by A W Hartoin
Fats got in and reached over to pull up the door handle. I pushed it down. “Sorry. Won’t fit.”
Tiny knocked on the window. “Open up.”
Fats pinned me against the seat—breathing was optional—and opened the door. Tiny pushed me to the middle of the seat and eased his bulk in, squashing me against Fats. I felt like a pea between two slices of Texas toast.
“Why is this my life?” I asked.
“Some people have all the luck,” said Tiny, barely getting the seatbelt around his waist.
Fats pulled out and said, “Think of it this way—there’s little chance of you getting shot right now.”
“I can’t breathe.”
“You’re fine,” she said and turned her attention to Tiny. The two of them talked over my head. Literally.
“I don’t like this,” I said.
“Good thing you don’t get a vote,” said Fats.
They began discussing whether I should wear a bullet-proof vest. What the odds were of a sniper taking me out. Cheerful stuff like that.
“Can we talk about something else?” I said like I was included or something.
Tiny leaned toward Fats and I squeaked as my shoulders went up into my ears. “I gotta tell you, Fats, you smell as good as a woman can smell.”
“I love your tattoo,” she replied.
“Ew. Not that,” I said.
“Ever have a couple’s massage?” asked Tiny.
“No, but I will. Soon,” said Fats.
I managed to free an arm and waved over my head. “Gross. Let’s play the quiet game. Loser gets shot with Grandad’s Mauser.”
“You know what they do in couple’s massages?” asked Tiny.
“I want to find out,” purred Fats.
God help me.
Chapter Seven
THE DRIVE TO the hospital was the longest ten minutes of my life. Fats and Tiny’s conversation bounced between gun caliber and massage oil. They were sweaty by the time we got there and I was scarred for life.
Fats pulled into a secluded section of the hospital garage. Gee. I wonder why. Tiny physically pulled me out of the truck and said he’d escort me in. Fats ordered me not to leave the hospital or else. I didn’t know what the “or else” meant, but since I had sweat stains on my shoulders, I didn’t care.
Tiny practically ran me through the lobby to the elevators. He tapped his big foot and glared at the Up button that refused to light up. He held up Mom’s carry-on. “You’re spending the night, right?”
“Yes and no need to tell me what you’re going to do.”
He smiled and got all dreamy. “I’m gonna take her to dinner at Kronos. I don’t think she’s eaten there. She’ll love it.”
“Are you crazy? Kronos is cop central.”
“Nobody’ll say anything. They wouldn’t dare.”
“But they’ll tell my father that you’re dating one of Calpurnia Fibonacci’s thugs,” I said.
The elevator doors opened and he pushed me in. “She’s not a thug. She’s a lady. The hottest lady I ever laid eyes on.”
“That’s enough.”
“No. She’s not hot. She’s scorching. You know what I’m gonna do?”
I held up my hand. “Too much information.”
“I haven’t told you anything yet.”
“The less I know, the better.”
“I think I’m in love,” he said with all sincerity.
“I know. I can smell it on you and on me, come to think of it.”
The doors opened on Mom’s floor and, just my luck, Uncle Morty was standing there glowering. “What took you so long?” He reached in and snatched me out of the elevator.
Tiny put the carry-on in the hall and waved.
“Where you going?” asked Uncle Morty.
“I gotta date with the hottest lady you’ve ever seen.”
“Date? You stay here.”
Tiny shook his head. “She’s with you and she ain’t leaving.”
“You got a hole in your head?” asked Uncle Morty. “This is Mercy.”
“My lady. You should see her thighs.”
Doors. Please close.
“I don’t care about no thighs,” said Uncle Morty.
“They ripple.”
Uncle Morty looked at me. “What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s in love,” I said.
“Since when?”
“About twenty minutes ago.”
Uncle Morty growled and the doors closed, cutting off a comment about massage. Thank goodness. I sighed. “You know it’s bad when it feels good to be on the ICU floor.”
Uncle Morty yanked me down the hall. “Shut up and come on.”
My stomach tightened up. “What? Grandad said Mom’s fine.”
“She is.”
He didn’t lead me to the ICU doors but instead tried to shove me into the waiting room. “Fix it.”
“What happened?” I turned to the ICU and he spun me back around. “Carolina’s sleeping. Miriam’s with her. Get in there.”
“But what—”
He pushed me in, straight into the quietest argument I’d ever witnessed. Aaron stood on one side and Uncle Morty’s girlfriend, Nikki, on the other. They stared at each other. Aaron had a basket and Nikki had a cooler.
“Um…what’s going on?” I asked.
Nikki didn’t take her eyes off Aaron. “She’ll want my food. I’m a woman and a mother. I know.”
Aaron said nothing.
“Mercy will decide,” said Uncle Morty.
“Decide what? Mom’s asleep,” I said.
“What food Carolina wants,” said Grandad.
Oh, hell no!
“Er…maybe she got a tray?”
They looked at me like I’d sprouted candy corn horns.
“She won’t eat that stuff,” said Grandad. “Pick something out.”
“Um…I’ll go ask Mom.” And I’ll never come back.
Uncle Morty peeked in the door. “Don’t be a coward.”
“You should talk.”
“Carolina needs to eat,” said Grandad before going back to his phone.
I sucked it up and said, “Okay. What’ve you got?”
Aaron pulled out a thermos and slapped it on the table. Nikki scoffed, “Chai tea? Please. I’ve got a Belgian chocolate malt. Easily digestible and plenty of calories. Top this.” She slapped down a covered dish and popped off the top, revealing a green stew that smelled of lemon and spinach. “Horta Vrasta, packed with vitamins.”
Aaron laid down Mom’s favorite Kale salad with pomegranate. He didn’t say anything. His food spoke for itself. Unfortunately, this time it said delicious and hard to chew.
Nikki rolled her enormous dark eyes. “Foolish man. She can’t eat that.”
Aaron looked at me.
“Er…what else you got?” I asked.
Aaron slapped down eggplant parmesan. Nikki countered with moussaka. That was a draw. Next, Aaron produced chicken and dumplings and I started drooling. His dumplings were so fluffy and they came in a stew of wood-roasted chicken delicately flavored with a pricey sherry and some mystery spices in the golden sauce. Nikki brought out a chicken soup made with lemon and egg. Sounds weird, but it smelled fantastic.
It went on from there. Stuffed peppers vs stuffed tomatoes. Chocolate mousse cake vs bread pudding.
“I’ve only been gone three hours. How did you make all this?” I asked.
“Sheer talent. I don’t have a staff,” said Nikki haughtily. She was sure I’d pick her food. I couldn’t. Aaron was my partner. He’d literally saved my life. On the other hand, Nikki’s food, overall, was easier to eat and swallow, which was huge for Mom. Plus, Uncle Morty was standing there in a brand new Underarmour track suit with zero stains, his hair had been recently cut, and for the first time in my life, his nose hair wasn’t an issue. Mom had said that he even smiled. I didn’t really understand what was happening, but Nikki soothed the savage writer and he smelled good, too.
; “Just pick, sweetheart,” said Grandad, looking up from his call. “There’s no wrong answer.”
“Wanna bet?”
From the corner of the room, a soft voice said, “It all looks good to me.”
I turned and realized that we weren’t alone. The left side of the room had what looked like several different families having the worst day of their lives, too. It was just like a Watts to forget that anyone else existed. I’m such a jerk.
To make matters worse, we had two gourmet cooks and they had hospital coffee and vending machine food. Gag.
“You know what?” I said. “I’ll pick out what will be easiest for Mom to eat. Let’s face it, she won’t eat more than a few bites of anything. The rest should be eaten in here.” I gave Nikki a significant look. I didn’t bother with Aaron. Nikki was pretty normal if you ignored the enormous Jersey hair and the fact that her track suit matched Uncle Morty’s. Plus, she had expressions, which was more than I could say for my partner. “Everyone is waiting to see how things will turn out for their family.”
I looked at the woman who spoke so softly. “Who are you here for?”
She got teary. “My husband. He had a heart attack. His fourth.”
Another woman said, “My sister overdosed. But she’s not a bad person,” she said hastily.
“My son went skateboarding without a helmet,” said a man with eyes so puffy they were mere slits. “He has brain damage. We don’t know how bad. His mom’s in with him now.”
Nikki nodded at me, left, and came back with a stack of plates and plastic ware. She started serving without asking if anyone was hungry. Such a mom. I made my mother a plate, choosing some of Nikki’s and some of Aaron’s. He didn’t seem mad, but honestly how would I know?
The families began talking and smiling, taking big bites and patting shoulders. Aaron’s food had that effect on people. I guess Nikki’s did, too. Grandad gave me a thumbs-up and said, “You want to talk to your cousins? I’ve got Weepy and Spoiled Rotten here.”
“I’m good.” I took a tray for Mom and high-tailed it out of there while I had the chance. Aaron followed me, trotting along behind me on his short little legs. I balanced the tray and pushed the intercom button for entrance. “What’s up?” I asked him.
He put a pint-sized thermos on the tray.
“Hot chocolate?”
Aaron gave me the tiniest of nods before trotting back to the waiting room. I bit my lip and had a hard time answering the gruff male voice who asked who I was there for. I finally got Mom’s name out and he buzzed me in. I crossed paths with Aunt Miriam, who was back to her hawk-eyed self. Not a tear or a trace of weakness to be seen.
“How is she?” I asked.
“You have to find out who did this.” She gripped her square black leather purse like a weapon. Since she’d been known to carry bricks in it, it was entirely possible.
I eased around her and said, “I will. I promise.”
“And punish them.”
“Er…”
Aunt Miriam pointed a bony finger at me. “You know what I mean.”
“I really don’t,” I said.
“An eye for an eye.”
“So you want me to go all Old testament on them?”
“I trust that you will do what is right for the family.” The elderly nun marched off, her back ramrod straight and unyielding. There’d be hell to pay if I didn’t succeed and she was hell.
“She wants you to kill them,” said Mom’s new nurse, Mark, giving me the once-over to see if I might come through on that.
“I’m not killing anyone,” I said.
“I think I might rather kill than explain to your aunt why I didn’t.”
“No kidding. How’s my mom?” I asked.
Mom had weakness on her entire left side. He thought her peritoneum was partially paralyzed. Her breathing was somewhat labored and she couldn’t manage a productive cough. The rape councilor thought she wasn’t raped, but there was definitely an attempt. She thought Mom would eventually remember because she was getting clearer already. She had an MRI scheduled and a TEE to test for the Afib, so she wouldn’t be able to eat in the morning.
“Swell,” I said. “She’s going to hate that.”
“You’ll get her through it.”
I nodded and went in Mom’s room. Through it. Right then, it was the best I could hope for.
Wallace woke at five. The pug rooted around on Mom’s bed before setting her wrinkly snout on Mom’s hip. It’d been a rough night. Mom slept on and off, often crying for Dad and asking why he hadn’t come to her. I had no answers for her, but I promised I’d get them.
Mark waved to me through the window and I went out, closing the door behind me. “What’s up?”
“Your Aunt Tenne’s here,” he said. “She wants to come in, but I don’t know how Carolina feels about that.”
“Me either.”
He handed me a cup of coffee and I returned to Mom.
“Is something wrong?” Mom held a tissue to the corner of her mouth. She couldn’t feel the drool when it happened and I feared the tissue would become a permanent fixture.
“No. Aunt Tenne’s here and she wants to come in.” I picked up a packet of creamer and mixed it in the coffee.
Mom looked away. “I don’t want to see anyone.”
“You saw Aunt Miriam and that was okay.”
“She was upset.”
I opened a straw and popped it into the coffee. “Everyone’s pretty worried about you. Want some coffee?”
She nodded and I helped her take a sip. She gagged and began coughing these weird coughs like she couldn’t get enough air.
Mark came in. “Let’s get you upright.” He helped her sit up, but the coughing got worse. I grabbed a pillow and told her to wrap her arms around it, squeezing it tight when a cough came. The pressure from the pillow helped her clear her throat.
“Nice one,” said Mark. “I’ll have to remember that.”
I grinned at Mom. “See? I know stuff. I’m not just a dufus that forgets to turn in homework and do the dishes.”
Mom took my hand. “You’re still a dufus.”
“Want to try some more coffee? You just have to think about swallowing and do it on the right side.”
Mom looked doubtful, but she tried it and it worked.
Mark checked her pressure and oxygen levels. “Looks good. How’s the pain?”
“Maybe something,” said Mom. “I have another headache.”
“Will do,” said Mark. “Mercy, you might want to walk the pug. She’s got the look.”
Wallace did have the look. She was hopping around, wiggling.
“Okay and I’ll go see Aunt Tenne.”
Mom nodded, but I could see from the set of her jaw that Aunt Tenne had come a long way for nothing. I didn’t say that, of course. The last thing Mom needed was guilt.
I picked up Wallace and clipped on her leash. “Can Aunt Miriam come in again?”
“Will she still be mad?” Mom asked, almost childlike.
She’d better not be.
“I’m sure she’ll be calmer,” I said. “You want me to get you a latte from the cart in the lobby? They’re pretty good.”
“Okay.”
Mark came in with a syringe and I headed out, dreading telling Aunt Tenne that she wasn’t wanted. I found her and Bruno in the waiting room. Bruno sat on a chair, sketching wildly on a big pad and didn’t even look up. Aunt Tenne got to her feet slowly, the sleepless night in an airport showing on her pretty face so much like Mom’s, only a little older and heavier.
“How is she this morning?” she asked.
“Pretty good,” I said. “Aunt Tenne…”
My favorite aunt held up a hand. “I already know. Ace told me she won’t see anyone.”
Two steps and I was in her warm embrace. I should’ve known Aunt Tenne wouldn’t kick up a fuss. She was the sweetest person in the family and now the happiest, since she’d met Bruno, a Honduran artist fifteen year
s her junior. They seemed like an odd pairing, but it worked.
“I’m going to paint your mother a work that will lift her spirits,” said Bruno in his shy way.
“Good. She’ll love it.”
Bark.
Wallace danced around my feet, smiling her pug smile. If I didn’t hurry, she’d pee on my feet. I had the feeling that only being in the hospital restrained her.
“I gotta walk this nut.”
Grr.
“This fabulous therapy dog,” I said quickly.
Bark.
I rolled my eyes and Aunt Tenne said, “We’ll be right here. Make sure you stay by security.”
I said I would and I did. Wallace missed my foot and peed on a petunia instead. I got Mom a latte and got back on the elevator with two men in dark suits that eyed me in a cold, penetrating way. Men looked at me a lot, mostly in ways I didn’t like, but that was particularly uncomfortable. I scurried off the elevator and back into the ICU.
Mom drank her latte through a straw with shaking hands and Wallace got right in there, calming her almost instantly. “Anything wrong?” I asked.
“You were gone a long time.”
It was fifteen minutes. “Sorry. Aunt Tenne totally understands that you want privacy. She’ll stay out there. No problem.”
Mom teared up. “She’s a good sister.”
Mark waved to me. He could’ve come in, but the expression on his face said something was up.
I went out. “What?”
“The FBI are here and they want to interview your mother,” he said.
“Not just no, but hell no.”
“That’s what I said and I’ve got a call in to Dr. Lindstrom.”
I called Chuck and said in a burst, “Why are the FBI here?”
“Dammit. They beat me.”
“You knew.”
“Yeah and don’t think I’m happy about it. Coming up the elevator now.”
I glanced in the room and Mom was eyeing me. Even with Wallace, the shaking had returned. I went in and she said in a whisper, “Is it about the rape?”
“No. Do you remember what happened, Mom?” I asked.
She didn’t remember, not exactly, but some things were coming back. Mom remembered being in the kitchen and hearing something. She didn’t know what. Then she was on the ground. There was pressure on her chest.