by Mara Jacobs
Nora had the same sad bouts of not remembering things from the early past, but less frequently than her father did. Her mother’s condition was not quite as debilitating as her father’s.
But there was no way now that they’d be able to keep her father in the family home. Her mother was barely able to look after herself, even with a daily visit from Alison. There was no way she could care for her husband too.
“The trouble with you is you don’t want the nice guys. Oh, you take ‘em, but you don’t really want them,” her father said now, pulling Alison out of what was heading toward a self-pity reverie.
“What?” she asked, trying to remember what tangent her father was on. Oh, right. She was playing hard to get to Jimmy, who was bound for Korea. It did sound kind of bitchy. Poor guy heading to war and all. Least she could do was throw the kid a bone and let him steal a kiss behind the old oak tree.
“You think nice guys are weak and you know you can control weak.” He looked at her with knowing eyes and she wondered if he was back.
“Dad?” she said softly.
“You’ve been doing it for years. Let the weak ones in, push them around, then dump them because you know deep down inside that’s not what you want. Not what you need.”
“Daddy?” she said a bit more strongly, trying to pull him out of the past. At least, she was hoping it was the past. Because if not, she was becoming uncomfortable thinking about her father’s estimation of her love life.
“You need a strong man who won’t let you push him around. But you won’t—” And just like that he was gone. It was like a curtain had closed over his mind. When it happened it didn’t seem to hurt him. He would just get a blank look on his face, which would turn to confusion and then acceptance. It was like he knew his brain just couldn’t put any pieces together right now and it would be best to just power down.
It broke Alison’s heart.
She patted his hand, said some soothing words to him, then got up to place the photo back on the shelf. She heard the rumbling of her phone vibrating in her purse and dug it out. Lizzie was calling. Odd. She knew Alison always spent the hours after having dinner with her mom at the hospital with her dad. Then she went back to her parents’ house, where she’d recently begun spending the nights.
“Lizard, what’s up?” she said when she connected to the call.
“Are you still at the hospital with your dad?” Lizzie asked. Alison felt a stab of fear at the tone of concern in Lizzie’s voice.
“Yes. Why?”
“Petey’s on the way there. He’s in an ambulance. His mom just called me. He slipped on the ice and fell down the front stairs.”
“In Detroit?” But no, that didn’t make any sense. Still, Alison wasn’t getting it. Her genius IQ seemed to shut down whenever Petey’s name was mentioned. It was like her intelligence level dropped down to his or something. He didn’t even need to be near, just brought to mind.
“No, here. He was home during the All-Star break. Just for the night.”
“He drove all that way for one night?”
“He flew. He didn’t—listen, Al, he’s being brought in to the hospital right now. I need you to go find out what’s going on. How he is. His parents are on their way. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
“No, I—” But Lizzie’d already disconnected.
Alarm shot through her, but logic quickly prevailed. His parents’ front steps were only about four or five high. He couldn’t have sustained too serious of an injury—at least not life-threatening—from tumbling down them. Could he? Perhaps he was lucky and had fallen on his head—that way there’d be no damage.
She snorted internally at her own bitchery. Too bad she only used that one on herself and not on Petey. She sighed and started collecting her things. Due to Lizzie’s command, maybe she’d get to bestow the zinger on the big man himself.
She kissed and hugged her father goodbye, promising to see him the next day. He absently patted her on the back and called her Sally.
She left his room and started making her way to the other wing of the small hospital toward the little-used emergency room entrance.
Two
All hockey players are bilingual. They know English and profanity.
~ Gordie Howe
He wasn’t hard to find. For one thing, it was a pretty small hospital and thankfully there weren’t a lot of emergencies in the neighboring towns of Houghton and Hancock, which shared the hospital. Or at least not a lot of emergencies from seven to ten most nights, because Alison could hear the ambulances arriving when she was in her father’s room and she didn’t hear them all that often.
The other reason she found Petey fairly easily was that a crowd was already beginning to form around him. Local boy makes good. The town hero. And even more beloved because he never forgot where he came from, spending his summers in the U.P., giving to local charities, and helping out with summer youth hockey.
Yeah, a real freaking role model.
He was being wheeled down the hallway on a stretcher, coming right toward her. The EMTs were guiding him, one in front, one pushing from behind, with a nurse on either side of the gurney. Two more nurses were following.
Of course, the nurses were young and female. So was one of the EMTs. And they were all looking at him as more than a patient.
She supposed she couldn’t blame them. If she was going to be completely objective—and she had to be for her patients, so she should be able to when it came to Petey—he was definitely worthy of gurney chasing.
At least physically.
It finally hit her that he was obviously really hurt or there was no way in hell Petey Ryan would be on that stretcher. He loved attention—the big ham—but not the hovering, concerned type. That would drive him crazy.
He was sitting up, even though the EMTs were trying to get him to lie back. They didn’t seem to have a sense of urgency about them, though, wheeling him fairly slowly, which Alison figured was good news. He was wearing jeans, a flannel shirt, boots and an unzipped parka. He looked just like every other guy Alison knew.
And yet completely different.
Even on a gurney he had a presence about him. His size, of course, but even more than that.
His black hair was a touch on the long side. She knew that he always got it cut really short right before training camp then let it go for the season, only cutting it again once he got to the U.P. for the summer. Their little group had even had parties around it back when they were in their twenties. It was almost like summer only really began when Petey cut his hair.
She usually didn’t see him mid-season unless she was watching a Red Wings game—which she only did if she was with her father or, in years past, at Katie and Ron’s house where Ron would always be watching the game with a wistful “I coulda been a contender” look on his face.
Another reason she was glad Katie was now with Darío.
So, she usually only saw Petey with really short hair or really long hair. She had to admit the length he wore now—not quite to collar length, but just long enough to have a tiny bit of curl at the ends—made him even sexier. And it would be silky smooth, she knew that from exper—
“Alison? What are you doing here?”
There probably wasn’t a huge emphasis on you like she imagined. Like why would the last person in the world he would want to see be here. But too many years had honed the defense mechanism in her where he was concerned, so she quickly said, “I was here visiting my father. Lizzie called me. I guess your mom called her.”
The small parade had reached her at the end of the hallway and stopped, even though she’d stepped out of the way to let them pass.
“Is Lizzie on her way?” he asked with hope in his voice. Then he added, “No, she’s got the baby now.” There was defeat in his tone, almost petulance.
She knew how he felt. Alison’s two closest friends had, in the span of a year, gotten married, pregnant, and were—or were about to be—new mothers. Lizzie’s son, Samuel, was a few mon
ths old, and Katie was due any day now.
Of course Alison was delighted for her best friends, but there was no denying she barely saw them any more.
She stepped toward the gurney to reassure him. “She’s coming. She’s on her way. So are your parents.”
The look of relief that had started to form on his face quickly departed. “Shit,” he said, then looked around at the nurses seemingly trying to discern which nurse was in charge. They all looked to Alison like they were young enough to be candy stripers. “Don’t let my parents back here. And they’ll try, especially my dad.”
“Well, you’ll be in a private area until the doctor can get here, and then he’ll either want to do X-rays or maybe an MRI, so they would be able to wait with you, no problem,” one nurse informed him. Alison could tell the nurse was trying to reassure Petey, but she didn’t know the relationship Petey had with his father.
“It’ll need to be an MRI,” Petey said with certainty. Must be all those years of injuries—he could probably diagnose himself. “It’s shot. My knee,” he said. Then he added so quietly that the whole group leaned toward him to hear, “I’m done.”
Whatever their history—long ago, and the recent past of Katie’s wedding—Petey was her friend, part of the same group she’d hung with since high school, and he needed somebody right now. She took a deep breath and summoned her inner Lizzie.
“You.” She pointed to the two nurses who had been following the group. “You two go back to the receiving area. When Petey’s parents come in, you tell them that they’re not allowed to come back here right now. Tell them that Petey is fine and in good spirits, but the doctor just wants to run some tests.”
They opened their mouths to say something, but Alison held up a finger stopping them. “And when Lizzie comes in—you’ll know her, trust me—pull her aside and tell her Al said to run interference with Lieutenant Dan. But not so his parents can hear.”
Petey chuckled, probably at the nickname the gang had given his father so many years ago because of his drill-sergeant ways about Petey practicing hockey. Everybody else looked confused, most likely wondering who Al was. “Do you have that?” she barked at the nurses. Okay, so, not totally Lizzie—she would never have barked—but Lizzie would have had this whole thing in hand a long time ago.
The young women looked just startled enough that they only nodded their heads, and when Alison twirled her finger for them to turn around and get moving they actually did.
“Channeling Lizzie, much?” Petey commented. Just when she was about to say that’s exactly what she’d been doing, he added, “Plus a dash of bitch.”
“Or, you could just say thank you.”
He shrugged her off, grunted something unintelligible (big surprise!) and motioned for the EMTs to get moving. “Let’s get the show on the road. If I’m about to move up my retirement date, I might as well find out now.”
Retirement? Petey? Of course he’d have to retire from hockey someday and probably sooner rather than later, but it wasn’t something he talked about. To be honest, Alison never gave it much thought. He always did play hockey, therefore he always would play hockey. Of course she knew that was ridiculous, but….
She was forced back and out of the way as they started to move the gurney and its merry band of travellers followed. As they went past her and through the doors leading to a different area, Petey turned around and nearly bellowed to her, “Well? Come on.” Like it was her fault it was her and not Lizzie there.
A quick retort died on her lips when she saw the flash of pain that went across his face as he moved. “Coming,” she said as she fell into line.
They wheeled him into an area with four curtained-off stalls with beds. She stood back as the EMTs transferred Petey over to one of the hospital beds and then started to move their own gurney back out the way they’d come. “Just ask him,” the female one said to the other.
“I can’t,” he whispered back to his co-worker. “He’ll think I’m an asshole.”
“You are an asshole. But don’t let that stop you.”
Alison smiled, liking the feisty EMT. She was a tiny thing, too. It’s a wonder she could even have helped Petey onto the stretcher as big as he was. “Petey,” Alison said, catching his attention. “Give the EMTs your autograph. They did save your life, after all.”
“Hardly saved his life,” the young woman said as her partner stepped forward, taking his clipboard that had been on the gurney with him. He quickly found an empty sheet of paper, placed it on the top and pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket. He gave Alison a grateful look as he passed her.
Alison hated giving Petey his due, but he hid whatever kind of pain he was in—and she knew it had to be crazy pain if he would allow people to put him on a stretcher—and sat up a little taller, holding his hand out for the clipboard that the EMT was handing him.
“I’m a huge fan,” the EMT said as Petey looked at the young man’s nametag and then signed the autograph.
“I’m a big fan of yours now, Jeremy. I should probably be asking for your autograph.”
This flustered the young man and he stammered just a little as he replied, “Oh, no sir, you’re the star.”
Alison caught the tiny flinch in Petey’s face at being called sir, but he never lost his grin. “Maybe. But you’re the hero, Jer. You and….” He looked pointedly at Jeremy’s EMT partner.
“Sarah,” she said.
“You and Sarah.” He pointed at the nurses. “And you ladies, too. You guys are the real heroes. And you do it every day. No off-season for you guys.”
Jesus. Lay it on a little thicker. But they ate it up, with ducked heads, shy smiles and “Aw, go on” waves of hands.
As the EMTs made their way from the area, the nurses made Petey comfortable and assured him the doctor on call would be with him soon. They then stood back and motioned to Alison, like it was now time for her to take over.
Take over what, exactly? Comforting him? Yeah, right, like he’d ever take comfort from her.
His hand pushing her knee up as he drove deeper into her, moaning her name in her ear then nipping her earlobe.
Holy crap, where had that thought come from?
She shook the disturbing—and oh, all right, arousing—thought from her mind as she stepped closer to Petey’s bed. She could do this. She was a trained professional. She treated people in emotional crisis all the time.
But she hadn’t had crazy monkey sex with any of them.
And Petey didn’t really look like he was in emotional crisis. He did, however, look like he was in a lot of pain. “Do you want me to see if they can give you something for the pain? They’ll need to wait for the doctor, but at least they can be prepared. They don’t know how much pain you’re in.”
“How do you know how much pain I’m in?”
She gave him a stern stare. “Because you didn’t just deny you were in pain. If it were manageable, you’d have given me a line about being a man, or some such shit.”
He tried not to smile, and looked away from her, but she could see she’d made him chuckle, if only internally. She stepped a little closer to the bed. She could at least give him this. Comfort by insult was not a technique she’d ever use on her patients, but then again… “So, all those years on the ice, and you fall down icy stairs? Was it because you weren’t on skates, or was it because it wasn’t flat? Was it the, what, four, five-step incline that really threw ya?”
“Ha. Ha. You know, you—” He was cut off by the appearance of the doctor.
“Mr. Ryan. I’m a big fan. I’m sorry to meet under these circumstances. A fall, was it?” He said all this while writing things on a clipboard. When he finally lifted his head up he noticed Alison. “Alison? Hello. What are…you’re a…friend of Mr. Ryan’s?”
“Hi, Scott. I see it’s your night on call.” He nodded and Alison continued. “Yes, Petey and I’ve known each other since high school.”
The doctor stepped forward and held his hand out, which
Petey shook. “Dr. Thompson.”
“You’re not from around here,” Petey said to the doctor. It wasn’t a question. Scott Thompson was around their age, and they knew everyone in the small area who was around their age.
“No. Chicago originally. I moved here a couple of years ago.”
“And you two know each other?” Petey stated the obvious, moving his hand between Scott and Alison.
“Yes,” they both said. Scott smiled at her. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too.”
“Are you her dad’s doctor?” Petey asked with just enough curiosity to give Alison a tiny—tiny—shiver of triumph.
“No. Is your father ill?” he asked her.
“Late-stage Alzheimer’s. He’s been in and out of here with a lung infection they need to get under control before we can get him into a permanent assisted-living facility.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” He looked between her and Petey again. “So, you were with Mr. Ryan when he fell? You—”
“No,” she said quickly. “No. I was here visiting my dad when they brought Petey in. I just came to be with him until his parents get here. And his friend.”
“What? You’re not my friend?” Petey asked with a pissy voice.
“You know what I mean.” She was about to go on, but Scott was done with whatever he’d written in Petey’s chart and motioned for the nurses to come forward.
“The nurses mentioned you felt an MRI was in order. Have you had knee injuries before?”
“Several, but not like this. I heard the pop. I’m thinking the ACL is toast, and maybe even the meniscus, too.”
“You seem to know your way around the knee.”
“Doc, in my line of work….”
“Of course. And of course you’ve been at it for a good many years.”
It wasn’t an age slam at all, but Alison saw Petey’s mouth form a thin line. “He’s in a tremendous amount of pain, Scott, maybe you could—”
“Zip it, Al, I’m fine,” Petey barked at her.
“You’re not fine. You’re—”