Dead as a Doornail

red-hot coals to walk on.
    Maryelizabeth ushered me into Calvin’s bedroom. His furniture was very nice, with spare, clean lines. It looked Scandinavian, though I know little about furniture—or style, for that matter. He had a high bed, a queen-size, and he was propped up in it against sheets with an African motif of hunting leopards. (Someone had a sense of humor, anyway.) Against the deep colors in the sheets and the deep orange of the bedspread, Calvin looked pale. He was wearing brown pajamas, and he looked exactly like a man who’d just been released from the hospital. But he was glad to see me. I found myself thinking there was something a bit sad about Calvin Norris, something that touched me despite myself.
    “Come sit,” he said, indicating the bed. He moved over a little so I’d have room to perch. I guess he’d made some signal, because the man and the woman who’d been in the room—Dixie and Dixon—silently eased out through the door, shutting it behind them.
    I perched, a little uneasily, on the bed beside him. He had one of those tables you most often see in hospitals, the kind that can be rolled across the bed. There was a glass of ice tea and a plate on it, steam rising from the food. I gestured that he should begin. He bowed his head and said a silent prayer while I sat quietly. I wondered to whom the prayer was addressed.
    “Tell me about it,” Calvin said as he unfolded his napkin, and that made me a lot more comfortable. He ate while Itold him what had happened in the alley. I noticed that the food on the tray was the chicken-and-rice casserole I’d brought, with a dab of mixed vegetable casserole and two of my biscuits. He wanted me to see that he was eating the food I’d prepared for him. I was touched, which sounded a warning bell at the back of my brain.
    “So, without Dawson, there’s no telling what would’ve happened,” I concluded. “I thank you for sending him. How is he?”
    Calvin said, “Hanging on. They airlifted him from Grainger to Baton Rouge. He would be dead, if he wasn’t a Were. He’s lasted this long; I think he’ll make it.”
    I felt terrible.
    “Don’t go blaming yourself for this,” Calvin said, his voice suddenly sounding deeper. “This is Dawson’s choice.”
    “Huh?” would’ve sounded ignorant, so I said, “How so?”
    “His choice of professions. His choice of actions. Maybe he should have leaped for her a few seconds earlier. Why’d he wait? I don’t know. How’d she know to aim low, given the poor light? I don’t know. Choices lead to consequences.” Calvin was struggling to express something. He was not naturally an articulate man, and he was trying to convey a thought both important and abstract. “There’s no blame,” he said finally.
    “It would be nice to believe that, and I hope some day I do,” I said. “Maybe I’m on my way to believing it.” It was true that I was sick of self-blame and second-guessing.
    “I suspect the Weres are going to invite you to their little packleader shindig,” Calvin said. He took my hand. His was warm and dry.
    I nodded.
    “I bet you’ll go,” he said.
    “I think I have to,” I said uneasily, wondering what his goal was.
    “I’m not going to tell you what to do,” Calvin said. “I have no authority over you.” He didn’t sound too happy about that. “But if you go, please watch your back. Not for my sake; that don’t mean nothing to you, yet. But for yourself.”
    “I can promise that,” I said after a careful pause. Calvin was not a guy to whom you blurted the first idea in your head. He was a serious man.
    Calvin gave me one of his rare smiles. “You’re a damn fine cook,” he said. I smiled back.
    “Thank you, sir,” I said, and got up. His hand tightened on mine and pulled. You don’t fight a man who’s just gotten out of the hospital, so I bent toward him and laid my cheek to his lips.
    “No,” he said, and when I turned a little to find out what was wrong, he kissed me on the lips.
    Frankly, I expected to feel nothing. But his lips were as warm and dry as his hands, and he smelled like my cooking, familiar and homey. It was surprising, and surprisingly comfortable, to be so close to Calvin Norris. I backed off a little, and I am sure my face showed the mild shock I felt. The werepanther smiled and released my hand.
    “The good thing about being in the hospital was you coming to see me,” he said. “Don’t be a stranger now that I’m