Read Online Thin Air by George Simpson, Neal Burger - Free Book Online Page B

listened to her chatter on about the house, the years they had lived here, and the gardens she worked so hard to keep. She had a genuine love for the Cape and it was hard for him to change the subject.
    "What made you pick Cotuit?" he asked.
    "Oh...Cas wanted to be away from the cities. Doesn't function well in crowds. He's always loved the sea."
    "Your husband is a professional fisherman?"
    Mrs. Yablonski nodded. "He's quite successful. Runs charters to Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket. Berths at Hyannis Port. He's very well known...and respected," she added.
    "How long has he been doing that?"
    "Fifteen years." Mrs. Yablonski smiled proudly.
    Hammond smiled and glanced at the clock. "Does he always stay out this late?"
    "Usually calls as soon as he puts into port. I did radio him a message that you were coming up tonight."
    "Maybe I could drive down and meet him."
    "I'll go with you." She rose and bustled into the hall to get a heavy sweater from the closet. "Do you like deep-sea fishing, Commander?" she called back.
    "I've only been out once, ma'am."
    "Someday you'll have to go out with Cas. You'd have a wonderful time," She led him outside, closing the door behind them. The dog looked up.
    "Does he sail alone?" Hammond asked.
    "He's got two permanent crewmen. Lovely boys—Greg and Paul McKay."
    Hammond heard a wheezy whine behind them and looked back. The retriever was standing on the porch, looking forlorn and deserted. "If you want to bring the dog, ma'am, it's okay."
    "Oh, he's not ours. Go home, Georgie, go home!" The dog shuffled off the porch and strolled into the woods. "He sort of belongs to everyone around the pond."
    As Hammond opened the door for her, she climbed in and smiled up at him. "It's a very warm, safe community, Commander. We never have the kind of trouble you see on TV these days. Thank God for that."
     
    It was ten miles across the Cape to Hyannis Port. Hammond chose his questions carefully.
    "What's Dr. McCarthy like?" Getting no reply, he looked at her in the near darkness. She was gazing intently ahead. "Is he tall and thin, short and fat, what?"
    "I don't really know, Commander. I've never met the man."
    "Not once in all these years?" She shook her head. "Didn't you want to? Weren't you curious?"  
    "Yes," she said with hesitation. She added nothing.
    "How often do they have their sessions?"
    "They don't .meet regularly. Only when Cas needs help."
    "How often is that?"
    Mrs. Yablonski fell silent.
    "I'm sure it sounds as if I'm prying, ma'am, but you must believe me—I'm very concerned about your husband's welfare."
    She looked at him with surprise. "Why?"
    He found himself reluctant at first to tell her the truth. He wanted to make up some story about re-evaluating the psychiatric program for veterans, but somehow he didn't think she would fall for it.
    "I have some doubts about Dr. McCarthy's abilities," he said finally, then glanced at her expression. She considered his statement carefully.
    "McCarthy's been a godsend," she said, and he sensed she was trying to convince herself. "He'll see Cas any day of the week on twenty-four hours' notice. We couldn't ask for better treatment than that."
    "Are you sure?"
    She glanced at him uncertainly.
    "What about the nightmares?" he asked. "What are they like?"
    "Awful."
    "Is it one nightmare, Mrs. Yablonski? Always the same?"
    She watched the road ahead for a long moment, then said, "It has something to do with a disappearing ship."
    Hammond held hack a reckless urge to describe Fletcher's dream: it would only succeed in shocking her.
    "He's never been more specific than that about it," Mrs. Yablonski continued.
    "How does he go about getting treated?"
    "He calls McCarthy on a WATS line, then drives up to the Naval Hospital in Boston. They meet for several hours."       
    "Several?"
    "As long as it takes." Her voice shook.
    "What about symptoms?" Hammond asked. "Anything physical—?"
    "Oh, God—I've seen him wake up in a cold sweat, shaking,