.
    I could make out most of it, the words slurred, running together.
    â€œI think she said Avon Drive. Something like that. Twenty-two, for sure.”
    â€œMust mean Avord Drive. We’ll try that.” I was pitched back against her as he swung the