“Guciano’s girl Lucy.”
“Ah, Jesus,” Ben said.
“How’s the house coming?” Bill asked.
“It’s coming along nice,” Ben said.
“I’m going to miss this place,” Jack said.
Clint nodded. “Me too.”
“I wish you could stay,” Ben said. “Hell, I’m thinking I wish I could stay. It’s awful nice up here.”
Frank looked at him. “Is there any way we could come every once in a while?”
“Of course. Wendy’s working on it.”
“You know that, you old fool,” Jeannie said.
“All right, so I forgot. Shoot me.”
“I’ll do worse than that.”
They all laughed.
Ben stood up to leave. “I’ll see you all later.”
Vicky followed him to the elevator. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He tipped his hat back and scratched his forehead. “I have that pre-op stuff today for my cataract surgery.”
“You’ll do fine. That procedure is so routine now it’s nothing.”
Ben nodded and boarded the elevator. “Looks like about a week till you guys are moving home.”
“Home,” Vicky said. “That has such a nice sound to it.”
Ben rode down to the first floor and when the doors opened did a double take. “Richard? Richard, what are you doing here?”
“I’m just here to visit,” the man said, shaking Ben’s hand.
“How are you feeling?”
“Great! I’ll be back to work before you know it.”
“Now don’t you be rushing yourself. All right?”
Richard nodded and walked down the hall into his office and sat down in his chair. “God, I love this place,” he said. “Who’d have ever thought?”
There was a time when he hated coming to work and didn’t much like Ben or Tom or Dawn either for that matter. They all got along famously now. He looked out the window at the horses training on the track and smiled. As Nottingham Downs General Manager, he didn’t have a plush top floor executive office with his own private bathroom anymore, perks that seemed extremely important to him not too long ago. He loved his job and no longer cared about such things. Sharing combined offices with Ben and Wendy had turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to him, and his marriage.
He touched his side where his gallbladder used to be. He wasn’t missing it at all or the pain that had accompanied it either for that matter. What a horrible week. Now if only the infection would clear up. He leaned back in his chair and sighed. A memo lying on his desk caught his eye. He reached for the notepad and sat pondering the message.
“More bad news. Call me. Tee.”
He stared. It was dated weeks ago. Too late.
~ * ~
Wendy sat with her hands in her lap. Just days after fearing for her son Matthew’s life, she was giving thought to pushing him off a cliff. Gordon could be difficult but Matthew was impossible.
“Matthew.”
“Mom, please. This has nothing to do with you. Look at this place. Come on, it’s no better than a hospital. In fact it’s worse. It stinks! God, what is that smell?”
The physical therapist stood at Wendy’s side. “It’s probably from the wing next to us. I’ve been here so long I don’t even smell it anymore. You’ll get used to it.”
“I don’t think so,” Matthew said. “I’m not going to be here that long. In fact, I’m not staying. I don’t need a hospital bed. I thought this was a therapy place for athletes. I can’t see an athlete sleeping on that bed. It’s a hospital bed.”
“What difference does it make, Matthew?” Wendy asked. “A bed is a bed. You’re supposed to be getting rest. What would you rather have? A futon?”
“Yes!”
Wendy laughed. “Come on, Son. I know this isn’t easy, but at least give it a try.”
Matthew looked around the room. “All right. So where’s my TV?”
“There’s one down the hall in the social room,” the therapist said. “If you’ll just let me get through my list of assessment questions, I’ll show you where it’s at.”
“You’re going to show me?” Matthew said. “You mean you don’t think I can find my way down the hall?”
“That’s not what she meant and you know it, Matthew. Don’t be rude,” Wendy said.
“Fine.” Matthew motioned for the therapist to get on with her list of questions.
“Are you having any trouble holding your urine?”
Gordon laughed at the expression on his brother’s face.
“Holding my urine?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Morrison. But these questions are important to your course of therapy.”
“All right,” Matthew said. “Let me ask you a question. What kind of therapy am I going to be doing?”
“Well,” the woman said, visibly unnerved. “You’ll obviously be doing some physical therapy. You’ll be doing some stretching exercises, lifting some light weights.”
“Uh, that’s good,” Gordon said, “’Cause light weights is about all he ever could handle.”
His mother gave him a look. “Gordon, be quiet. I said enough. Okay?”
“So where is this physical therapy room? Let me go look at it.”
“Just a moment. Let me finish with your evaluation and I’ll get someone to accompany you.”
“Accompany me? You mean I can’t walk down there by myself?”
“No. Not until after we observe you for a few days and complete our evaluation.”
Matthew looked at his mother. “This is ridiculous.”
“You’ll also be doing occupational therapy. This will help you with any difficulties you might have dressing yourself, showering, shaving.”
“Holding my urine,” Matthew said, cupping his hands.
Gordon laughed.
“Go out in the hall,” Wendy said. “Go on! You’re not helping.”
“Mom, there’s nothing wrong with him. His eyes are a little funny. He’ll get over it. He doesn’t belong here.”
Wendy drew a breath and sighed. “Matthew, please. Can you just try it for a few days? You have another MRI scheduled on Monday. We can see how the results are then and go from there.” Perhaps it was the tears Wendy was trying to hold back that swayed Matthew. Perhaps it was fatigue catching up to him from the ordeal of getting brought over here in an ambulance against his wishes. Suddenly, he just sat down on the bed, punched the two pillows, and leaned his head back. “No problem with the urine. What’s the next question?”
“Have you had a bowel movement today?”
Matthew closed his eyes and started laughing.
“Do I take that as a yes or a no?” the therapist asked.
~ * ~
Dawn walked down to the ReHab and ReHome barn a little before ten o’clock to check on Hillary. She was brushing the horse in the third stall. She looked at Dawn. “Do you know what these little scars are from all up and down the front of her legs? Pin-firing!”
“Yes, I know,” Dawn said.
“They take a little soldering iron kind of thing and go up and down in lines and….”
Dawn held up her hands. “Do you know what they do to women having babies by caesarian? They cut their stomachs open. Come on, Hillary, the medical profession is full of unpleasant procedures. It’s a way of fusing a shin buck. The shin away from sheath covering the…. “
“You sound like a vet,” Hillary said, back to brushing the horse.
“No, but I am married to one,” Dawn said.
Hillary looked at her in mock pity.
“Gelding horses is not pretty either.”
“Why are you doing this? Why are you giving me shit?”
“Why are you brushing the horse?” Dawn asked.
“Dusty said I could. She likes it.”
“Most racehorses do. They get groomed a lot, you know.”
The girl shrugged and wouldn’t look at her.
“You get more bees with honey, Hillary. If you want to do something for animals and pets, you need to go about it in a sensible way.”
Dusty walked down the shedrow. “Your mom’s here.”
“How’d she do?” Dawn asked, noticing how hesitant the girl was to leave the stall.
“I need to finish her mane. Can you tell my mom I’ll be right there?”
Dusty looked at her.
“Please,” she said.
“Sure.” Dusty walked away.
“Do you think I could ever come back?”
“What? To this horrible place?” Dawn asked.
“Well, this part wasn’t so horrible. Dusty was nice, and he obviously cares about the horses like you said.”
Dawn told her she’d think about it, waited for the girl to finish brushing the horse’s mane, and walked with her to the stable gate where her mother stood talking to Dusty.
“Thank you,” Janet Walker said. “Thank you, I appreciate this. You ready?”
“I guess,” Hillary said, already walking toward their car. She looked back at Dawn. “You’ll let me know, right?”
“Yes.”
~ * ~
Ben sat in the pre-op waiting room along with five other patients anxious for their names to be called. Finally, “Ben Miller.”
“Yes.” He stood and followed the woman down the hall.
“Have a seat, please.”
Ben sat down.
“I see your surgery is scheduled for nine o’clock on Monday. You are the second surgery scheduled for Dr. Branower that morning, so barring any complications, your surgery should be right on schedule.”
“Complications?”
She glanced at him and then took his blood pressure, which was a little high. She took his temperature, listened to his pulse and listened to his heart. “Deep breaths, please.”
Ben tried reading a chart on the wall. Best he could make out it was either about what to do if someone was choking or someone was having a heart attack. There were lots of purple people in the illustrations.
“Okay, I think you’re all set.” She handed him a printed sheet of instructions. “Don’t eat or drink anything after midnight Sunday. No gum, no mints. You can brush your teeth and rinse, but don’t swallow.”
Ben looked at her.
“I know,” she said. “Sounds ridiculous but some people do. Continue with your regular medication. Did you start the eye drops this morning?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Continue all the way through Monday morning. You do not have to bring them with you. Do you take insulin or oral medications for diabetes?”
“No.”
“Okay. The rest is explained here. Is transport picking you up?”
“Transport?”
“The ambulance service. Are you in a facility or living at home?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “You’ll want someone to drive you here and take you home. You will receive detailed post-operative instructions after your surgery. Have a nice day.”
Ben walked down the hall thinking about his wife Meg. Whenever he was in a hospital, he thought about her. He wished he didn’t have those memories of her, but…. He stopped at the patient information desk to ask if Matthew was still a patient here.
The receptionist looked for his name, shook her head, and he walked on outside. “I don’t want to die here,” Meg had said. “Please, Ben, take me home.” She passed two days later, cradled in his arms in their bed of forty-two years.
Chapter Ten
When the phone rang in the middle of the night, Tom grabbed it. “Yes? Yes,” he said, softly. “Yes. I’ll be right there.” He pulled on his jeans and reached for his shirt.
“What’s going on?” Wendy asked, glancing at the bedside clock. It was two thirty-five.
“Nothing, I uh…just need to help Randy. I’m going to meet him at the uh…uh the farm down the road. Go to sleep. I’ll be back.”
As he drove down the road, he berated himself. I should have known. What kind of father am I? Not a very good one, he thought. He parked just outside the front door at the rehab facility and walked inside. A rather frantic Nursing Director was waiting just inside the reception area wringing her hands. “This has never happened before, not even with the Alzheimer’s patients. He apparently just up and walked out. We’ve searched everywhere.”
Tom stood staring down the hall.
“I thought of calling the police, but….”
“No, that’s okay,” Tom said. “When did you see him last?”
“Well, see, that’s just it. We don’t know. Second shift is gone.”
“I understand,” Tom said, trying to think. What would Matthew do? Where would he go? He didn’t have any money, no cellphone. He didn’t even have any clothes. “And you’re sure you’ve searched everywhere?”
“Yes.”
“All right.” Tom looked out the lobby glass doors, thinking Matthew probably didn’t even have shoes. “No one could have taken him back to the hospital, right?”
“No.”
Tom nodded. He didn’t think so. Just then he saw the dash light go off and on in his truck. At first he thought he probably hadn’t shut the door totally but on second thought. “Excuse me,” he said, and walked outside. He opened the driver’s door and there sat his stepson: Wendy’s first born, in the passenger seat.
“What the hell took you so long?” Matthew said. “I’ve been freezing my ass off out here. I was ready to start walking.”
Tom smiled, a myriad of emotions washing over him, pride being the strongest. “That would have been quite a sight.” Mathew was wrapped in sheets, had washcloths taped to his feet, and had a towel draped over his head. His long hair spilled down the sides of his face. “You okay?”
Matthew looked at him and nodded. “I want to go home.”
“To school? You can’t. Your eyes….”
“No, I want to go to the farm. Take me home, Tom. Please.”
“All right.” Tom looked at him and nodded. “Let me go tell them what’s going on.”
The Nursing Director was hovering just inside the lobby door. “I’m going to take him home,” Tom said. “Do I need to sign anything?”
“Yes,” she replied, but couldn’t decide what. “Here.” She handed him a blank piece of paper. “Write….” She paused, looking out at Matthew all hunkered down in the passenger seat of the truck. “Write being discharged into parent’s care, state that you will check in with his doctor in the morning, date it, and sign your name.”
“Okay.” Tom wrote down the required details, signed, dated it, and then turned to leave. “Thank you. We’ll drop off the sheets.”
The woman nodded and locked the door after him. Tom climbed in behind the wheel and looked at Matthew and sighed. For some reason he thought about the last time he bailed Junior Rupert out of jail.
“You hungry?” Tom asked.
“I’m starved,” Matthew said. “I’d kill for a cheeseburger.”
Tom put the truck into gear and headed for the all-night drive-thru burger joint by the racetrack. When he pulled up to the cubbyhole window, the man looked warily at Matthew sitting there in the truck all wrapped in white. “He’s fine,” Tom said. “He thinks he’s Jesus.”
~ * ~
Randy turned into the driveway at the farm a little after four in the morning, parked next to the house, and here came the dogs. He opened the door and all six jumped into and over his lap and crammed themselves into the passenger seat and on the floor, wagging their tails and panting. “Good boys, good boys,” Randy said, patting them all on their heads, scratching their ears, scratching under their chins.
When Dawn woke an hour later, had breakfast, and walked outside to leave for the racetrack, she found him sound asleep in his truck, head resting on Dawber’s shoulder and all the dogs sardined around one another next to him. Runt was stretched out on his lap with a leg slung over the steering wheel.
Piccolo picked up his head and s
eeing Dawn, starting barking happily. Randy opened his eyes, all the dogs stirring now, and yawned. “What time is it?” he asked.
“A little after five,” she said, kissing him. “Why don’t you go inside and get some sleep.”
“I would,” he said, yawning again and leaning back so all the dogs could jump down out of the truck. “I have a….” Another yawn. “I have something I have to do right at seven. I can’t remember. What the heck was it? Oh yeah, now I remember, a scope. I didn’t want to wake you.”
Dawn glanced at Ben’s farmhouse. The upstairs light wasn’t on, which was odd. Tom was always awake this time of morning. “All right, I’ll see you at the track. I love you,” she said.
“I love you better,” he replied, playfully grabbing at her behind and missing it. “What races are you in?”
“The second and the seventh.”
“I’ll see you later.”
As Dawn drove past Ben’s farmhouse, the upstairs light came on. It wasn’t often she beat Tom to the racetrack. It was going to be fun razzing him, she thought, and smiled. She waved to Ben; standing at the window by the kitchen sink. He usually always left right behind her. She pulled out onto the road and did a little beep on her horn as she passed George and Glenda’s, another morning habit. They relied on her to wake them up.
“I think I’ll pick up some donuts,” she said to herself. “I haven’t done that in a while. Some custard ones. It’s going to be a good day.”
~ * ~
Wendy rolled over in bed and looked at Tom. He was standing by the dresser putting his wallet into his jeans. She glanced at the clock. “What time did you get back?”
“Oh,” he said. “Not long after I left. You were sound asleep.”
She smiled and burrowed down into the sheets and blankets. “I’ll see you later.”
Tom stood at the door.
“What?” she said, when he just stood there.
“Uh….” He scratched the side of his face. “I don’t want you coming downstairs and getting freaked out, but….”
“But what? What’s going on?”
Tom hesitated.
“Is it Matthew? Is he okay?”
“Oh, he’s okay all right. He’s downstairs.”
“What?” Wendy sat up in bed. “What?”
“He walked out of the rehab place last night and I went and got him.”
Winning Odds Trilogy Page 93